Art City By Dan 'DL' Landes On the outskirts of Tucumcari, a town slowly leaking vitality like neon escaping the glass tubes which bathe the settlement in a warm glow, a man walks slowly towards the setting sun. The ancestral realm. He casts a long shadow. We are all in it. To the south, the land of the wild unbridled, a band of horses wander east towards the highway jammed with racing lorries carrying goods that are already dying upon arrival. The man heads west, the horses east, the trucks head north and south. Eventually the horses will attempt to cross the highway. They are, to a one, decimated by the 18-wheelers which don't even break cruise control before plowing into the beasts, splitting them, exploding them, their viscera strewn about like tacky streamers at a quinceañera. The man, just before he dips below the horizon line, turns back and looks at Tucumcari, acknowledging it as the perfect setting for the theater of the absurd. Thanks for playing. RIP David Lynch 31 JOHN CASEY, DAVID LYNCH JOHNCASEY.COM
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