Getting a car (extract)

Prior to exhibiting the paintings during the next exhibition on the 30th May 2014 at Xarolla Windmill, Zurrieq, I shall be publishing extracts I wrote back in 2011.  Entitled "Time for Wreckage", this was a series of loose writings centered around a doomed, sexist, male figure who is existing in a bleak postmodern city.

I love feeling unhealthy.  Stiff lungs.  Hurt burns.  Stomach problems.  Short sharp pains in the kidneys, the kind that makes you feel alive.  I wish I can go on a diet of Pet Shop Boys and a daily dose of good E’s.  Not the shitty ones they are making today.  The old pink ones the size of the holy wafer, the ones that used to kill an average of 6 party people during a rave .

After quenching my thirst with gallons of cheap artificial mass produced orange juice I start walking towards the scrap yard on the outskirts of the industrial area.

I enter the scrap yard.  No one on site.  I walk around tons and tons of plastic, and finally I spot a metal container turned office.

“Hey, I’m looking for an old car.  A fuel consuming car.”

“Furthest down, right section.”

“Thanks”

I walk towards the  tons of rust on the right section, and start inspecting the remains of a car which has traces of yellow paint on it.

“Thinking of reviving that bastard?” asks a hobo with dreads, who lives in the yard.  “Go green man, go green.”

Go fuck yourself.

I head back to the office, and arrange to get the car for free.  Transport included. 

Now it stands in front of my flat.  A 1972 Morris Marina.  BMC engine.  I covered the car, did a “For Restoration” sign and left it there.  I got no knowledge whatsoever about cars and their engines.

As I was walking in, I saw a cat eating out of a discarded nappy.  It was so very disgusting.