Wednesday, May 5, 2010


The thing about a city is that you can't choose who lives in it with you. It's like family - You can't choose them, but you can choose to renounce them.

I mean, most of us in the underground dance/enlighten substance use community are eminently sensible people. Not many of us are caught fucking domestic animals in the street at three AM, and when we are, we are always found to be using protection.

The same is not true on the western outskirts, where I happened to find myself during a research trip last week. Oh, no. In the district called armadale, things are very different indeed.

In armadale, the first thing you notice are the faces. Even in a city like ours, containing the dregs of every gene pool on earth, you can detect the difference in these people. These are the people of urban myth. The people of the smashed chromosone. The people who who let their children know when there's a warrant out. The people who drank the intellectual suppresants in the water supply instead of the clean water helicoptered in during the rescue operation.

Guys in tan leather flares, idly jacking off into the road, keeping one lazy eye on the female newsreader on the television screen by his left foot. Hundreds of kids with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, running around screaming while their beserk mothers continue to pump out more of those little fuckers for those few months of soft maternal comfort and baby-bonus rebates from each before they start moving and never stop.

I don't want to turn on my fellow human, I really don't. But I saw these people believing everything they saw on the TV. They believe that Howard was a good man. They believe in God. They believe in justice. They believe in Knight Rider.

These people are the enemy. Upgrade your sexual organs today, so that we may leave them behind.

People keep saying to me, you're doing a really good job, Xan. You're writing what needs to be said. You're changing things. And it's all bullshit. I'm not changing anything. I'm a journalist, a dope-sick narcissist with an overblown sense of self-worth and a chip on my shoulder four pipes tall. All I can do is give you the tools to understand the world so that you can change things.

And I'm stuck here, hoping only that you do.


NeonN4zi said...

*ego stroke*

This seems to be the only way I know you're not dead, hanging from some tree in the suburbs.

We really do need to put some chlorine in the gene pool.

Jim, Faust said...

Granted, Armadale sucks. However I wouldn't be surprised if I stumbled across a place similar to south park.. as in, people as fucked up as the characters in that toon. If you can imagine such a place..

N.R said...

whatever the fuck you're doing, you're still doing it right. Keep your sketchbook with you at all times, they said...