« on: February 04, 2010, 05:08:11 am »
We aren't meant to live in a desert, Roger. I think that's it. The sun bakes everything, drying it out and fossilizing it, and then the wind - oh, the wind - it beats the everliving snot out of what's been dried up, turning it to dust, and then spreading the dust everywhere with force. And then those creatures still alive and not (yet) dried out have to deal with the dust and rocks and shit and noxious fumes that get blown into our faces every time the winds blows, and that happens more than people think, because there's nothing but road here that is easily traveled along, and moving cars create a breeze.
And you know, I think the reason this place makes people crazy, why this town ruins the people who live here, is because of all the broken hopes, shattered dreams that line the gutter, buried under the exhaust fumes of all the cars that pass by, all the dust that gets blown around, beneath the piss and blood of these battered, drug crazed psychopaths we call Tucson's citizens. They're still here, and we can feel it, but there's nothing we can do, or at least nothing we think we can do, and we spiral and corkscrew through our existence here in mild horror, though we hide it well. Most of the time, anyway.
Do you know, you people who've never been to this town, that it smells weird when it rains? I don't know for certain, but I have a theory about why that is. When it does rain, it hardly ever does enough to actually wash anything away. When it does that kind of rain, its like adding water to a dried out pile of shit. That smell, it's the hopes and dreams that have been lying in the gutter for who knows how long, coming back to remind us that they're still there, still mourning for their lost chance at realization. Still broken, still shattered, and still waiting for us to join them there in the gutter.