Tall, gleaming skyscrapers have fallen. If you didn’t know they had once decorated the city, you would have never been able to guess from the rusted piles of steel. It is desolate and barren here; no weeds grow up. Central Park is no where to be found in this junkheap.
Compare the two cities. Impossible. Well, possible, but will it make any sense? The one full of decay and danger and apathetic dark creatures; the other full of growth and happiness and possibilities. But yet, as the yin and yang – they each have a little of the other, you can find the scary parts in the “good” city and you can find the ray of hope in the “bad” city. Worlds apart. Yet not.
I hate the city. I can always feel eyes staring at me, boring into my soul. I cling desperately to mother’s skirts, trying not to trip over my feet, as she runs through the crowded streets. There are so many people here. Strangers, all of them.
Dark smog covered the sky. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. There was no light but that which came from the tall street lights. Sometimes I wished they would go out. I was more afraid of seeing the ugly, crowded city than I was of the dark.
Smoke filled the air, its acrid stench clinging to everything. It was dark; an artificial cloud hung low over the sky. Smog and ash hovered in a line of dust that turned all it touched grey.
A trip to the city was just what I needed. Just to clear my mind and free myself from all the worlds problems. Then, the news said, “Serial killer on the loose downtown today. Full story next!”
I think a piece of me died that day
when i wasn’t paying attention
too busy looking at the lights
and the people
to busy falling in love to notice
that……….
Grey smoke blocks the clouds, blocks the sun, blocks the stars. Only grey on grey. The smokestacks rise from the streets like mottled warts on the face of humanity; the ugliness encompasses all.
He ties that familiar knot in his bow tie and laces up his hounds-tooth shoes.
Staring at himself in the full-length mirror, he can see the city lights reflected behind him. Nothing in particular stands out. Just the amorphous lights on a tired street.
It doesn’t matter where he is. It’s where he was meant to be.
The city calls out to him. The least he can do is offer a cavalier smile as he heeds the call.
the way his face stills makes you feel filthy.
all you hear falling from his mouth is a
steady litany of /kill yourself, kill yourself,
murder by another hand./
the city breathes smoke into the night,
lit through the windows of seedy bars
and other desperate places.
you find yourself in a crouch,
filtering breaths through your hands,
every second like a burning forest.
a place to get away. far far away. like the stars. an out of body experience. so many people. you are completely removes from you thoughts, your problems, your worries, your unhappiness. Everything
strangers
do dances
between one another
rubbing shoulders
brushing hands
averting their eyes
as if
this was all
not permitted
one isnt allowed
to talk with another
or look at another
while walking down the street
unfriendly the world has grown
If I could live in any big city, it would definitely be near Times Square. Its the prettiest place in the world to me. I cant wait to move there and become a journalist for some huge magazine or newspaper. Maybe I’ll be a writer for a TV show. I hope to move in New York with my boyfriend, Jude.
I love walking down the street while holding your warm hand, dancing and singing like nobody’s listening. I love how the bright lights make the nightlife come alive, making us forget how time flies when we’re together. I love how each city holds a special memory filled with laughter and love: New York, Philadelphia, and Charlotte. Next stop – Pittsburgh. <3
sitting in the back of a
camel-coloured pickup truck,
I’m a fucking princess
and these pebbles are peas.
there are two stop signs in this town,
one half missing.
credit the graduating class of ’99
who decided to take the OP
before disbanding in their volkswagens.
The cities passed beneath us and more and more buildings appeared. Their glass windows glimmered and the setting sun threw its light to the world. It was a beautiful view from above everything and the balloon could almost touch the ground. I had never been on a hot air balloon, and now I finally am, floating above the miniature toy people.
town ands places people and thing. i have no tim e for these things, but yet i crave them. i want more. the lights shining down on the busy streets. watching people going throuhg their daily lives, all them in their little world with their own stories. not even paying attention to me. i step back and watch, becoming a fly on the wall. ismall i am. that my existance is merely a drop of water in the ocea. i mean nothng. i am nothing. this life? this world? means nothing. everyone looks out for themselves in this city. but i will keep going forward. painting my own world, skewed reality. i will live as i please because it means nothing to any of them. so why should i care what they think? i will just live and keep moving forward. i will say good bye in the end because i am merely a dtop in this ocean of life
I love to think about the city
Though it doesn’t ever mind me
I’d walk forever in skyscrapers pretty
For I love to think about the city
Where traffic blasts its honking ditty
And I weave through a people-sea
I love to think about the city
Though it will never mind me.
Sometimes cities stink like bones
Bones of the weary – of those people whose little treetop lives just jump from party to party, and internet browser to magazine
These bones that cities stink of
Are the most pathetic sort of scene
I cry – Run between the treetops,
Don’t just flutter!
So these cities that we’ve created and relished –
the ones that smell like bones?
Paint them with your honesty and energy
And reckless spontaneity
There were once cities there, but the landscape grew over the concrete….now nothing but green remained. What was once cold hard surface was now soft moss and vine sparkling in the morning light.
Cities are large hubs of social activity. This means that they can be very lonely, which doesn’t seem to make sense. But because there are so many people, it makes it harder for an individual to engage with those around them. Material wealth is of the utmost import.
Cities apart and yet your heart is with me. Miles away and yet your touch lingers on my skin. Though time and distance keep us apart love holds us together forever binding our hearts. Cities apart and yet you are with me holding me forever.
Cites are everwhere. The monsterous metallic masterpieces carving themselves out of the countryside. We create them to live in, to prosper, but they are also destroying all that we know.
The three cities of Baldrumme were linked together by several bridges, but they weren’t the kind of bridges that were wrought from iron or cast in cold. There was a certain fleshiness to them, from the way they pulsed to the sounds they made, so that when one walked across them, a certain loneliness oozed from the turrets and railings. Almost as if the bridges were wailing, with no one to answer their keening.
There’s so many cities that I haven’t been to, with people I haven’t met. Huge cities with skyscrapers and angry, hurried people. Small cities with quaint, local businesses and friendly people. And the city that I want to be in most? Doesn’t matter really, it’s just wherever I can be with you.
Far from the madding crowd I’d like to be.
Vagabonds chasing dreams. Buskers with stars in their eyes.
Wonder if they bath now and then. One life. wasted. Fresh air
for me and freedom. Flashes of cobbled streets. Callous crowdfs of lonely
hard-faced genuses. Pans and fries.
A city is a large town, major cities can usually include skyscrapers, hotels, etc. Cities are usually the main tourist attraction and where most people live in a country.
Demons of the world and kings of the future I beg to you to look beyond our cities and see that they can become a world of grace and tolerance. See that not only can they move fast but they can be elegant and wise. Don’t rush their youth but endure and embrace their upbringing.
no i will tell you I do like villages better. Conkers to be gathered in Autumn.
Autumn in a village I ponder. with the laves come spinning. Minnows in a styream and sticklebacks at the onset of frozen stream.Gleam of bright sunshine on hoar frost.
Log fires. and caravans to take to out of town.
I looked across the balcony. The buildings stretched far away. I have to admit, it was rather peaceful. I then went back into my apartment and went to sleep.
this is a tale of not only two cities, but of the people that live and thrive their. our main character is an exuberant flirt and vivacious traveler. She wants to see the world but can she leave the love of her life back home in the city he refuse to leave.
all that cocrete.slums. commerce.paint more green pleses please me. still excitement…
but walk walk walk. stolen sandals that tramped the streets of Paris. skylines. trees on footpath. Wld love to spend a winter in some city.
Tall, gleaming skyscrapers have fallen. If you didn’t know they had once decorated the city, you would have never been able to guess from the rusted piles of steel. It is desolate and barren here; no weeds grow up. Central Park is no where to be found in this junkheap.
Compare the two cities. Impossible. Well, possible, but will it make any sense? The one full of decay and danger and apathetic dark creatures; the other full of growth and happiness and possibilities. But yet, as the yin and yang – they each have a little of the other, you can find the scary parts in the “good” city and you can find the ray of hope in the “bad” city. Worlds apart. Yet not.
I hate the city. I can always feel eyes staring at me, boring into my soul. I cling desperately to mother’s skirts, trying not to trip over my feet, as she runs through the crowded streets. There are so many people here. Strangers, all of them.
Dark smog covered the sky. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. There was no light but that which came from the tall street lights. Sometimes I wished they would go out. I was more afraid of seeing the ugly, crowded city than I was of the dark.
Smoke filled the air, its acrid stench clinging to everything. It was dark; an artificial cloud hung low over the sky. Smog and ash hovered in a line of dust that turned all it touched grey.
A trip to the city was just what I needed. Just to clear my mind and free myself from all the worlds problems. Then, the news said, “Serial killer on the loose downtown today. Full story next!”
i like the city
always something to do
someone to see
someone to bump into on the way somewhere else
i wonder how many people i see each day
walking
on their way
some place
or on the way home
I want to know each of them
and their stories
and I want to tell them mine
because we all live in this city
I think a piece of me died that day
when i wasn’t paying attention
too busy looking at the lights
and the people
to busy falling in love to notice
that……….
I think a piece of me died that day.
Grey smoke blocks the clouds, blocks the sun, blocks the stars. Only grey on grey. The smokestacks rise from the streets like mottled warts on the face of humanity; the ugliness encompasses all.
He ties that familiar knot in his bow tie and laces up his hounds-tooth shoes.
Staring at himself in the full-length mirror, he can see the city lights reflected behind him. Nothing in particular stands out. Just the amorphous lights on a tired street.
It doesn’t matter where he is. It’s where he was meant to be.
The city calls out to him. The least he can do is offer a cavalier smile as he heeds the call.
places with a lot of people
the way his face stills makes you feel filthy.
all you hear falling from his mouth is a
steady litany of /kill yourself, kill yourself,
murder by another hand./
the city breathes smoke into the night,
lit through the windows of seedy bars
and other desperate places.
you find yourself in a crouch,
filtering breaths through your hands,
every second like a burning forest.
no angels survive in war zones like this.
big too many people, just hot dogs, people walking their dogs. coats, big coats. lights. windows. pigeons
a place to get away. far far away. like the stars. an out of body experience. so many people. you are completely removes from you thoughts, your problems, your worries, your unhappiness. Everything
strangers
do dances
between one another
rubbing shoulders
brushing hands
averting their eyes
as if
this was all
not permitted
one isnt allowed
to talk with another
or look at another
while walking down the street
unfriendly the world has grown
If I could live in any big city, it would definitely be near Times Square. Its the prettiest place in the world to me. I cant wait to move there and become a journalist for some huge magazine or newspaper. Maybe I’ll be a writer for a TV show. I hope to move in New York with my boyfriend, Jude.
I want to live in a city when I grow up. Even for college, I would love to go to Columbia or NYU. Maybe I’ll even live in Singapore one day.
full of people
moving and living and breathing
all passing by one another
without a thought
bumping shoulders
stealing glances
smiling
they all have lives
and struggles
and friends
and dead relations
and
they
all
are
so
unaware
cities are towns.they are shelters.built by people.populated by people. have windows.
I love walking down the street while holding your warm hand, dancing and singing like nobody’s listening. I love how the bright lights make the nightlife come alive, making us forget how time flies when we’re together. I love how each city holds a special memory filled with laughter and love: New York, Philadelphia, and Charlotte. Next stop – Pittsburgh. <3
sitting in the back of a
camel-coloured pickup truck,
I’m a fucking princess
and these pebbles are peas.
there are two stop signs in this town,
one half missing.
credit the graduating class of ’99
who decided to take the OP
before disbanding in their volkswagens.
The cities passed beneath us and more and more buildings appeared. Their glass windows glimmered and the setting sun threw its light to the world. It was a beautiful view from above everything and the balloon could almost touch the ground. I had never been on a hot air balloon, and now I finally am, floating above the miniature toy people.
town ands places people and thing. i have no tim e for these things, but yet i crave them. i want more. the lights shining down on the busy streets. watching people going throuhg their daily lives, all them in their little world with their own stories. not even paying attention to me. i step back and watch, becoming a fly on the wall. ismall i am. that my existance is merely a drop of water in the ocea. i mean nothng. i am nothing. this life? this world? means nothing. everyone looks out for themselves in this city. but i will keep going forward. painting my own world, skewed reality. i will live as i please because it means nothing to any of them. so why should i care what they think? i will just live and keep moving forward. i will say good bye in the end because i am merely a dtop in this ocean of life
I love to think about the city
Though it doesn’t ever mind me
I’d walk forever in skyscrapers pretty
For I love to think about the city
Where traffic blasts its honking ditty
And I weave through a people-sea
I love to think about the city
Though it will never mind me.
Sometimes cities stink like bones
Bones of the weary – of those people whose little treetop lives just jump from party to party, and internet browser to magazine
These bones that cities stink of
Are the most pathetic sort of scene
I cry – Run between the treetops,
Don’t just flutter!
So these cities that we’ve created and relished –
the ones that smell like bones?
Paint them with your honesty and energy
And reckless spontaneity
There were once cities there, but the landscape grew over the concrete….now nothing but green remained. What was once cold hard surface was now soft moss and vine sparkling in the morning light.
Cities are large hubs of social activity. This means that they can be very lonely, which doesn’t seem to make sense. But because there are so many people, it makes it harder for an individual to engage with those around them. Material wealth is of the utmost import.
Cities apart and yet your heart is with me. Miles away and yet your touch lingers on my skin. Though time and distance keep us apart love holds us together forever binding our hearts. Cities apart and yet you are with me holding me forever.
Cites are everwhere. The monsterous metallic masterpieces carving themselves out of the countryside. We create them to live in, to prosper, but they are also destroying all that we know.
The three cities of Baldrumme were linked together by several bridges, but they weren’t the kind of bridges that were wrought from iron or cast in cold. There was a certain fleshiness to them, from the way they pulsed to the sounds they made, so that when one walked across them, a certain loneliness oozed from the turrets and railings. Almost as if the bridges were wailing, with no one to answer their keening.
There’s so many cities that I haven’t been to, with people I haven’t met. Huge cities with skyscrapers and angry, hurried people. Small cities with quaint, local businesses and friendly people. And the city that I want to be in most? Doesn’t matter really, it’s just wherever I can be with you.
Far from the madding crowd I’d like to be.
Vagabonds chasing dreams. Buskers with stars in their eyes.
Wonder if they bath now and then. One life. wasted. Fresh air
for me and freedom. Flashes of cobbled streets. Callous crowdfs of lonely
hard-faced genuses. Pans and fries.
A city is a large town, major cities can usually include skyscrapers, hotels, etc. Cities are usually the main tourist attraction and where most people live in a country.
Demons of the world and kings of the future I beg to you to look beyond our cities and see that they can become a world of grace and tolerance. See that not only can they move fast but they can be elegant and wise. Don’t rush their youth but endure and embrace their upbringing.
no i will tell you I do like villages better. Conkers to be gathered in Autumn.
Autumn in a village I ponder. with the laves come spinning. Minnows in a styream and sticklebacks at the onset of frozen stream.Gleam of bright sunshine on hoar frost.
Log fires. and caravans to take to out of town.
I looked across the balcony. The buildings stretched far away. I have to admit, it was rather peaceful. I then went back into my apartment and went to sleep.
cities exist but i do not make contact. steer clear. jets trails in skies.
old canals that time forgets.. all the windows. The fear of knives.
old churches. traffic and all that snarling darling. Probably best avoided.
Art galleries of course. Research. city of dark woods. hilary Mantel.
The city light shined bright in the light as if they were the stars in the sky against the black sheet of emptiness.
this is a tale of not only two cities, but of the people that live and thrive their. our main character is an exuberant flirt and vivacious traveler. She wants to see the world but can she leave the love of her life back home in the city he refuse to leave.
all that cocrete.slums. commerce.paint more green pleses please me. still excitement…
but walk walk walk. stolen sandals that tramped the streets of Paris. skylines. trees on footpath. Wld love to spend a winter in some city.