The Things I Love

I love blasted parts of town, redbrick and broken cinder block scattered around like old tombstones. I love the smell of the rendering plants and burning cars, the acrid odor of crack smoke and the sirens and gunshots that rock me to sleep at night. I love the signs of rampant entropy and decay all around me.  I love the jungle feel of creeping antibodies everywhere and the no bullshit caveman territoriality

 I love that more than one of my friends have told me on separate occasions that if they woke up in a seedy motel room with a speedball and a dead hooker that I would be the first person they call; not because I’m good at hiding bodies and keeping my mouth shut, just because they know that I don’t past hasty judgment.

 I love the fact that if a killer pandemic of hemmoragetic fever swept the country killing millions, Indian reservations would remain relatively untouched. There is something truly beautiful about that irony.

 I love Casinos. I love the idea that people with disposable income are packed in neon lit cluster fucks feasting on buffet food and tossing their savings into a meat grinder carny games looking for that shining hopeless dream of getting rich quick. I love how everybody knows their being watched and swindled and getting exponentially drunker while they flitter away the paper they traded with their sanity, happiness and aching backs.

 I love vultures. Their pure in a way most people will never understand. When I see a vulture I know that all it wants to do is eat my eyes out of my rotting corpse. That vulture will never bullshit me, it will never try and play it cool and act like it doesn’t want to eat my eyes cause vultures don’t fuck around like that. A vulture is just being the best vulture it can be. It’s doesn’t have to make up any moral structure for eating eyes nor does it have any wishy washy pretenses about the meaning of its existence; It just swoops in and starts eating dead things. (somebody’s gotta do it)

 I love the fact that pornography has done more to drive the social strata dump truck across the information super highway than all the world scientific research combined. Six billion years of evolution to reach the point where our technology can act as a de-facto telepathy allowing us to access any type of information imaginable 24 hours a day and most people are still using it to sit in the dark and watch other people fuck, or two girls shit in a beer glass.

 I love it when thousands of motorists are sitting in sweltering gridlocked traffic on a holiday weekend and everyone starts to turn off their engines and get out of their cars one by one. Then everybody starts to wander around aimlessly looking for any inkling of salvation amid the merciless desert of metal coffins and scorched asphalt. It’s as if a collectively acceptance of absolute futility has set in and now we have no choice but emerge from our fiberglass cocoons and talk to each other.

 
-Scurvy