Personal Notes From A Metropolis

A Benz looks great only on rainy nights

Neon signs are not dead…in fact they make the only real landmarks

No-one notices the cemeteries. It’s like they don’t exist

It smells all the time, except when you are home. Even then it smells, but differently

We need sanctuaries, but instead we build walls. And the screens multiply

We don’t look up enough and thank the trees. No-one thanks the trees. You stand under them, you want them around, you look for them, you secretly long for them, you hate them when they are not there. But no-one thanks the trees. No-one touches the trees. We only nail things to them, and prune them when they get cocky, or curse them when they are brittle. We don’t look up enough

We don’t like being touched. We don’t like the glass of our windows touched. Or our knees touched. By them of the streets and the dank open drains

We pretend we know where everything is. But if the lights went out, we wouldn’t survive

We all laugh and we cry and we watch and we live and we breathe together. But we can’t feel each other

We long for open spaces and yet we are happiest with our backs to the wall

We are always awake. Sometimes happy, sometimes restless. But always awake. Even in our dreams we are awake

We are endlessly searching

Neon signs are not dead, in fact they make the only real landmarks

2 responses to “Personal Notes From A Metropolis”

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