Just Like it Never Was

by Pasadena Adjacent

Translation is the art of failure
Umberto Eco

In a western town on the edge of the Rio Hondo River, where the Navaho don the neon feathers of their distant enemy. They take on names that are untranslatable, but Spanish sounding, familiar, reassuring. Counterfeit reality; the authentic fake. Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

Our neon guardian, El Vado, stands watch over a multi-unit dwelling. The ersatz pueblo celebrated it’s 70th anniversary by closing. Crowned by chain link and barbed wire, the celebrants have left  their party hats behind. Maybe they’ll return. When it’s to late.  Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

But we have cowboys. And they have their secrets too. El Don Draper would have you believe Cowboys wear Levi’s. They don’t. They wear Wranglers. El Don Draper wants you to think it’s 1960, life is saturated with color and South Pasadena is Connecticut. Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

And at the risk of appearing a cultural imperialist, would it be so wrong to imply that not all petroglyphs are created equal? That some are nothing more than mere sketches; started under a blazing sun, it’s author harassed by  biting insects. Is it possible that our “nobel savage” said “I give up!” and did? A skilled critic might argue that these forms are the precursors to the space age. Or South Park. Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

and the techno flowers embrace colors unreal.  Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you

Episode One: Driving with Mary/ Grand Canyon

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