Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Jew Is Greedy

Your schizophrenic television communications and haven of genius and insanity sprawling upward motion skyscrapers in short skirts and better odds screaming "fad! fad!" while the people called at your feet cursing your memory and inability to choose and deify as they should your shining streetcar cables, your parking lots, both low class and too good for us caving in while supporting us all forever and pointing us to the Don Valley brick works where the clarity of vision can barely surpass the inevitable truth that I am passionately, unconditionally in love with you now and forever. You chose me over so many in your inability to chose beating me with wonderful music and noise like I was at a concert and singing along and crying as I told you not to walk away but it was me who, after pursuing you for eight months, will be leaving you again and you are unresponsive doing your cockroach dance and pretending you don't hear me at all. You are my idealistic-chic sexual partner, my confrontation with the truly great, my home, my first and last love. If I could ever show you what you are to me I'd have to burn everything else just to show you how I see you.
The towers rise, the cables roar and shimmer, the beach calls, America listens, four million excited parasites crawl on your skin beneath your eyes and, fearing for their lives, hope the laws are all in order in your contained world. Thousands of men will restrain tears tonight, thousands of drunks will drink again, millions of motors will rise, billions of rats will scratch and sink into the depths of your mortuaries and hospital clothed downtown. Hip high schoolers will blast Coheed and Cambria while students cross the street to avoid prostitutes on College Avenue. Aging metalheads retreat in Yonge street bars rememebering reminiscing of when the area used to be cool. Narrators and protagonists concern themselves with what how many pitchers to order inside the Green Room with its substrate of an entrance through an alley on Brunswick. I've lost the tense again. The tense I've...lost it. The rational part will maintain executive control and recoils at your tendencies. Your sexual organs will twitch slightly with anticipation at the incredibly display of humanity to be commenced, your eyes will be concealed behind sunglasses that change colour with your trends, your toes are unsightly and require a reduction in nails. I love you. If we are ever parted I will remember how everyone else were girls and boys named Desperation and a walk down one of your side streets was worth a hundred friends to me. My life if you'll consolidate. I need only look to you to love the natural world unironically. I spend my free time dreaming of work and fatigue with you. I have kissed your streets while drunk and I would do it again (while drunk).
Queen street runs from Church and the gay paradise from the East side to the Gladstone and some shitty sub-town with disturbing open fields and railroad tracks on the other. I will miss you but my proverbial, cliched love will cast the proverbial, cliched first stone and you will be freed.


Blogger A. D. said...

You're working on that love "poem" to the city, eh?

8:54 PM  
Blogger Minimalism Fanaticism said...

You know it!

3:50 PM  
Blogger Minimalism Fanaticism said...

What do you think so far?

3:50 PM  
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