Entry 7

What would they say if they knew my thoughts? Are my words beautiful, thoughtful, or too realistic to consider even thinking about them? The other day, B. commented on my thoughts on time, death and communication. I said that if one swims out too far, he should make sure that someone can hear him scream. She liked it, and I, in the way of chivalry, thanked her for kind words.

But I disagree with her. My thoughts are shallow, and even through I always take time to collect them [them], they never come out well. Even here, where this is just Freewriting, granted, I give only shallow thoughts.

Why anyone would ever listen to my thoughts I cannot understand. They would only be profound to the person of minimal intellegence. No offense, dear reader. I am just very hard on myself. Nothing against you. At least not personally.

An unnatural wilderness of steel and glass. A lake of copper green. A city of the living Dead. Those are my observations in Chicago, as I look at the skyline of that city, standing on Navy Pier. How people live in such rich squallor is beyond me. The City has her own cold beauty, something . . . impressive, evil, imposing, dead. She will be the death of those who trust her, and they shall be the death of those who hate her. . .

City

Cold Beauty
Water Green as copper
Unnatural wilderness of steel & glass
a forest fo the living Dead
a plain of hard black dirt
a sun of that rises and sets in blood
a sense of hatred and love
the sky dead pale and coloured rosy
the call of sirens in the night
the Faust of times modern
the great amount of hate for those they love

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