Please excuse me if I find a running car sexy, especially if it's dirty and used, coke cans scattered across the dash, spilled on rotten cushions, the sound of a radio whispering through its slightly cracked window somebody's car — someone with a soul, with possessions, an eroding history pitted inside a car, still running.
And me, a tad bit voyeuristic, watching and waiting, the culmination of will-they-ever-come-for-the-get-away or will the car just stall there, idling?
Stones of Erasmus — Just plain good writing, teaching, thinking, doing, making, being, dreaming, seeing, feeling, building, creating, reading
Why A Running Car is Sexy (with Apologies to J.G. Ballard)
Posted by Greig Roselli at 2:04 PM 1 comment:
Labels: Art & Music, cars, exhaust, prose poem, running, screenshot
I am an educator and a writer. I was born in Louisiana and I now live in the Big Apple. My heart beats to the rhythm of "Ain't No Place to Pee on Mardi Gras Day". My style is of the hot sauce variety. I love philosophy sprinkles and a hot cup of café au lait.
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