Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

sometimes you write something you think is awesome

sometimes you write something you think is awesome. then, you look at it again the next day, and it is kind of... strange without being awesome. then, a few more days pass, and a few weeks, and you realize it's the worst kind of self-serving darling-ish tripe.

Specifically:

In the beginning, there is a production company. Silver letters flash out of the black void like kabbalah calligraphy. The earth appears from the black void, and gets closer and closer while the music plays us to life. Cheerful synthesizers plummet down from the stars. A dance beat thrums over an ocean where dolphins jump into the sky like blessed things.
The production company displays the names of all the stars brought into alignment for this project. The camera swoops over the continents. Cosmic, happy music plays while a million people stop and settle into one stretch of green grass, and then it isn’t green grass anymore. Timelapse into Indian camps and then two cowboy country forts growing up to be two cities. New rivers of concrete and mud flow over the grass from a million concrete trucks, and construction companies. Buildings climb up on top of buildings. Track housing spreads like the petals of an insane flower. Downtowns grow up and out like steel mushrooms in the blur of day and night and day and night and all those car headlights scurrying like the blood of those luminescent deep sea fish.
All these colors of people in a blur, in a blur, in cars, in offices, in a blur, in a blur, in restaurant bathrooms, fucking like porn stars, in a blur, in a blur, rushing to hospitals, in funeral processions, in a blur, in a blur, to work, to home, to bed.
Then, a pause...
***

Fuck literary fiction. I'm going to write about zombies. And a hot chick that turns into a panther.

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