I open my door for the past few days, only to look upon towers among towers, those that blocked the very sun coming through my windows.
Its hot outside, but after breathing conditioned cold air for more than 6 hours, I have no choice but to let the blazing warmth into the room. Its dry and dusty, also making the floor suddenly sticky due to the sudden change of temperature.
There I got out, cant help but to stare at those towers. Even in my location that is not so “densely towered”, I felt them oppressing my building, my standing ground, my identity, generally my very existence.
Then I walk the street, not in my motorized vehicle, but by foot. I can see people that generally lives under economy standards, happily conversing with each other. I despise these people. They are poor and they are too happy to do anything about their condition.
Cause once they get their teeth in, nothing really fights
I wonder maybe I can take that vehicle instead, to get rid of this god forsaken temperature and getting out of the smell of laziness. But then I remember how much sounds those horns are making when I got to the street, from the artificial to tacky ones, those temprament fucking assholes somehow keep pushing it, as if honking is not choice, but necessity. I also realize how wonderful it is, that those assholes are actually every fucking citizens in this city, in bikes or cars, nothing different.
Seperate the weak from the obsolete
So I decided to keep going by foot. And looking up to where I am going to work. I guess one thing that I would like is the job, and I was right, the job actually saved me from the reek of this city’s filth. But still, I cannot help but to see human arrogance, rising tall above its own, above trees and bleeding the sky. This is the place where brick and steel are stacked and molded, going much taller than the amount of humanism its citizen able to possess. People lost their hope, dreamless and stuffed up in narrow rooms, stucked in sea of lights that never seems to cease its firing cannons. Happiness is created through ecstatic joy, something that is as original as Sunday morning gossips. In here, the ephemeras are worshipped, god are as deep as friday afternoon rituals, and people able to fake expressions and feelings are paid very highly.
Then I stood silently. Trying to give whatever left of my concern to lift my feet to the front lobby.
And I can hear him singing, as I imagine everyone in this city started to sing with him.
Give me the strength of the rising sun
Give me the truth of the word unsung
And when the last bells ring, the poor men sing
Bring me to kingdom come