What happens in the time and space between the creation of desire for the object, and the destruction of the dream at the scrap yards? 

The machine that was meant to make man more desirable, higher up in the social pecking order, the promise of a better future is broken, dead. Each piece is a testimony of machine failing man. 

But so dismal is the populace that even these residual bits of aspirations, are prized. The misfortune of one becomes the merchandise of another. Lovingly arranged and reeking of a sado masochist air.

A survey of the origins of the broken parts. Where were the particular parts acquired from? Accident, theft, part of an otherwise defunct vehicle. The names of the owners of the parts and/or places where they came from. Weaving these together into a bizarre narrative of the desire and loss and the failure/end of the relationships between man and machine. 


Just wrote it as it came...Maybe too repetitious? Still negotiating my space in the splatter. 

Will think more and write more...