Cities

I like western-style cities, where one can – and ultimately does – lose oneself in anonymity. In western-styled cities, everybody seems to be utterly concerned with him or her self, and because I can get by just fine with the small compensation I get from the U.S. Government, I can survive in some of these cities outside of their usual exploited/exploiter cycles. I like cities.

I also hate cities. My impression is that they live on crushed bones, they devour stillborn dreams like unhatched eggs, and drink from the cold suffering of the thinly covered bodies sleeping on its dirty-gray sidewalks.

To force it to cradle these monstrosities, humans mutilate the very ground, and once built, these aberrations, these cities, continue to destroy what's around them: the air, the rivers, the very soil on which they stand, and even their own creators, for it is in their very nature to destroy.

In a constant fluid motion and with the lure of tall buildings of glass panes, shining brass and stainless steel, with reckless music and reckless styles, these cities attract their unsuspecting preys, mollify them with various nepenthe – you can marinate in beer, wine, vodka, lose your self with heroine, cocaine, weed, men, women (whatever you want you can wallow in), tenderize them with hard hopeless work, and then, with no pity or concern, and without hesitation, devour the soaked and tender ones while spitting out on their own bellies the carcasses of those already consumed.