I like car wreckers and scrap metal dealers and large recycling operations. I like landfill sites. I like waste transfer stations and telephone exchanges. I like water plants and pumping sheds. I like electricity substations and high tension lines and the land beneath them. I like railway yards and freight terminals. I like the weeds that grow there. I like the secret places people dump refrigerators and stained mattresses. I like the undersides of overpasses. I like yellow earthmoving machinery and the pressed steel plates put over their cabins at night. I like the bodies of birds caught on barbed wire. I like the smell of diesel exhaust and engine grease and sump oil. I like shipping containers and nights lit by sodium arc. I like the sides of creeks that run through industrial estates. I like brutal utility and elegant simplicity. I like how the earth reclaims everything, the endless cycle unfolding. I like how apparent this process is at the city’s seams.
Progressive culture since 1954
http://www.cscs.umich.edu/~crshalizi/T4PM/futurist-manifesto.html
We will sing of the great crowds agitated by work, pleasure and revolt; the multi-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals: the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the workshops beneath their violent electric moons: the gluttonous railway stations devouring smoking serpents; factories suspended from the clouds by the thread of their smoke; bridges with the leap of gymnasts flung across the diabolic cutlery of sunny rivers: adventurous steamers sniffing the horizon; great-breasted locomotives, puffing on the rails like enormous steel horses with long tubes for bridle, and the gliding flight of aeroplanes whose propeller sounds like the flapping of a flag and the applause of enthusiastic crowds.
Time to reclaim futurism from fascism and the celebration of war and violence, I reckon. The future is all about garbage and weeds.