Category Archives: Bijan Haghnegahdar

Bijan Haghnegahdar – The Woods Walk

In the forest there’s a man. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t even really look like a man, not that you can see him. No one can really, and if they could, they would opt to pass. It’s a bloody mess.  —

The cabin is something special around these parts. A getaway from things to get away from. The Cadillac sits nearby, patiently waiting on its master. What else could be more loyal?  —

The corners are coming in on themselves. Claustrophobia sets in again. Claustrophobia was always the case. Cozy.  —

It’s a great patch of land in the middle of a beautiful nowhere. Isolated. Alone. How much?  —

It’s cramped now. Hardly comfortable, but what does that matter now? Furniture everywhere, never where it should be. Tables are chairs. And chairs? Probably under the table.  —

Some would call it art. Reasons? Who needs them! Someone saw the opportunity. A silent order among the chaos of Sequoias. Think of it from a bird’s eye view. A cross between the trees.  —

The trucks came in. Uninvited. Crane’s made erect. Question: How many people does it take to disassemble a tree? Three. Two to cut and tie, a third to lift down portions of trunk. One at a time boys.  —

It’s a three hour drive away from the city. Nothing but backcountry. Roads no one has heard of. Cell phones are nothing but plastic bricks up here. Perfect.  —

Perfect! The phone has no signal. What a brilliant bloody idea! What a perfect way to die. Walden had it all wrong!  —

It would have passed seven in eight people. Too bad he wasn’t one of those people. Six standing trees. Four made a square. Two made an entrance into the square. I think I just found my primitive hut.  —

He woke that morning knowing something was wrong. Bad karma all around. No surprise then the door doesn’t open. No big deal, except it’s the only hole in this tomb.  —

It takes two weeks, but it happens. Give it some heavy carving and lifting. Placement. Child’s play with real toys. Look mommy, I built a log cabin.  —

Half a day in and the place is noticeably smaller. Seams of light are pouring in between logs. What a stupid idea. A simple cabin. No windows. No chimney. Just a battery operated light. A place to sleep. A place to stash food. Water. A place to hide.  —

Sequoia’s of all different sizes. Log cabins are made from the smaller, younger ones. The ones just thick and heavy enough to make walls. Steer clear of the larger ones. Too much cutting. Too much hassle.  —

Two days. It’s been two days. Judging from the size of the room, let’s say one more day. It’s always three. Always slow.  —

Trees mark the corners of the cabin. Giant verticals. Looking up, they might just go on forever. And the corners? They just stick out, waiting to be used.  —

How many times do trees find themselves in a position to exact revenge? Maybe once? Twice a millennia? It’s bound to happen, and when it does, who’s to blame the trees? Certainly not me.  —

Screaming has no effect. This is beyond the work of human hands. Hands without ears. Language is the first to go.  —

A busy week at the office. A suffocating city street. An apartment with windows that look in. Inside, a man who can only picture two words. Escape please.  —

Eyes touching one wall, back against the other. Between the cracks of his cage he sees the light, but no moon in sight. Not what he had in mind.  —

Pop go the walls. Yes, this has suddenly gotten much worse. Yes, the door still won’t open. No, this isn’t just thermal expansion. It’s too goddamn cold. Too goddamn late.  —

He always imagined a quick death, should it come early. A seven car pile up on slippery streets. A stress induced surprise attack, aimed straight at his heart. Stuff you never see coming, but secretly do. Stuff that moves you.  —

In a forest there are six trees. Between them lies a stacked cross of level trees that don’t look quite so arboreal. The branches and leaves are gone. The stumps are scattered nearby. Inside the cross lies another corpse, crushed, broken, bruised. It hardly matters now. Call it even.  —