civic spire electric vision on 83rd flr—plate glass windows broadcast blanc noir to the thrum of sympathetic radar fugue—do not forget the unseen around us, they watch as well—ease up, easy down—walk the streets with me and look up, now look down—new horizons up there, new worlds unfurling as we discover the secret web of our enhanced device—we challenge worlds within worlds, never heard the word Monad? never were once one celled? call me protoplasmic—we are far past that now—look down, do not look down too far we have slid far enough, we slide from towers to dungeons in a heartbeat—human history demonstrates this as the only fact worth knowing—walk with me as we pick our way thru the hall of living fallen heroes, do not mistake your revulsion for less than self-interest, they do not deserve this—we are no more nor less than them—they who are only they—this is the street that runs between the tower and the gorge—each day people on their way to work on buses in cars on the subway flying in private helicopters try their best to negotiate this street—the street that runs between you and me—the street that long ago was named without pity—this street is the river, we are paper boats, this is a paper boat. towers are empty white plastic bottles bobbing in the wake of large incomprehensible cruise ships passing by—the gorge is the endless capacity of water to swallow everything thrown into it—the street is black with what we have thrown into it—we stare at the asphalt wondering if it will finally reflect our true face back … operator, I’m not getting a tone … operator? are you there?—people will pay you on the street in the towers in the gorge if you can just answer that question—operator … are you there? they just want an answer, play it, play it for them, for me, for anyone—just a sure thing … are you there? just a promise … are you there? I’ll pay … tell me—I’ll pay

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