sun. harsh. painfully so. i guess we need to live.
but why can’t the rest of the world operate during abnormal business hours? the better question comes later, wait for it or stop reading.
find a shadow. find a shelter. but don’t stay long. the sun and the city move with haste and they will find you.
it sure as hell isn’t a normal city. this ones the beast of the abyss and it feeds itself. churning, squeezing and rending light from stars, creations from creative fucking flowers and giving even the most virtuous a reason to look hungry.
hungry for what? the better question comes later. do you wait for it or stop reading?
and don’t you dare, not fucking once, stand still.
you have seen those that stand still. the statues. the litter of the city, the coat of dirt you aren’t sure is smog, dust, dead dreams or carbon emmissions that cling to everything.
and cling they do, like parasites. sanitize your hands as often as you’d like, shower daily to get that ancient grime off.
is that dirt that clings to eveything and that smog that obscures the skys is it the dying dreams of hopefuls who started stars in their eyes? the better question comes later. there is no better question just stop reading.
old movies. old shows. name drop the dead. name drop the dying.
the city eats you at night, every night, the streetsweepers suck up the handbills, the empty liquor bottles and the bloody refuse of the evenings orgy while the wheatpasters slather new art advertising art advertising separating you from your money and integrity from the artists that made it all possible.
the slaughterhouse prepares for the next evening.
isn’t that good business? the better question comes later. it never gets answered, so stop reading.
why don’t we worship the sun instead of money anymore? all the money in this town won’t stop the sun from shining or reset it when it flares out. i guess we need the sun to live, to sustain life on this planet, let alone this city. so why do we need money?
no answer. stop reading.
