Thursday, December 02, 2010
Hitachi and Caterpillar chomping my brain
Can't set word to screen.
And all his while, they are blockbusting my neighbourhood.
Just next door, where the venerable and much-used hockey arena had been, there is now a huge hole, and all around, the edges of the pit, there is a tall Tyrannosaurus Rex of a Hitachi backhoe, nodding and nodding on its treads, scooping out the once- rich earth and loading onto a truck, itself squat, low-slung and dinosaur-like. Stegasaurus on wheels. Or steroids.
Who cares if two hundred years of history are being scooped up, a pioneer grave or two, the coffins of the once richest among them still encased in concrete, the poorer just brown bones...To Toronto for those ancient cadavers, to the forensic unit. We must build, baby, build!
The same story pretty well all though North America, and certainly England and Europe.
Blockbusting and block scooping. HITACHI and CATERPILLAR lumbering around like Tiger tanks in a trap. No more Irish ditchdiggers. Backhoes and front-end loaders, Italians like grenadiers following the machines, as the cement truck pours out new sidewalks, whether they are need or not.The white-hatted straw boss is impatient, the "grunts" egged on... get those freshly-poured abutments cut to size as soon as dry. They dry super-fast, because of the calcium carbide.
Soon the screech of concrete-cutting diamond saws.
"You did it wrong, Giuseppe! Got to get some sealer!"
And while they are blockbusting, I am mentally blocked.
No longer the boy wonder at university, where I imagined myself as a craftsman, very much a builder of edifices in words, but the words have come tumblind down, and I now work in clacking electronics, into a machine, and where the words go, nobody knows.
And yet with all those servos, I am mentally blocked.
Somehow screwed in the head, like an idiot...Or maybe idiot-savant.One-note artist. Good at one thing only, and as for the rest, an idiot.
One smart cynic at the Toronto Star telling me, "Artists? Look around at the mental hospital, at the patients' art...Exactly like Van Gogh. He was a crazy bastard too."
And yet crazy man can't put a blog together today.
Post Modern times. A policeman with no whistle. A fireman with no hose. All implement replaced.
All that has gone before is shit. Build, baby, build!
They are excavating my neighbourhood. Two hundred years of history. They have taken away my wonderful arena to put in a Wal Mart.
They are mining my brain.
I swear I hear things.
Perhaps the cry of a dinosaur.