Atlanta - Looking for Blowjobs in Boarders
Atlanta is where the ghost of conservatism confronts the new America. What is that exactly? The emergence of the hip-hop generation? The aspiring black man and woman? The re-resurrection of church and state? The nouveau riche? The old rich? Whatever it is, one hallmark stays the same – a culture of excess.
Huge lots of land extend their reach further and further, converting pastures, forests and streams into the satellite malls and highway restaurants of another urbanized and gentrified generation. Everything converges into concrete: rows and rows of shopping malls, fast-food chains and pump stations. An unconscious council mediates the omnipotence of simulacra. East Berlin had more individualism in Trotsky’s day. Perhaps that is the great irony of capitalism: everything is more of the same.
The lights of downtown hum in the night. Omnipotent black motor-carriages drift listlessly by on Atlanta’s nine lane highways. Downtown actually makes Atlanta a pretty city. Someone got the distribution of highway and high-rise right, or wrong for that matter. There are virtually no busses in Atlanta. The public transport system is reduced to a couple of scattered lines in order to limit the mobility of lower-income earners. The MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rail and Transit Authority) has been disturbingly re-coined to infer the “Moving of Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta”, which is more or less its resulting function.
Like in almost all American cities, segregation farms a disturbing dual personality across the lines of East and West, black and white, rich and poor, possibility and death. East Atlanta is a free-market crack den. However, there is potential here, shunted along by the procession of capitalism. Entrepreneurs are welcome to the grim streets. Gentrification is converting, composing and covering-up. Cross-sections of downtown seem to have been implanted with Walt Disney’s DNA, sprouting legions of designer streets and boulevards. Other parts mimic the old South, the French and the Spanish architecture prettied up for the likes of me.
However culture is still rooted in simulacra. If you want a book in Atlanta, you go to Boarders. If you want a coffee, you go to Starbucks. If you want a blowjob, you go to church. I went to Boarders.
Huge lots of land extend their reach further and further, converting pastures, forests and streams into the satellite malls and highway restaurants of another urbanized and gentrified generation. Everything converges into concrete: rows and rows of shopping malls, fast-food chains and pump stations. An unconscious council mediates the omnipotence of simulacra. East Berlin had more individualism in Trotsky’s day. Perhaps that is the great irony of capitalism: everything is more of the same.
The lights of downtown hum in the night. Omnipotent black motor-carriages drift listlessly by on Atlanta’s nine lane highways. Downtown actually makes Atlanta a pretty city. Someone got the distribution of highway and high-rise right, or wrong for that matter. There are virtually no busses in Atlanta. The public transport system is reduced to a couple of scattered lines in order to limit the mobility of lower-income earners. The MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rail and Transit Authority) has been disturbingly re-coined to infer the “Moving of Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta”, which is more or less its resulting function.
Like in almost all American cities, segregation farms a disturbing dual personality across the lines of East and West, black and white, rich and poor, possibility and death. East Atlanta is a free-market crack den. However, there is potential here, shunted along by the procession of capitalism. Entrepreneurs are welcome to the grim streets. Gentrification is converting, composing and covering-up. Cross-sections of downtown seem to have been implanted with Walt Disney’s DNA, sprouting legions of designer streets and boulevards. Other parts mimic the old South, the French and the Spanish architecture prettied up for the likes of me.
However culture is still rooted in simulacra. If you want a book in Atlanta, you go to Boarders. If you want a coffee, you go to Starbucks. If you want a blowjob, you go to church. I went to Boarders.
posted by Daniel Grove at
4:52 AM
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