My City

Up here it's nice and cold. I love the cold air it makes me feel more comfortable. Reminds me when, back in the day, I would lie in bed as a child and if it was particularly cold or I'd left the window open over night, I would wrap myself up in my blanket. I always pretended like I was a caterpillar or something. Something, what did my mum always say...something as snug as a bug in a rug! Dear old mum, or granny to my kids and Julie to my wife, never stopped going. I bet right now she's arranging a party in heaven, making all the angels laugh with her crazy eccentric ways. Dear old mum, making me laugh from the other side, trust her.

Oh God if the world could see the places they live from this sort of height...well I guess most never will. I only come up here to think, but no one ever seems to think now. All they do is "All for one and one for- Fuck off Jackass!" Oh we're a real caring society now. Can't help but chuckle or cry, and I'm in no mood for crying seeing what I see. I'm in the mood for blissful awe. Just to appreciate something that looks so ugly when you're in it, but so beautiful and alluring when you're not.

The neon lights create a vibrant spiritual glow, the white canvas of the city ready to be painted all the colours imaginable, some call it light pollution; I guess that's their prerogative. The ruffled edges of the skyscrapers reflecting reds and blues of their tinted windows create a sea of aesthetic joy, and spilling the colours around them like the tail of a peacock. I could imagine standing here as the architect did, dipping my paintbrush into the mixture, and starting a new beautiful city free from ugly obtuse buildings. Free to mingle and dabble amongst the cosmos of colours he chose to use.

Can't fault the city for what it is. A masterpiece. We all wonder day-to-day watching all these horrible things that go on in our city, quoting the news with all the crazy people doing crazy things in this crazy city. Only problems I see is I must be crazy. I have to be because I see normal as crazy. I see going to work 9-5 everyday and busting your ass in a job you don't need to do, for a boss who probably doesn't care, in a company you will never truly be intricate to, as crazy. Yeah I know that there are exceptions to this rule, but I just don't see them. Not often enough for it to make me change my mind at least.

You know I sit here, and I watch the visual assault- no...not assault... the visual caress of the city below, and you can't help but stop and think about your own insignificance. That's the trick though. You don't stop to think about how many people are doing better than you, or how much more money someone has, or how great their car is. The trick is simple. Just don't care. Not in a way that makes you distant and closeted, but in a way that means you can be comfortable with yourself in any situation.

I can hear them even up here I can hear the moans of the city; The rush of the car speeding home to a wife waiting asleep on the sofa the TV still on flickering on her long sleeping eyes. I can hear the moans of the lovers embroiled in a fight, him desperately trying to calm her down and her desperately trying to make a display. Some would think this display was an unprovoked out burst of female hormones. It never is. It's the rebel yell of a woman, the howl of the wolf hunting for emotion. Men are so afraid to make a scene, but women crave it. If their lover fights back...well at least hate is an emotion, and you know what they say about hate and love.

Even the smell of the city is sweet and sticky almost viscous. Down by the shore the fisherman haul their catches onto the docks, the steak housing grill their cattle and the fast-food joints melt their plastic. Sure on their own they smell good, but together...together they smell like the culmination of a society, of a culture...a functioning city.

There's one other thing that I love about the city, and that's the sea. The sea with its welcoming arms and distinct salty smell, that's the smell I like most I think. Reminds me of times when you could go down to the beach without having to worry about some damn sick pervert with an eye for a young kid. Reminds me of a time when kids didn't have to worry about broken bottles on the shore, crack heads with their habits, it was just you and the sea.

All these different problems I mentioned? There not problems, there perceptions. I don't see them as problems; I see them as part of a place I choose to live. Only difference between me and most, I want to make a difference. A real difference to the place I live. The place I call home. The place I call hope and future. The place I love with the things I love and the people I love. My city may have its faults, but it's my city and I love it. All the problems and perceptions in the world couldn't change that. Only I can change it. Only my perception matters to me. Only yours should matter to you.