The Spectacle of ReHab

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The spectacle does not realize philosophy, it philosophizes reality. The 

concrete life of everyone has been degraded into a speculative universe.

 

- Guy DeBord

 

 

 

 

 

If you ever want a good visual of the contemporary Las Vegas caricature, the tattoos, the weird hair, the perfect bodies, then go to the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino on Sunday. Go down the circular pathway where the guitars of all your rock heroes are encased in glass. Walk past Wasted Space, Body English, and The Joint and follow the flip-flopping towel carrying legion of young men and women as they lead you down the blue carpeted floors and toward where the line ends for the weekly pool party. At the line you will find roped off gates and men in light blue polo shirts checking ID’s. Once inside I recommend buying a bottle and getting yourself a cabana, for although the true party is poolside, you may not want to be too close to the celebration at first. Or perhaps you may want to dive in head first. If so, you submit yourself to not only the party but to the beat of the new religion that has consumed the tiny bit of space off Paradise and Harmon and what every Sunday in the summer is known as Rehab. [Read more]

MID-WEEK FICTION

 

 

 

 

 

 

A young man in the Casino

 

He sits alone… a glass on the table… tequila… next to an open pack of cigarettes… nearly empty… his lungs still young… his eyes wide but narrowed by sadness…

 

He places a stamp on the last of his postcards… reads them again to make sure his words are right… they are… he places them down and removes a cigarette… strikes a wooden match and brings it close to his lips almost burning his worn nose…places his hand over the front of one of the postcards… the one he wants most to get where its going… a picture of the desert at sunset… Apollo bleeding across the sky… he turns it over … ‘Love is an Oasis in the desert… and so are you,’…words he had written…

 

Around him people are laughing… drinking…singing in the distance… There are many tourists here but he is not one of them…

 

He stands up and exhales a cloud of smoke… begins walking down a carpeted aisle… passing a trash can he lets the postcards fall… all of them… he keeps walking… never looking back… heads for the poker table… his eyes widening… his nose tingling… he sniffs… his nose tingling…he sniffs.  

…later that night.

Today is the time of my youth,           

I drink wine because it is my solace…

-Omar Khayyam

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are sitting at the Zuai lounge in the MGM Grand. The time is a little after 2 am and something has changed in the mood. I am not focused on the grandeur of the Strip, but on the disease that such an illusion persuades. All the restaurants have closed. All the fun loving promoters have retired to their nightclubs and VIP rooms. All the shows are over. Most of the children in strollers are put to rest. There is nothing left except for the blue dragon. She is still somewhere on the Strip. [Read more]

A walk down the Strip

…the mode of human sense perception changes with humanity’s entire mode of existence.
Walter Benjamin

We are chasing the blue dragon. Fifteen feet ahead of us there is a large disheveled woman wearing a blue nylon dress, the back of which is covered from her waist down with a brown stain. Her feet hit the ground hard with slow uneven steps. People laugh as they walk by then cry because the smell of her makes their eyes water. We are walking under the awnings of a construction site that will soon, maybe in a few years, be the City Center. For now we are trapped behind her and the smell lingers and we want to pass but there simply isn’t enough room to go around and we don’t want to touch her or even talk to her to say excuse me. So we walk slowly at her lopsided pace. [Read more]