pareesian new yourk chicaaago
multi-layered tunnels and way finders, stairs and tracks, lines, rails
for the movements of people and cars in the anthills of the human city
in amsterdam is a metro. or subway as some americans might call it. it is dirty as dutch do not really care about how their public transport looks like. i’m ashamed of that for foreigenrs. who often take the public transport to got to the airport. a very busy line with lots of pickpockets and overcrowded. not a nice way to enter holland and get out again. but compared to the mess amsterdam is itself the trip is walhallah.
That evening Ohara got a lucky break. Asking around the girl’s neighbourhood if anyone had seen her or her boyfriend, one old woman just pointed and said “That’s him!”, indicating a slim, well built man entering the Metro station. Ohara thanked her and started following at a discreet distance. He could tell from the way he walked, the way he dressed, and the small bulge in the back of his pants, that this guy was Yakuza, a suspicion confirmed when he entered a building known to be one of their offices. This new development raised all kinds of possibilities about the whereabouts of the girl, and none of them were good.
a male or a form of transport, either way I often find myself contemplating whether I like the currant top-knot hair style often seen on these types of male folk. I might even consider it myself one day, after all I am in need of a new do, and that one draws the eye.
I am eighteen years old, and filled with questions.
I ride the subway with strangers, to a school full of strangers, in a
world full of strangers.
Certainly, I am the strangest of them all.
Seemingly, the only one who longs to ask the old man beside me
what he had for breakfast, and whether it was enough,
or what he wanted to be when he was six, and
what he is now?
Immer im Takt. 3/4 in diesem Fall. Da muss man ganz genau sein. Man will ja immer im 4/4-Takt singen und tanzen, man macht das fast ganz automatisch. Aber in der Cellostunde muss man sich gegen seine Automatismen wehren.
It is ten o’clock at night in the heart of New York City. The city lights conquer the darkness, with the cluttering of signs, advertising endorsing, and selling. People are walking about, each having a specific destination, a place to be, but perhaps some were like him, with no where to go at all.
Take me back to work
a numbers game all the way
measure of our success
or of our failure
how long, far, noisey, fast or heavy
it’s what we do
to see what we know
The metro rail whirred by smooth and painless. He looked out the window thinking of her. she was lost to him from the moment they met. He had been trying to get back to her fromt then on. she was like a distant dream that he thought up and created yet, he had no way of controlling her, and that was his mistake.
The train clicks on the tracks, swaying with the rhythm of the railroad ties. Jenna looks up from her book when she hears a noise, further down the car. It sounds like someone crying, and she sees a little girl near the window. The girl looks right at her, then fades slowly from sight, leaving Jenna confused and uneasy.
“You saw her, huh?” says the man to her left with a nod.
Standing there, swaying with the natural curve of the metros rails, I felt like everything was slipping away from me. Like I was both losing and gaining control.
Metro Manila is the most populated metro in the Philippines. It is the capital of the Philippines and is the central hub for most business dealings in the country. More than thousands of being enter and leave metro Manila each day on planes, boats, and land transportation.
You don’t hear much of the metro
in this city
You hear of honking horns
and gutsy pedestrians
and overcrowded parking garages
Is that a cloud
or the smoke wafting across the sunlight?
She had never taken the ‘metro’ before. Just another reason she was more than glad to have Amelia around. Amelia was wearing her dark pea coat, a trend throughout the city, and clutching the metal bar spanning from the metal cart’s floors to the ceiling. Norine saw no metal bar beside her, so she reached up and held on to one of the hooks hanging down. She was nervous for some reason, but one coincidence of eye contact with Amelia settled her nerves like warm raindrops fizzing into steam.
There is not a metro system where I live. I don’t have that much knowledge about metros. I have ridden the metro in Prague. It was very nice. I hear not all are as clean in America as in other countries.
She looked up at the towering buildings in the metro. She had come a long way to get here. And she felt happy. This was different. The buildings twinkled in the setting sun. It was a sign. This is going to be a new beginning. She was a country mouse no more.
I took it to the last stop, got off and started walking.
Checked my watch.
Realized that I didn’t have one.
Tilted my head up once I was out of the tunnel – and somehow, through all of that city smog, it hit me suddenly that I was the stars.
Too many times our paths have crossed.
Too many times you have ripped open my chest just to play my ribs like an out of tune piano.
I’m calling your number again. I’m calling to say hello. I’m calling your number again. Not even your voice mail will say hello.
like the tracks of the metro spilled across the crumbled map, my veins intersect. Crossing and Turning. So much confusion I have lost my track. I keep starring at your path. I keep memorizing your route.I keep starring at your metro card you left in my wallet.
I keep calling you to tell you I have it. I keep calling you to tell you hello.
I keep calling you to tell you I keep your metro card in my wallet. I keep your path in my veins.
I keep calling you to tell you you can still my play my ribs like an out of tune piano.
I keep calling hoping our paths will cross again.
I climbed onto the metro, heaving a sigh. My bags were heavy but no one stopped to help. It seemed like the world was against me. It was one of those days when I seemed to be surrounded by supermodelesque people, standing out as the one person in yoga pants with mussed up hair. It was going to be a long day.
I posted this again, under my account, so that it would be included in my writings. It was originally posted with a guest thing. Just know that I’m not plagiarizing. :D
I positively couldn’t believe that people could be so rude. Jostling, shoving, glaring… it was hard to believe that we’d walked on the moon, only to come to such caveman-like behavior in a simple metro. Inconceivable.
I climbed onto the metro, heaving a sigh. My bags were heavy but no one stopped to help. It seemed like the world was against me. It was one of those days when I seemed to be surrounded by supermodelesque people, standing out as the one person in yoga pants with mussed up hair. It was going to be a long day.
He worked hard all day and left the office a little late but he ran as fast as he could to catch the Metro train. As he arrived at the station he noticed the police presence everywhere. they were stopping and searching all commuters. Now he knew he was going to be late. He stop in his tracks and tapped his temple to connect to his communicator. He heard the voice inside his head asking him what message. As he started to think it out the message was being sent and he was connected to the others in his group. They knew instantly that he was going to be delayed and that if the police searched him they would find the chips and the group would be in jeopardy. They all disbanded as soon as the communication was ended.
I had never seen such a thing before, and yet, the only thing that I noticed, the only thought that stood out to me now, was ‘maybe it is possible’. Maybe technology can be as grand as nature.
The metro station was cloudy, filled with smoke to the very top of the ceiling. I could smell the fire and hear the crackling behind me. My lungs filling with smoke as I slowly moved forward in the darkness. I couldn’t even see my own hand in front of me.
I stepped into the small, cramped area of the metro train. I looked around and found a strange woman dressed in a trench coat staring at me with a look of shock and disbelief. I took a seat near the door and tried to start reading, however I couldn’t focus with her staring at me. After, I got off the train I finally figured out where I had seen her before, in pictures on my father’s mantle, a face I had never seen in person. My mother.
i never felt more of a rush than that moment we stood so close to each other we could feel our heartbeats. it started at our feet, shaking and trembling and we could feel it rushing through our bodies so quickly until eventually our hair was flying around us in the air, all while our lips were pressed together with your arms around my waist, my hand holding your face. it was only 30 seconds but i swear i could stand at the metro dock, with you by my side, for every thirty seconds until we die.
The damp, musty, drippy tunnel, made only wetter by the coming of the rainy season was not the best place to be. Even this early in the morning, the rising heat meant that all of the wet seemed to translate directly into steam. Though even with that there still seemed to be far more water on the ground than there ought to be. Not even the breeze from the passing subway train lessened the misery.
variety is the wonderous luxury man has to expend,
as we see, metro–a unit of measure to some,
where it can be a large city with bright windows, flashy clothes, and stubborn yuppies to others,
seeping into the world these legs, these tired, weary, ambitious legs,
pounce upon their briefcases, tidy suits, and wide bodied vehicles,
beneath them all, there is a railway, moved by the electronic wiring puppets of greed,
pushing further out, their vacancies of organic nature.
perspective can shift the allowances of character!
I didn’t want to take the metro. It was a scary place. Full of people muddled together with different backgrounds. I could be sitting next to a rapist. Or get looked at by a murderer. Or even not smile at a suicidal person hoping that someone will smile at them at least one moment out of the day.
The metro is full of different people and that is the scary thing because I might not be as different from them as I think, which I find to be terrifying.
“I-I’ve never been on the metro. Do we have to go now?”
“That–is surprising and also not my problem,” Elias said, stiffly. “Are we all ready now?”
“No one’s ready after an announcement like that, darling,” Maria said. “Come on, gather around. I won’t let him take you on that horrible metro, alright?” she cooed.
The war-weary orphans slowly clustered around, clutching handfuls of her billowing, wrinkled skirt, preparing for the magical transportation that would remove them from harm’s way.
“It’s the safest option, M,” Elias scowled. “You’ll burn yourself out using more magic than you have access to and-”
There was a flash of light and all the children vanished, but Maria remained. She yawned, covering her mouth with one hand. “there we go, all taken care of.”
“W-what’d you do with them?”
“Them? Oh, now you’re concerned?”
“Maria!”
“They’re on the metro, but don’t worry. Someone will meet them there.”
“Yeah,” I grumbled from my padded corner, staying as far away as possible from the man who smelled like a mix of bourbon and cat urine. “Wish it could go faster. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“And you have the stuff?”
I smiled. “She won’t see it coming.”
It was my girlfriend’s twenty-fifth birthday, and the party, if I had things my way, was going to be off the chain.
I commute by metro today, as usual. And its twice a time i saw her, still the same, lonely, seems quite far weak but dangerous at the same time. I learnt she always bring that purple sketch book, all i know she’s so deep in to fashion.
pareesian new yourk chicaaago
multi-layered tunnels and way finders, stairs and tracks, lines, rails
for the movements of people and cars in the anthills of the human city
in amsterdam is a metro. or subway as some americans might call it. it is dirty as dutch do not really care about how their public transport looks like. i’m ashamed of that for foreigenrs. who often take the public transport to got to the airport. a very busy line with lots of pickpockets and overcrowded. not a nice way to enter holland and get out again. but compared to the mess amsterdam is itself the trip is walhallah.
…
That evening Ohara got a lucky break. Asking around the girl’s neighbourhood if anyone had seen her or her boyfriend, one old woman just pointed and said “That’s him!”, indicating a slim, well built man entering the Metro station. Ohara thanked her and started following at a discreet distance. He could tell from the way he walked, the way he dressed, and the small bulge in the back of his pants, that this guy was Yakuza, a suspicion confirmed when he entered a building known to be one of their offices. This new development raised all kinds of possibilities about the whereabouts of the girl, and none of them were good.
a male or a form of transport, either way I often find myself contemplating whether I like the currant top-knot hair style often seen on these types of male folk. I might even consider it myself one day, after all I am in need of a new do, and that one draws the eye.
I am eighteen years old, and filled with questions.
I ride the subway with strangers, to a school full of strangers, in a
world full of strangers.
Certainly, I am the strangest of them all.
Seemingly, the only one who longs to ask the old man beside me
what he had for breakfast, and whether it was enough,
or what he wanted to be when he was six, and
what he is now?
first thing that comes into my mind is metro trains. they cool, fast and effective way of tackling traffic congestion.
I hate the metro
L.A.’s and San Diego’s
sont trop cher and slow
Immer im Takt. 3/4 in diesem Fall. Da muss man ganz genau sein. Man will ja immer im 4/4-Takt singen und tanzen, man macht das fast ganz automatisch. Aber in der Cellostunde muss man sich gegen seine Automatismen wehren.
guud
It is ten o’clock at night in the heart of New York City. The city lights conquer the darkness, with the cluttering of signs, advertising endorsing, and selling. People are walking about, each having a specific destination, a place to be, but perhaps some were like him, with no where to go at all.
Take me back to work
a numbers game all the way
measure of our success
or of our failure
how long, far, noisey, fast or heavy
it’s what we do
to see what we know
and soon I will be sitting beside you on the metro headed towards our first big adventure, our first public appearance. what a show it will be.
The metro rail whirred by smooth and painless. He looked out the window thinking of her. she was lost to him from the moment they met. He had been trying to get back to her fromt then on. she was like a distant dream that he thought up and created yet, he had no way of controlling her, and that was his mistake.
The train clicks on the tracks, swaying with the rhythm of the railroad ties. Jenna looks up from her book when she hears a noise, further down the car. It sounds like someone crying, and she sees a little girl near the window. The girl looks right at her, then fades slowly from sight, leaving Jenna confused and uneasy.
“You saw her, huh?” says the man to her left with a nod.
Standing there, swaying with the natural curve of the metros rails, I felt like everything was slipping away from me. Like I was both losing and gaining control.
In a station of the metro
is that the tile?
Is that what’s vital about the poem?
Metro Manila is the most populated metro in the Philippines. It is the capital of the Philippines and is the central hub for most business dealings in the country. More than thousands of being enter and leave metro Manila each day on planes, boats, and land transportation.
A train station of sorts that has a London-esque vibe to it. Sounds like a slang word, but it actually isn’t.
You don’t hear much of the metro
in this city
You hear of honking horns
and gutsy pedestrians
and overcrowded parking garages
Is that a cloud
or the smoke wafting across the sunlight?
She had never taken the ‘metro’ before. Just another reason she was more than glad to have Amelia around. Amelia was wearing her dark pea coat, a trend throughout the city, and clutching the metal bar spanning from the metal cart’s floors to the ceiling. Norine saw no metal bar beside her, so she reached up and held on to one of the hooks hanging down. She was nervous for some reason, but one coincidence of eye contact with Amelia settled her nerves like warm raindrops fizzing into steam.
There is not a metro system where I live. I don’t have that much knowledge about metros. I have ridden the metro in Prague. It was very nice. I hear not all are as clean in America as in other countries.
She looked up at the towering buildings in the metro. She had come a long way to get here. And she felt happy. This was different. The buildings twinkled in the setting sun. It was a sign. This is going to be a new beginning. She was a country mouse no more.
I took it to the last stop, got off and started walking.
Checked my watch.
Realized that I didn’t have one.
Tilted my head up once I was out of the tunnel – and somehow, through all of that city smog, it hit me suddenly that I was the stars.
Too many times our paths have crossed.
Too many times you have ripped open my chest just to play my ribs like an out of tune piano.
I’m calling your number again. I’m calling to say hello. I’m calling your number again. Not even your voice mail will say hello.
like the tracks of the metro spilled across the crumbled map, my veins intersect. Crossing and Turning. So much confusion I have lost my track. I keep starring at your path. I keep memorizing your route.I keep starring at your metro card you left in my wallet.
I keep calling you to tell you I have it. I keep calling you to tell you hello.
I keep calling you to tell you I keep your metro card in my wallet. I keep your path in my veins.
I keep calling you to tell you you can still my play my ribs like an out of tune piano.
I keep calling hoping our paths will cross again.
I climbed onto the metro, heaving a sigh. My bags were heavy but no one stopped to help. It seemed like the world was against me. It was one of those days when I seemed to be surrounded by supermodelesque people, standing out as the one person in yoga pants with mussed up hair. It was going to be a long day.
I posted this again, under my account, so that it would be included in my writings. It was originally posted with a guest thing. Just know that I’m not plagiarizing. :D
I positively couldn’t believe that people could be so rude. Jostling, shoving, glaring… it was hard to believe that we’d walked on the moon, only to come to such caveman-like behavior in a simple metro. Inconceivable.
I climbed onto the metro, heaving a sigh. My bags were heavy but no one stopped to help. It seemed like the world was against me. It was one of those days when I seemed to be surrounded by supermodelesque people, standing out as the one person in yoga pants with mussed up hair. It was going to be a long day.
He worked hard all day and left the office a little late but he ran as fast as he could to catch the Metro train. As he arrived at the station he noticed the police presence everywhere. they were stopping and searching all commuters. Now he knew he was going to be late. He stop in his tracks and tapped his temple to connect to his communicator. He heard the voice inside his head asking him what message. As he started to think it out the message was being sent and he was connected to the others in his group. They knew instantly that he was going to be delayed and that if the police searched him they would find the chips and the group would be in jeopardy. They all disbanded as soon as the communication was ended.
the sights. the sounds. being part of thousands yet feeling so disconnected. observing all around me i was lost in the stories of each passerby.
It was a metropolis.
That was the only word for it.
I had never seen such a thing before, and yet, the only thing that I noticed, the only thought that stood out to me now, was ‘maybe it is possible’. Maybe technology can be as grand as nature.
The metro station was cloudy, filled with smoke to the very top of the ceiling. I could smell the fire and hear the crackling behind me. My lungs filling with smoke as I slowly moved forward in the darkness. I couldn’t even see my own hand in front of me.
I stepped into the small, cramped area of the metro train. I looked around and found a strange woman dressed in a trench coat staring at me with a look of shock and disbelief. I took a seat near the door and tried to start reading, however I couldn’t focus with her staring at me. After, I got off the train I finally figured out where I had seen her before, in pictures on my father’s mantle, a face I had never seen in person. My mother.
i never felt more of a rush than that moment we stood so close to each other we could feel our heartbeats. it started at our feet, shaking and trembling and we could feel it rushing through our bodies so quickly until eventually our hair was flying around us in the air, all while our lips were pressed together with your arms around my waist, my hand holding your face. it was only 30 seconds but i swear i could stand at the metro dock, with you by my side, for every thirty seconds until we die.
The damp, musty, drippy tunnel, made only wetter by the coming of the rainy season was not the best place to be. Even this early in the morning, the rising heat meant that all of the wet seemed to translate directly into steam. Though even with that there still seemed to be far more water on the ground than there ought to be. Not even the breeze from the passing subway train lessened the misery.
variety is the wonderous luxury man has to expend,
as we see, metro–a unit of measure to some,
where it can be a large city with bright windows, flashy clothes, and stubborn yuppies to others,
seeping into the world these legs, these tired, weary, ambitious legs,
pounce upon their briefcases, tidy suits, and wide bodied vehicles,
beneath them all, there is a railway, moved by the electronic wiring puppets of greed,
pushing further out, their vacancies of organic nature.
perspective can shift the allowances of character!
I didn’t want to take the metro. It was a scary place. Full of people muddled together with different backgrounds. I could be sitting next to a rapist. Or get looked at by a murderer. Or even not smile at a suicidal person hoping that someone will smile at them at least one moment out of the day.
The metro is full of different people and that is the scary thing because I might not be as different from them as I think, which I find to be terrifying.
“Metro?”
“Metro.”
“I-I’ve never been on the metro. Do we have to go now?”
“That–is surprising and also not my problem,” Elias said, stiffly. “Are we all ready now?”
“No one’s ready after an announcement like that, darling,” Maria said. “Come on, gather around. I won’t let him take you on that horrible metro, alright?” she cooed.
The war-weary orphans slowly clustered around, clutching handfuls of her billowing, wrinkled skirt, preparing for the magical transportation that would remove them from harm’s way.
“It’s the safest option, M,” Elias scowled. “You’ll burn yourself out using more magic than you have access to and-”
There was a flash of light and all the children vanished, but Maria remained. She yawned, covering her mouth with one hand. “there we go, all taken care of.”
“W-what’d you do with them?”
“Them? Oh, now you’re concerned?”
“Maria!”
“They’re on the metro, but don’t worry. Someone will meet them there.”
“You just-!”
“I lied.” she winked. “Sorry.”
“Are you on the metro now?”
“Yeah,” I grumbled from my padded corner, staying as far away as possible from the man who smelled like a mix of bourbon and cat urine. “Wish it could go faster. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“And you have the stuff?”
I smiled. “She won’t see it coming.”
It was my girlfriend’s twenty-fifth birthday, and the party, if I had things my way, was going to be off the chain.
I commute by metro today, as usual. And its twice a time i saw her, still the same, lonely, seems quite far weak but dangerous at the same time. I learnt she always bring that purple sketch book, all i know she’s so deep in to fashion.