-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
At some point, I think in a daze of half sleep while driving through the Navajo strip mall that brackets either side of I-40 just west of the New Mexico border, I had a conversation with an Indian in my head, who was talking about the power and mystery of Land. And this brought to mind my High School freshmen year of English, when the teacher asked us what our natural habitat was. Most kids answered the desert, because that's where they grew up. My friend Zeb, who at the time was huge into industrial and computers and cyberpunk, said "urban."
Thinking this, I tell this imaginary Navajo in my head, that I'm in love with the city. That the city is an entirely human construct; land, open and wide, cut by swaths of wind-worn mountains, this place where I grew up, is at once familiar and completely alien to me. Cities are informed by the gross flaws and base glories of their citizens, and to me this is a fine thing. It breathes desires and loss, and almost randomly, it deigns to let you feel the weight of it. All those people and their experiences, the entirety of their lives, encased in this stone and steel organism. A city has a tangible personality I can put my hands on; something my mind turns to, gritty and wet though it might be.
The sound of foghorns on the Delaware at three A.M.
And on the other side of my mirrorshades, the desert rolls by. Dunes and big sky.
Yo, fucker... you can write well, as is demonstrated in this post. Get back to work on writing stuff.Posted by: Evan at January 3, 2005 3:02 AM
Close to a year later I have to second that..Posted by: Nomikos at November 10, 2005 7:39 PM