Sin City

Shine -lake of fire
Lines take me higher
My mind drips desire
Confined and overtired

The city – it calls me
Decadent scenes from my memory
Sorrow – eternity
My demons are coming to drown me

City of overflowing images is in a soporific mode, a solid frozen state of consciousness. Probing through the ochre shades of this lost morning. The zone, where day slowly starts to break the night but not enough to rid it of the sinewy murkiness. A few dull moments ago it appeared a pitch black room of profound desperation and adaptable echoes with an almost varicose tranquility to thrive in.
The Girl watches her ghost walk down the emptiness that’s New York(or is it Bombay?). Thinks of the vacant department stores, the bored mannequins, the muted architecture, the friendless surveillance cameras in sedated corporate boardrooms. Far away from the burgeoning financial district- the road ahead, sleeps in her eyes. Without the thousand spinning bodies or liquid dreams.
An Interrupted City, not sleeping not waking – the brimful life – the suppressed melancholia. Music is the drug of choice, the bass rhythms dissolve words, they script their own elemental libretto of brilliant ricochets along the geometry of ever extending walls. The strength of being alive is never quite so palpable as it is when everything is deadly silent.
Welcome to my side, a short inconsequential distance between us. No isolation or objectivity. Sit back. Observe and savor every bite you take out of the Present. It will abscond.Its always does. The fading of Time into cavernous enclaves of History. Strange and compulsory nostalgia. Stilted distances and experiential silences. You are outgrowing Time and you feel indestructible.

This city offers unexplored, unhinged seduction by way of its rainshot streets, the multitude of cars, the whispering crowds.. the possibility of finding a love on those streets or inside those cars or within those crowds. Every season I ‘d reinterpret my Life, everything would be restructured to avoid rigor mortis. The casual moseying along the tracks , the sadism of sex, the honest lies..

You know the trend. I don’t want to fear God or Love or Silence before am done living.
Of all the aphorisms…
I like all that I live…including You. Yes, I live You too.
The slightest taste of blood in my mouth, the thinnest cloud of smoke over my head, the blood callings, the entrapments, the machete-wielding ghosts of improbable angst are exorcized in a slow surreal manner. There is your book, your movie, your song – Its all right there. We could never abandon this city, we could never entirely dispose each other or conceal the battle scars. We are This – We carved our lives out of this city’s heart. Many neon moons later We discover our paradoxical state of existence. We are the city. And We are the slow iridescence of night lights along the barricade where the sea or the river(Arabian or Hudson) hits at the rocks like a sulky child.
That’s where I met You. You – the venial sin, a rare indulgence , the perfect soul rhythm tune if I ever heard one. The Theatre of beauty – You and the city. The violence of Life and its consummate beauty lies in its impossibility. You – who left just before I could admit that I’d want to walk through this bare-footed, again. With You.
You and the city – Both Impossible as hell…
I still am sifting through both…heart in hand. One step at a time.


~ by iconoplastic on September 18, 2007.

2 Responses to “Sin City”

  1. Awww…

  2. C’mon!

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