Word: wastelands
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...forgot to report on the tar-paper shacks and the many thousands of acres of undeveloped wasteland. Now how about one on the Midwest and Ford Country...
...cars, seizing a city bus, attempting unsuccessfully to get into the stadium. An attractive woman was shoved face-first into a concrete wall outside the ballpark, and while she bleated in terror, three patrolmen watched unmoving. Pickpockets bumped profitably through the crowd lifting wallets, and young thugs from the wasteland of the South Bronx grabbed women's bottoms and tore open bodies. Some 500 uniformed New York police supposedly guarding the stadium had made no more than an occasional arrest by the night's stormy...
...particular targets of the Nazis. The postwar party chief in the Ukraine, Nikita Khrushchev, publicly promised to erect a monument at Babi Yar, but his plan was forestalled by Stalin's anti-Semitic drives. Even after Khrushchev himself took power in Moscow, Babi Yar remained a refuse-strewn wasteland. Poet Yevtushenko was fiercely rebuked for singling out Jews as victims of the massacre. So was Composer Dimitri Shostakovich, who made Babi Yar a theme of his 13th Symphony. Soviet Jews seeking to commemorate the massacre's anniversary have been jailed by local police...
Then back. North Carolina mountains give way to Virginny hills and suburbs, to Washington D.C. sodium orange crimefighter lights; then Maryland's middle classness from whence came Spiro; Delaware River a test-tube for dynamite, gunpowder and napalm; New Jersey wasteland where poets rot as general practitioners; New York where seven million were swallowed by the Tall Ships; Connecticut state cops always on the other side of a divided highway, thank Grasso! The Massachusetts autobahn...
...Tunnelvision's. TV news is flat, superficial and preoccupied with appearance. So is Tunnelvision's parody of it. With nothing more going for it than a high recognition factor for what it spoofs, Tunnelvision is an empty repetitious imitation of an empty, repetitious imitation. And, to paraphrase Santayana, one wasteland is enough...