What is Precarious going to say about Running from the Apocalypse? My thinking as I approached his farm. Water breezes as you dream, 77 degrees, soft. “This is Hawaii,” I said. He shook my hand, stood shoulders square, much taller than I am, and mused - you could see thoughts running around catching memories. “Hawaii’s a little more humid,” and then we walked past heaping compost and lobster fertilizer through the gardens: raised beds, lowered beds, embedded beds, gates, fences, water hoses, spigots, watering cans, couple of scarecrows, vegetables all kinds, plus herbs, flowers, his grandmother’s phlox from Wisconsin. I asked him how he acquired so much land - pastures, meadows, waterways, a freaking mountain. He looked at me like, Do some research.
“Keep it from the white man,” he said. “From Nestle stealing our water, chemical company toxins in our genes, pharmaceuticals buying acres for an industrial park, the Department of the Effy Interior, Bureau of Reclamation, hydroelectric harnessing tides - aimed grander than Grand Coulee! Nuclear plant looking for a new home kicked out of Vermont, Prez building hotel for oligarch hangs near Newport, highway politicians fighting me in court desperate to jam freeway right through native soil, ExxonMobil already ships oil in deepwater ProvPort pipeline tanks around the bay ooze-up Barrington, which, by the say, praying to increase oil consumption in southern New England run another pipeline through here to eastern Connecticut, following Ten Rod, and even a fucking brewery wanted the water.”
Precarious paused, looked at me, “Gots to battle, man.” He turned, brisk toward the forest, entered on a path I never would have found and we came to his studio.
“Did the cops follow you?” He asked.
“No, made it clean.”
He nodded.
“Your latest series . . . It’s dope.”
“Thanks.”
“So, I came to ask what the Running from the Apocalypse series is about?
He looked at me. “Dude, seriously?”