Airport road a landing strip almost invisible in the desert sand. appearing like a mirage. a desolate gas station sells cold coke. strangers become friends after one conversation. watch out for those old trucks, more often then not there cactus thieves. we drove into the desert but could not escape the airplanes which could be heard over our head. i can sure hear them, but i can't see them, can you? in this land the airplane is a common as the auto. you know a whole squadron of those planes flew right into the ground a few years back killing 5 pilots. they follow so close to eachother that if the lead plane fucks up they all do. you could see the smoke for miles. 100 million dollars down the drain just like that. you know this land is so uniform that you have no way of determining scale, you could be 2 miles up or 200 yards, sometimes its hard to tell. we've been driving for hours without saying a word, just looking. the scenery brings you back to the era of silent film. railroad towns spring out of nowhere the large clump of trees gives away the fact that a train depot is nearby. quietly the rail industry has been revived in the desert, beating the truckers in efficiency. rusted water tanks shot full of bullet holes. the black asphalt road is like a river bringing life further into the land. dirt roads are still controlled by locals. prostitution houses at the intersection of ranches, women sold like cattle, diesel engines send clouds into the sky. cold scotch and a sweating ice chest, the desert changes seasons daily. government property takes over vast spaces, we drive no longer conscious of others souls, we are a blip on the security radar screen. a timeless landscape is pierced by our 6 cylinder engine and the rumble of government planes. we are aliens in this land, as sure as if we were driving the roads of europe. this is no longer the america of conscious good looks, these mountains hold a completely different culture which we are piercing and helping to destroy. the cable tv lines are not far behind us. no human can live on this land without the modern conveniences, we are in a land where the two worlds conflict in there strongest and most pronounced state, the ephemeral and the timeless. the native americans in their government built concrete bungalow know that some day all that is built will disappear, the lands will remain for the next generation. thin cities stretch into the desert, buildings connected by power lines and telephone cables, a city of gas stations, rail yards, mobile homes, whorehouses, truck stops, a culture of transportation. driving north on airport road endlessly driving without a destination.


polar inertia 2003

                        1 2 3 4 5 6 7   8 9