| Maximo Park Diary Entries |
| These are diary entries by Maximo Park members from the Official Maximo Park Website. |
Las Vegas Palms in the Distance |
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| 27 Nov, 2007 |
It's an adult fantasy, shorn of any infant charm or innocence. If someone has the money and they want a giant marble horse to rear up from the sidewalk, then it will happen. Entire ancient civilisations are condensed into alabaster follys. Famous landmarks, such as the Eiffel Tower, have been cloned and plonked next to giant neon flamingos and fake rivers.
Inside the casinos, flocks of hopeful people ponder their odds and try not to get ash on the felt surfaces before their greedy eyes. An outer calmness in their posture is betrayed by quick glances and the occasional fidget or mannerism. There are no exit signs, only words and arrows that draw you further into the maze. No indication of time is given. You just pick your favourite theme and decor then you take a seat. The waitress and the dealer will do the rest. Less outgoing customers sit in front of little screens slipping their credit cards in and out of the silver slot machines, watching the spinning reels, figuring out their maximum bet.
We trudge by the roadside, over bridges with curved metal awnings that discourage prospective jumpers. Underneath my feet, tawdry pictures of semi-clothed blondes and brunettes flicker in the wind, their airbrushed skin turned grey with dust; blacked-out body parts adhere to the formula of titilation. Hundreds of phone numbers promise any number of illicit treats, with the reality less satisfying than the dream.
In the distance, jagged, paper-cut-out mountains look one-dimensional and black against the sundown. Flat buildings, built up in layers, light up each horizontal section so that they fade into each other like a photocopier frozen in mid-reproduction.
Away from the strip, construction is king. Men in hard-hats wait for pedestrians to pass before continuing their clean-up. Some people thank them for the courtesy. Behind a wall lie old metal posts, ripped out of the ground, still attached to lumps of concrete. From a distance they come across as a pile of massive cotton buds.
The luminous signs get smaller.
Latin tongues chatter.
Three rude t-shirts for ten bucks.
Paul And The Park |
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