A Moment in Another Broken Train

Passing through the saltwater swamps near the French-Spanish border the bullet train stalls on a slender land bridge between two frothing inland seas. The passengers look at each other uncomfortably as our carriage rattles in the storm. Surrounded by so much wind and water this futuristic armature of steel and glass feels suddenly frail.� Pink flamingoes cower nearby, I want to invite them inside. Here is a video from the same area a few years ago, exploring the same area by bike in better weather. When not staring out the window there is time to watch some films.�Here is an unlikely plot: I get very famous, then leverage that fame to create an entirely fictional shadow Filastine. This puppet artist has a mission to create music that is empty, derivative, superficial.� But surprise! the public loves this hollow alter-ego. The press fawn, he sells out concerts, and is hired to produce Madonna's next record. Unrealistic? Only if you haven't seen the Banksy film. It's a hoax so enormous it would make P.T. Barnum blush. In the Kebab shop last night the LCD was tuned to a french pop music video station. Pop music videos also look like mockumentaries, like comic imitation of themselves, or the background videos of karaoke. �Do allegedly real stars now seem more false than a deliberately false artist? In any case Mr. Brainwash, or his backers, deserves all the cash he can rake in.