The Call of the Big Nothing
Backgrounds bedevil us. They are with us, always, and must be on our minds in equivalently ubiquitous fashion. Concrete urban spires and strip mall crawl has blighted reliably unoccupied spaces and replaced, to borrow a phrase, “darkness on the edge of town” with vast parking lots and warehouses. All these utterly unattractive big boxes are buttered in the sickly ochre glow of high-pressure sodium, or worse, the harsh drench of merc vapor, which has the slimy greenish tint of a long-unattended fishbowl. Power lines abound to the point where we feel verily ensnared, Gulliver-like, by wire-wielding Lilliputians, creating busyness and obstruction. From space, the world still presents as a lovely blue marble hanging ...
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