The backlot of The Club, the place where wear, tear and plenty of rust reside. Vincent liked to take it all in. It reminded him of the Buddhist notion of impermanence. It reminded him of Matthew 6:19–"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:." It reminded him of trips to the junkyard with his dad when he was five. Vincent loved the tall stacks of rusting vehicles, some flattened. There was an inherent beauty in the corrosion, decay and oily dirt of the yard. Vincent was still drawn today by the call of things passing, changing and transforming He thought of Neil Young's, Rust Never Sleeps. He thought of the myriad images of crumbling Soviet era monoliths to industry, party power and cold war ambition depicted on the internet. Picture after picture of abandoned, half-finished hospitals, high-rise apartment complexes, factories and chemical plants. Overgrown concrete. Broken glass. Squatter detritus. Graffiti. Recent photos of Detroit in abandoned ruin elicited a certain sadness and inexplicable attraction, too. No need to travel to see what's left of the empire. The artifacts are all around us, here, now."Yes," Vincent thought, "everything must go. "
Everything Must Go
