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WHITE ON WHITE: a film noir — MOSCOW Jeff Wood
rufus corporation

MOSCOW

The most beautiful object in the history of humankind is Sputnik I. The first human-made object to be put into space. All of history turns on this object, this deco orbital signal beacon that spent three horrifyingly lonely months circling the Earth and then burned up like a comet as it descended toward California. It’s form was sublime.

Moscow is just monstrously big. Big and wide, fat, monstrous and low, brash and intimidating. Like a bulldog in a thong and heels. The Humvees and the money pumping. Times Square and Vegas scattered throughout the Soviet blocks. Parallel retro-future in the accelerated progress of decline: rusty caged elevators; padded double-doors; strange magnetic-coded locks; underground street-crossings so the traffic never stops. Every car is a taxi-cab: you hail down anyone and pay them to take you anywhere. The subways descend to howling depths and grand subterranean dance halls illuminated by Victorian and Nouveau tube lights and chandeliers. God was great; God was good; now we go to work. Over-sized garbage cans hurtling through the black future-tunnels. Underground, underground, all we all go down and live inside the night of the new life. The new light. The white nights. Light speed now.

by Jeff Wood