Surplus of bass thumps by curtailing the effectiveness of music on my ear. Sitting here outside on this cool afternoon I don't imagine the man operating the motor as I often might but a bumping heart beat, the thrashing throbbing sound of the city. An unhealthy gurgle of encroaching metal and concrete, plaster plastic chemical spray chemical drink, intruding hands eyes feet, garbage spilling out onto streets already too full of waste. I hear the beat of a malfunctioning body marked by too many irregular pulses. The city contracts, wheezes, spits mucous mixed blood on my skin that wont come clean. It must be disease, some new form of unnatural death. I forgot that everything causes cancer these days and our drugs go in without ever working. There is no treatment in these parts, in this far down land of dank sweat and never setting suns. Home of no work to be had and many mouths to feed and wet cheeks and dirty hands of old woman still walking to back breaking jobs and pig and politician sounding like the same thing. Of bruises that blossom constantly on tiny torn up faces. I seen a child that carried the saddest eyes I ever saw. Sick watery things turned up in search of answers to questions that can't possibly be asked by a mind still acquiring self, still growing into something weathered relinquished and used up, less innocent and lost imagination.