(no subject)
Chicago
This city is a toxic wasteland. A city I was raised to love, a city I’ve grown to hate. At night the neon lights of the strip clubs glow and glare into my eyes as I watch some bum trying to buy good sex from a cheap blonde broad on the street corner. This lady reminded me of those white trash girls you only see on daytime talk shows like Jerry Springer. Her hair was long, white, and ratty. Her complexion was tan but the loneliness in her eyes made her look grey and deathly. She has bits of kiss me deadly red lipstick on her yellow cigarette stained teeth. This woman, a whore indeed, looks so lonely. I thought to myself that most people probably see her as some gnarly and gross sex machine; a literal robot incapable of human emotion. I could tell she knew this too, what other people thought. But all I saw when I looked at her, aside from the rotten glow in her face, was a lonely, sad, and confused child, lost and afraid, unknowing of what to do with her self except sell herself on the streets. I had to look away.
I continue walking slowly, watching nighttime proceed into daytime, the people walking on the sidewalk and driving in their Toyotas and vans. I watched it all like one big movie, one large surreal blur of life.
I pass up a McDonalds and the smell of processed meat and chemically enhanced french-fries intoxicates my nostrils. I think the food is a sin, just like this entire city is everything against God’s will. Chicago, the city before Noah’s Ark. Everything about this place is so tempting. The street I’m walking on is a juicy red forbidden fruit. Each step I take is one bite into the ripe, sinful fruit. I need it all.
The sky is a hazy blur of navy blue and wet grey tears; it is drizzling ever so slightly, illuminating the sidewalks with a luminescent silvery black glow. The torn sky should be full of stars, but Chicago being so polluted, won’t allow such beauty.
Chicago looks like a big painting right now, so noxiously beautiful. I wonder if the city is really a canvas, and we the people walking its cloth-like surface are merely drops from our creator’s paintbrush. Is my city supposed to be so mysterious? I guess that its mystery is what makes it so wonderful and heinously painful to look at at the same time.
A couple of drunken teenagers stumble by me and I look at them, faintly wishing I was in their state of mind. Drunkenness is so common here in this city. A city of vodka and cherries. A city of pretzels and beer. Glamour and trash. Drinking alters the state of mind, impairs the human’s motor skills. But I think there’s more to it, especially in a place like Chicago. The alcohol screws you up so badly that the fact that you can’t think straight well only makes you think harder, and more precisely. Some people think that drinking brings out the barbarians in people. I think that in Chicago, it brings out our natural selves; it makes us that much more beautiful.
I finally reach my desired location, a Honda parked on Clark street next to a meter covered in somebody’s Winterfresh gum. I hastily grab my car keys from my wallet and I jump in and drive up to Lakeshore Drive. Rolling down the windows, I let the summery night breeze suck at my face, pulling me into an enchanting, airy trance. I look outside the window while driving, and I notice how dark and blue the lake looks; so calm and peaceful, not a soul disturbing its cool midnight sand. The beach looks so clean and innocent. I can’t help but wonder why. Why, why in a city so hatefully delicious, is there something so extraordinarily pure? The beach is full of innocence. The water is fresh, crisp, and clear. It makes up for such a dirty city. I keep gazing out past Lakeshore Drive, daydreaming at 3AM on the road.
I finally am home, parked in front of my house. I get out of my car and head inside. I flop onto the couch and think about how sinful Chicago must be. I think, and I think. I then remember the lake, as I pleasantly fall asleep.
__________________________________________________
I'm very tired. I went to Bridgit's today and we studied a bit for exams. I really like her house, it's so beautiful, despite how normal she says it is. I guess it's her basic familiarity with it...people tend to think less of things they're more familiar with, including myself. Boy, do I do that a lot. Eh, I guess I should start studying more. Later.
-maggie
This city is a toxic wasteland. A city I was raised to love, a city I’ve grown to hate. At night the neon lights of the strip clubs glow and glare into my eyes as I watch some bum trying to buy good sex from a cheap blonde broad on the street corner. This lady reminded me of those white trash girls you only see on daytime talk shows like Jerry Springer. Her hair was long, white, and ratty. Her complexion was tan but the loneliness in her eyes made her look grey and deathly. She has bits of kiss me deadly red lipstick on her yellow cigarette stained teeth. This woman, a whore indeed, looks so lonely. I thought to myself that most people probably see her as some gnarly and gross sex machine; a literal robot incapable of human emotion. I could tell she knew this too, what other people thought. But all I saw when I looked at her, aside from the rotten glow in her face, was a lonely, sad, and confused child, lost and afraid, unknowing of what to do with her self except sell herself on the streets. I had to look away.
I continue walking slowly, watching nighttime proceed into daytime, the people walking on the sidewalk and driving in their Toyotas and vans. I watched it all like one big movie, one large surreal blur of life.
I pass up a McDonalds and the smell of processed meat and chemically enhanced french-fries intoxicates my nostrils. I think the food is a sin, just like this entire city is everything against God’s will. Chicago, the city before Noah’s Ark. Everything about this place is so tempting. The street I’m walking on is a juicy red forbidden fruit. Each step I take is one bite into the ripe, sinful fruit. I need it all.
The sky is a hazy blur of navy blue and wet grey tears; it is drizzling ever so slightly, illuminating the sidewalks with a luminescent silvery black glow. The torn sky should be full of stars, but Chicago being so polluted, won’t allow such beauty.
Chicago looks like a big painting right now, so noxiously beautiful. I wonder if the city is really a canvas, and we the people walking its cloth-like surface are merely drops from our creator’s paintbrush. Is my city supposed to be so mysterious? I guess that its mystery is what makes it so wonderful and heinously painful to look at at the same time.
A couple of drunken teenagers stumble by me and I look at them, faintly wishing I was in their state of mind. Drunkenness is so common here in this city. A city of vodka and cherries. A city of pretzels and beer. Glamour and trash. Drinking alters the state of mind, impairs the human’s motor skills. But I think there’s more to it, especially in a place like Chicago. The alcohol screws you up so badly that the fact that you can’t think straight well only makes you think harder, and more precisely. Some people think that drinking brings out the barbarians in people. I think that in Chicago, it brings out our natural selves; it makes us that much more beautiful.
I finally reach my desired location, a Honda parked on Clark street next to a meter covered in somebody’s Winterfresh gum. I hastily grab my car keys from my wallet and I jump in and drive up to Lakeshore Drive. Rolling down the windows, I let the summery night breeze suck at my face, pulling me into an enchanting, airy trance. I look outside the window while driving, and I notice how dark and blue the lake looks; so calm and peaceful, not a soul disturbing its cool midnight sand. The beach looks so clean and innocent. I can’t help but wonder why. Why, why in a city so hatefully delicious, is there something so extraordinarily pure? The beach is full of innocence. The water is fresh, crisp, and clear. It makes up for such a dirty city. I keep gazing out past Lakeshore Drive, daydreaming at 3AM on the road.
I finally am home, parked in front of my house. I get out of my car and head inside. I flop onto the couch and think about how sinful Chicago must be. I think, and I think. I then remember the lake, as I pleasantly fall asleep.
__________________________________________________
I'm very tired. I went to Bridgit's today and we studied a bit for exams. I really like her house, it's so beautiful, despite how normal she says it is. I guess it's her basic familiarity with it...people tend to think less of things they're more familiar with, including myself. Boy, do I do that a lot. Eh, I guess I should start studying more. Later.
-maggie