It’s a cold, angry place here. The concrete shuts the ground out so the earth can’t breathe. The sun heats it up in tiny pockets of grey and reflects it back upon us as we fumble through the streets preoccupied with our daily conquests.

The buildings hide the the sun, shadowing larger, greyer pockets, cooling the slabs and joining forces with ancient winds. The winds there, as they flow through artificial pathways in gusts and blows. Cooling our bloods and teasing our nerves, muscles tense here mechanically, erratically.

Here where Yagan and his father and his brothers flow. As winds over high risen sharps, 90 degrees, valleys steep and stooped deep unease.
Main roads winding through urban mechanic man’s chimes with structural symphonies in twisted rhymes.

And as we fumble through the streets preoccupied with our daily conquests, magic lines soar and fall. As we fumble through the streets preoccupied with our daily conquests, time flies and stumbles and crawls. We fumble as we wonder what to do here, Free here. How to be here.. in these tiny grey pockets of peace in space/time.

Drink a tea endorsed by Kamal. Eat an ethically sound lamb slow roasted in a spiced marinade on a bed of vegetables and an indian subcontinental rice dish. Smile at a brother. Walk into a group of tourists and trip over the floor. Ignore a dishevelled outcast who’s been consumed by a great beast in the throws of crime and punishment. Watch the children play in the leaves as they blow on the face of institutional law. She screams at her sister from the end of the aether, from the end of her tether, and he sucks in a noxious substance and disipates through thickened dead-weight air.

By virtue of the passing of time, we are all at a disadvantage.. but chimes ring on and conveyor belts roll. We breathe and we breed and we feed and we bleed. A fire burns low as a star there glitters and glows. A seed will find somewhere to flourish and grow. In amongst the mildew of straight, narrow and uniform rows. The earth will find a way to crack neath our feet. The sun will be there clad in the breeze. Clad in the beat of our feet, as they tramp here steadily til we sleep.


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