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Wednesday, August 09, 2006

The beauty of the city is comparable and even able to surpass any withered rose of the Italian lover. There is so much activity, a thousand eyes staring in opposite directions, and yet somehow everybody manages to stay on the sidewalk without spilling off into the overcrowded street, a.k.a Le Valley of Cars. How many roses are so diverse in their selection of petals? In how many botanical gardens are you likely to find such a vast sea of contradictions as you can find in any city coffee corner? Here comes the drag queen, wearing a business suit, chatting with a short Pakistani sporting a snow-season beanie and carrying natural chinese green tea in a water bottle. The lawyers, accountants, suit-super shiny clean hordes rushing through the distractions of “BUY ME, HALF OFF” sales and not quite yet New Zealand Idol material (not any of the good ones anyway) street performers. Then there is the old Korean violin player, his skilled and glorious symphony bursting through the social scene obsessed with money and deadlines. There is something horribly sad, a fine line of melancholy nostalgia in his eyes, and it angers me to watch the stouty business types on their cell phones briskly stroll by past him, not bothering to see or listen to his story. And how could I not mention the beautiful women? The firm, athletic musculature of their legs showing through fitted jeans and leather booted heels, their mid-sections covered and their bustline alluring and captivating. I can’t look away, I can’t look away, I can’t.. ow! Who can blame any male man banging into a wall or lamppost when there is such a gorgeous display of scenery about? Any woman who swears off men in disgust of their neandrothal tendencies shouldn’t be wearing red lace underwear underneath a see through white skirt. Men however, for me anyway, aren’t as fascinating to look at. Their hips don’t sway with delicacy, and the wind doesn’t blow through their hair when they laugh, and they never seem to know what to say. I think the male form is best nude, as clothing seems to shed their natural masculinity. I just can’t imagine a prince of the jungle wearing a Metallica T-Shirt and banging his head to a punk rock song on his ipod. Hmm. The business women crack me up. All this feminism suffrage movement crap has turned the beautiful female into a she-he. Whatever happened to the Sharon Stone types, oozing with seductive power and brilliant wit? Tie, suit with pants, hair back in a bun, topped off with a serious expression and a bitchy attitude are very depressing to see, as it shows how obviously desperate any woman attired with such characteristics must have been for recognition. Throughout her childhood, imagine, everyone always saying, “hey Girl, come here. Excuse me Miss, would you like to sit here, My my what a lovely face you have you young Female. Oh here, I‘ll give you a 10% discount for being pretty.“ Poor you, you disadvantaged, abused, over-trodden by men in the corporate market female. Do you need a hug? I’ll give you one. Yes, you’re smart, and capable and an individual.
Just like everybody else. He. He. Heeeheee. All this fussy hilarity, plus add the wondrous smells of freshly baked (or perhaps mass produced, repackaged, and re-distributed, wholesale, but who cares anyway) cookies, cheap Malaysian take-away, the sparkly rainbow of lights, shouts of all languages flying through mouths across the streets and into people’s ears, and tall buildings that depending on how you’re feeling either smile with you or mock you, and did I mention the tall striking manaquins in the shop display windows? I love the fucking city. Ya just can’t say “fucking” in relation to a red rose, especially if its accompanied by one of those woeful, puppy-eyed, Shakespeare obsessed sensitive wimps (oh, sorry, “romantics”). And the use of such crude words is just as expressive and meaningful as any witty phrase from Voltaire. It loves you, it hates you, it sucks you in its whirlpool of coffee and cheap wine, and then hopefully you’ll rise above it only to become a slave to it forevermore. The city, the city, THE FUCKING CITY!!!!!!! Ah, I’m in love.

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