The City Is Dead, And We Have Killed Him

the fuck who tower

From across the river, you see a big defiant middle finger as a projection of power, but what purposes does the sky raper serve? Like most erections, this one will end up fucking itself. Despite its high rising edifices, the city is not a place that elevates—it is a place where humans are on the same point of the food chain as the pigeons. Resources the world over zoom in to serve only one herd animal: the human mono-crop.

Decadence draws many curious opportunists in—the conception of a ground zero has a longer history/future and a wider geography than 9/11 highlighted—the tourist sites are only different in degree, they share in kind their neglect for human needs to the detriment of human wants. As we exit into the Maninhattanable moonscape through the hollow tunnel, and behold the harsh reality of the people funnels—grids of iron and asphalt—we are awestruck by the disorderly attempts that successfully contain (for the moment) a great many paradoxes. Freedom of movement is deterred and depth of thought is simultaneously propelled and stifled by the speedy whirring of bodies biological and mechanical. Artists don’t come here, they are here grown in Life’s defiance and tragically come to represent in their deformalism and twisted flesh the misappropriation of the world’s previously natural resources.

Punishments to your sense of smell pull up questionable philosophical notions such as: “animals who live in sewage learn to live with the taste” and “if you belittle yourself enough you get to experience the greatness of the unexceptional” while your bedrock idioms like “tattoos aren’t covering up the banality, they are the banality” are thrown into doubt. Your brain is being weighed down by the layers of oppression that displace the oxygen, and you come to understand that only moon worshipers who like alternate levels of gravity are drawn in, while others leave, or flea.

Decadence draws many curious opportunists in—the conception of a ground zero has a longer history/future and a wider geography than 9/11 highlighted—the tourist sites are only different in degree, they share in kind their neglect for human needs to the detriment of human wants. As we exit into the Maninhattanable moonscape through the hollow tunnel, and behold the harsh reality of the people funnels—grids of iron and asphalt—we are awestruck by the disorderly attempts that successfully contain (for the moment) a great many paradoxes. Punishments to your sense of smell pull up questionable philosophical notions such as: “animals who live in sewage learn to live with the taste” and “if you belittle yourself enough you get to experience the greatness of the unexceptional” while your bedrock idioms like “tattoos aren’t covering up the banality, they are the banality” are thrown into doubt. Your brain is being weighed down by the layers of oppression that displace the oxygen, and you come to understand that only moon worshipers who like alternate levels of gravity are drawn in, while others leave, or flea.

This city is dying, in its final throes—he is left in a vegetative state without any vegetation. The central park is at the very margins: an escape not a destination, only an appendix to a machine, but a lung to a living human. This concrete desert dry-ages bodies rapidly, putting on years at the expense of crystallizing wisdom. Drugs flourish here not because of their availability, but because of their need. Bipolar condition is born and embodied here, for at the flip of a switch unimaginable depression will stamp out the maniacal oppression. In Times Square where the photons omit the truth by emission—and hope only flickers and dims—the colors are unable to hide the gray wasteland: the sands hidden in the glass, the plastic hidden in the complexi. The Square is a microcosm of the vast isle populated with unnatural geometric surfaces, is this what Euclid had in mind?

It is a residence trap, where tourists leave with an expensive lesson that is too dissonant to absorb for those unfortunates who permanently dwell here. Voluntary serfdom reigns though it is marketed with more enticing names. A great irony that it is the nobles in their displays of ill-gotten wealth who are the ones tying themselves to their pigeon hole purchase, for few houses are allowed. The renters may leave to be peasants elsewhere, but not those who allow the bank to bet them all in; will their equity be rolled over before they are?

On a clearer day, the epiphany rains down on you, and you ask: “What value does this city have to offer any more? What does the city provide to the world, or even its own people?” Surely American culture is so transportable and righteously ephemeral that it cannot be a single shit stain for one place to bear. This city has allowed the adjacent land to be sacked so many times—long years it was a hub for such activity—that there is no reason to sack the cursed islands themselves. There are magnitudes more flies in the shit than there are eagles, for they stay away from the foul. Even an old and balding Jeffersonian eagle, barely perceiving with its fading vision, can see from the wisdom of times past that such isles are to be avoided. The five boroughs devolve into the five deaths.

Trade your buffoon stocks for a safe place in the boon docks. Let biomass levels be your new guide to living as you purge the Dow Jones misconcept. Tunnel out of the nightmare and enter a sublime dream, and concur with your fellow travelers that a city that never sleeps is not worthy of those who are fully awake.

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Aking to follow – Part Two, Anarcho-Monarchy

Who is the one person to dictate to others that everyone must be their own leaders of their lives at all times, and that they shouldn’t be a follower? Not an anarchist—and I don’t know that I have encountered a leftist who has taken that radical a position, but I write this in anticipation of—and against—such a polarizing point that is arguably quite anti-anarchist. So to recap and put the question into a statement: there should be no person telling other people what they should and shouldn’t do.

With such a situation allowed for, an anarchist society allows for both leaders and followers. Anyone who holds the anarchist ideals should deeply consider that many of us at times are, and may feel the need to be, followers (think especially of the infant/childhood condition of existence). There is nothing wrong with leaders and followers, just so long as the followers aren’t being coerced into being such, and there is no time commitment that keeps them bound to follow past the present moment in which they are choosing to follow. There is no contract, no obligation, that a student should have to a teacher to continue being a student; nor does the teacher have to remain a teacher if there is a sudden urge to stop being a teacher and become a student, or leave the dynamic completely. Options are always open to all persons, and the moment that a follower wants to lead themselves, or follow a different lead, is the moment they can.

There are some historical/futurical cautions to be aware of with the leader, follower dynamic. Coercion has often existed and put contracts/shackles unfairly on participants (not just the peasants, but the heirs to the throne who would rather relinquish their power). Landlords in medieval times abused the leader/follower tendencies among humans to create the shitstorm of perpetual servitude, whereby over many generations the famous quote of Steve Biko is rendered true: “The most potent weapon of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed”

It’s as if servitude morphs from being the symptom of a structure to an organic and perfectly natural occurrence. We can allow for monarchs, just so long as the true meaning of “mon” is kept with a single person, temporary to the situation (I’m thinking of an even more temporary form than Roman/Greek executive dictators), and the monarchy is not passed on arbitrarily to an heir, but that the followers choose their new leaders—the best case being them maturing to choose themselves!

Aking to Follow Part 1