Got lost with EB this morning on the metro and discovered a different city in the rain. No scruffily genteel beauty there, only misery. Everything cheap (plastic flags, blinking casino lights, cardboard advertisements) looks far worse wet. Around the underpasses and stations, men and dogs, cold and shivering, trapped within the blare of pumped-up techno music (always a parody in this setting, like the ubiquitous ads for luxury brands) coming from the kiosks, and the impervious roar of traffic all around. Bad air, bad food...
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Been surrounded by russians for a while now.
Like I’m surrounded by granite that talks.
They move about like storm clouds sweeping the plains.
Without speaking.
Scouring lifelessly around without caring.
About efficiency.
Or obstacles.
More a question of momentum.
I wouldn’t say thrust.
Just power.
Bulldozing around blindly without blinking.
Without staring.
Just pacing.
Like a boulder hanging lonely on a rockslide.
Eroding.
But moving.
Unable to make excellence a priority.
Yet unable to get away from the rules.
Under which everyone suffers.
Similarly.
Half assing their way through existence.
Without any shred of what is usually known as hope.
Or empathy.
Because what good are those.
When there are no more worthy revolutions.
Just strict compliance.
With this peculiar system of indispensible mediocrity.
This ridiculous sense that no one can be trusted.
For at least a while.
What good are those.
When you’re lodged in a perpetual state of lag.
With the entire planet.
Trying to get everyone just slightly mobilized.
For various things.
Like a moon mission, a nuclear experiment, or a concert.
But the only one that ever got beyond the downbeat.
Was Horowitz.
Or maybe Belenko.
But C, you dig this.
And you know that.
And the only thing I can offer you.
Is excess.
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