City Spin

I've been thinking about cities. Vast hulking swarming hives city hives. City Spin. City Hive. Bee hive. Behave. Cities grow and grow , rarely falling except with a distinct lack of grace.  Towering, sprawling... and all those other commonly attributed cliches used over one thousand times by over one thousand people in just one day in just one city.  The boundaries drawn around them are futile. Nations. Nations are constructs. Constructed and deconstructed. Nations come and go, rise and fall, empire build, empire fall, monkey see, monkey do. But Cities last. Cities are real, cities are solid, solid brick, solid gold, solid yellow brick road. Blackened though, blackened and sucking of life from the rurality around it, a huge oily carbuncle on soft white skin. Cities are disgusting, not great but disgusting, indeed greatly disgusting. Not gold at all, apart form that it to say black gold. the black gold that runs through the cities streets like veins of a gargantuan pulsating parasite of a carbuncle spewing forth is bilge and guff. All that comes from cities is guff. the art, the literature, the people, the frappucino. The frappucino of a city is a huge stinking pile of unpalatable guff, spewed forth by an oily carbuncle of a parasite as it pulses and drains its life from the land below it. And I'll make mine a grande, with a baby mochachino side.