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xmag.com : May 2002 : The Gospel

The Gospel according to Viva Las Vegas - "the laziest gal downtown"

Viva

Remember that Duran Duran song, "I'm Looking for Cracks in the Pavement"? What a ridiculous thing to write a song about. I am not looking for cracks in the pavement. But when walking the filthy cracked pavements of life, sometimes ya step in gum. And the next step, you step on a $20 bill.

The $20 bill is the gum, says Buddha. But on yr way to enlightenment it is a delightenment to have a $12 shot of tequila on the rocks ($8 tip) and drink in the twinkle of the City of Angels. I * L.A.

Hunter S. Thompson flew me to L.A. and taught me about life. He knows a lot about it on account of all the crack he smokes. He knows especially well what matters and what don't. He's pretty unattached existentially, which is
of primary importance. I wish I could be. But I so stubbornly ain't. I am so
completely attached that I collect tablecloths and trinkets of all the states
I've lived in and obsessively read food labels to assure myself that cereal comes from Minnesota and pasta from New Jersey and health foods from California and pineapples from Hawaii.

Did you know that pineapples were a symbol of welcome during colonial times? I wonder how they got 'em. And what the implications are when they're screenprinted and rhinestone-studded on the brand-new breasts of fifteen-year-old chiclets....

"And this is precisely why I love the human.
We are programmed to fail."

 

Anyway, why attachment? I think it's a general human thing to define
ourselves through birthplaces and Social Security numbers and signature
scents and favorite mascaras. We think that if we define our Path we will
be safe and someday wind up in Cincinnati or wherever it is we'd like to go.

But the Path is already defined. As a path. And what matters is that you stay on it, not where you get off it. Or as Hunter puts it, it doesn't matter where
you wreck your Porsche as long as you get it fixed and keep on driving. But the fast-food lunches and circus sideshows and dope-crack-love-meth that line our solitary streets are so goddamn tempting! So tasty and colorful, they are the Bananaberry Hubba Bubba the human foot gets forever stuck in. The packaging's all red and yellow and exciting and promises so much, but put it in yr mouth and it quickly turns to tasteless rubber.

And this is precisely why I love the human. We are programmed to fail. I always argue that other animals are superior beings, doin' mighty fine with their cool reliance on instinct. We, on the other hand, second-guess ourselves until every beautiful idea has turned into a Hiroshima. The human is the eternal questioner. Lucifer was also the questioner and sat at the hand of god (small 'g'...My God maybe. Maybe not yours.) They were buds and probably got high and played strip poker and talked into the wee-wee hours. Then people who
discourage questioning among humans nicknamed the guy the devil. Not unlike Eve, who's blamed by certain dudes for ruining us all through her infernal curiosity and desire to taste from the tree of knowledge. And you know, curiosity kills cats and two-year olds and it will kill us, too. Hopefully.

 

VH1's Top Three Hair Metal Bands of All Time:

3. Bon Jovi

2. Twisted Sister

1. POISON

 

"I am all these bands and more," said the Buddha.

*

 

 

 

 

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