visual noise

I felt so odd sitting in the Taco Bell yesterday. The scenario wasn't making much sense to me. I got analytical with the decor. It was like the cultural version of the shit that gets stuck on the bottom of the pan when you are cooking rice and all the water boils out. There it was. Outside was Madrid, inside nowhere. Or everywhere at the same time, which is pretty much the same thing. There was an American flag in black and white. There was a blonde woman, a black guy, an Asian guy. The Asian guy was flying through the air somewhere doing a kung fu kick. It was like a little part of California. Or somebody's idea of California. I stared at all these pictures, this violent mishmash of cliche, and wrote an essay about them in my head. Nothing was in its proper context. And that's fine. That's to be expected. But why was it all so clumsy? Why was it all so obviously crap? Did a human brain think it all up or was it randomly generated by a computer program?

I'm not much fun to have lunch with.

The first Taco Bell in Spain was on a military base. Now there are four or five of them. They are spreading. My wife's mother has never ordered a pizza or eaten at McDonalds. In the States old people hang out at McDonalds. I don't really know what I'm getting at here.

Have you read my story at Necessary Fiction? There is so little noise in that story. That's the world I am aiming toward, unfortunately. Apples, boats, islands, water, trees, oars. A telephone rings and disrupts everything, almost destroys people. The Taco Bell decor is visual noise. It forces me into a position of cynicality - and, no, I don't want to be that guy. Because there is nothing more boring than being the guy who complains about things that are so obvious they're invisible.

Last night I got half-drunk with a Romanian guy who lives under a bridge. He lives under the bridge with his sister. I walk over that bridge everyday.