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Back on the Street
Sep. 10th, 2003 09:47 amStainless steel eagles fly over a city that doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, doesn't shower.
Millions of bodies, millions of souls, all clustering together to feed of the savagery and waste of human society.
The stench of the frenzy is like a strait shot to the veins; some psychedelic empathic stew that overwhelms all senses,
plunging one's brain into a defensive/aggressive place,
a cat in a corner with nothing to loose.
Everything smells of decay; of humanity piled on top of humanity. Social higherachry is played out on the steps of obese office buildings, as the lowest rungs of society peck at their meager Wonderbread lunches, while up a step/rung, professional twenty-somethings eat their meal bars, while at the top/highest rung, in the shade, Lifers eat from their disposable styrofoam containers, the contents enough to feed three.
The air of the place is hostile. The lights change colors, where roads intersect, where people intersect. Heads down, they are braced against the layer of grey that lays about this land. The sun is out, yet the only light seems to be the piercing reflections off glass enshrouded shrines to our floundering economy. A viscus green liquid pools in the gaps of a faux-cobbled sidewalk, the ichor from the land's pierced underbelly.
This is the city all the world watches.
This is the city that all the world remembers.
This is a city screaming for help, encased in a thick layer of dust, enraged at it's wound.
Tomorrow, this city will be back in the forefront of everyone's mind, we will be battered with images, sound, and emotions. Spider preserve us, all the emotions that have been gently simmering under the surface for another year shall come to a full rolling boil again.
This year, on the anniversary of the travesty, shall we throw another war? Bomb another small country that really has nothing worth the expense of the bombs? Thumb our collective American Nose at the rest of the international Community or continue to slide down the asscrack into the pile of shit that is our Homeland economy?
How long will this go on?
How long can we mourn? Should we mourn for a City that Dosen't Care? Mourn the individuals, yes. Those who laid down everything in a vain attempt to save something, yes. Those who never wanted or asked to be a part of this, yes.
But the City is a beast onto it's self; a heartless, pitiless scar on the face of the land that doens't care if an individual lives or dies, so long as there are more to flock to her, to give their sweat, blood, tears, and life for her. If only so that the Idea, the Institution, the Beast that is The City may continue...
- K.
Millions of bodies, millions of souls, all clustering together to feed of the savagery and waste of human society.
The stench of the frenzy is like a strait shot to the veins; some psychedelic empathic stew that overwhelms all senses,
plunging one's brain into a defensive/aggressive place,
a cat in a corner with nothing to loose.
Everything smells of decay; of humanity piled on top of humanity. Social higherachry is played out on the steps of obese office buildings, as the lowest rungs of society peck at their meager Wonderbread lunches, while up a step/rung, professional twenty-somethings eat their meal bars, while at the top/highest rung, in the shade, Lifers eat from their disposable styrofoam containers, the contents enough to feed three.
The air of the place is hostile. The lights change colors, where roads intersect, where people intersect. Heads down, they are braced against the layer of grey that lays about this land. The sun is out, yet the only light seems to be the piercing reflections off glass enshrouded shrines to our floundering economy. A viscus green liquid pools in the gaps of a faux-cobbled sidewalk, the ichor from the land's pierced underbelly.
This is the city all the world watches.
This is the city that all the world remembers.
This is a city screaming for help, encased in a thick layer of dust, enraged at it's wound.
Tomorrow, this city will be back in the forefront of everyone's mind, we will be battered with images, sound, and emotions. Spider preserve us, all the emotions that have been gently simmering under the surface for another year shall come to a full rolling boil again.
This year, on the anniversary of the travesty, shall we throw another war? Bomb another small country that really has nothing worth the expense of the bombs? Thumb our collective American Nose at the rest of the international Community or continue to slide down the asscrack into the pile of shit that is our Homeland economy?
How long will this go on?
How long can we mourn? Should we mourn for a City that Dosen't Care? Mourn the individuals, yes. Those who laid down everything in a vain attempt to save something, yes. Those who never wanted or asked to be a part of this, yes.
But the City is a beast onto it's self; a heartless, pitiless scar on the face of the land that doens't care if an individual lives or dies, so long as there are more to flock to her, to give their sweat, blood, tears, and life for her. If only so that the Idea, the Institution, the Beast that is The City may continue...
- K.
