For a minute I had no words. From outside there was a sort of weird humming or ticking sound which often came over Shitsville in the long afternoons, when the heat began folding back in over itself, and the whole shoddy main street with its shadows at dissenting angles began to tilt slightly backwards too. Then slowly slowly I reached up and removed my pink sunglasses, folded one side in, then the other, placed them on the desk and pushed them forward to rest there like a trump card between the flight of Mayoral pens and the overflowing Mayoral ashtray. I’m told I have very beautiful eyes.
‘The truth is, Roger, the truth is…’ I could hardly find the voice to speak. We continue now in a poignant key like the speech at the end of Bladerunner:
“I’ve… seen things you people wouldn’t believe… Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those… moments… will be lost in time, like tears… in… rain.”
[Joanne Taylor suggests that Batty aligns himself with Wagner’s Tannhäuser, a character who has fallen from grace with men and with God. Both are characters whose fate is beyond their own control.]
Miss Shitsville [I] cont’d: ‘That when I first saw Shitsville ahead on the horizon… this monumentally… bent, filthy, absurd collection of ugly stucco houses collapsing into dust in the middle of the desert at the end of a long dirt track that nobody in their right mind has traipsed for 70 years… A town full of whores and alcoholics and tax cheats; cads, charlatans, chancers, cretins, apologists for cretinism, pornographers, crazy Baptist pamphleteers and otherwise spectacularly stupid creatures who refer to themselves, hopefully, as “human beings”… I thought, this is it; for the first time in my life I felt…’
At that I stopped again… just couldn’t go on… almost choked on the word ‘home’. I have a real horror of sentimental bullshit and earnestness in music. And tho I might say “the truth is…” the truth is that there is no real truth that I can detect drifting about or shuddering under the layers of horseshit in any part of me, there are only umpteen versions of the same or similar truths spiralling down and down on and on forever inside of my black heart, all of which may or may not be true at any one time; still I consider these unborn truths and examine them one by one in light of their intended effect, trying to come up with the best one; and the closest that I ever come to being honest I am really sitting about two inches removed from myself marvelling how it really almost seems like I am really crying.
‘I might get away with it,’ I thought.
But Roger didn’t say anything at all.
‘Roger you said you didn’t want to be mayor anymore.’
‘Was I drunk?’ said Roger.
Everything else that could be said has already been said; so this is the last you will hear of Texas.