In the city's bottom there were rats who were also people. They
kicked things around and scattered dust that would not eat their flesh
any longer. their entropy was complete. The people who were from the
country-side were eaten by dust. And their frame became
professional. They lived on energy provided to them by their drugs.
As they roamed the city and its streets armed with their iconoclast
senses. Burroughs was on their list as a hero in literature. They
used Burroughs like a sinner would use his bible. And their mission
was to scatter things in the city.. to make wide open roads for them.
It all seemed so surreal but also so very vital their rejuvination
from the things they ate and the needles they spent. They were
restructuring society for the beneift of opening roads for life.. In a
sense it was heroic.. as the lower elements beneath them didn't even
move to the sound of the alarm clock.. they didn't punch in their
cards but making ways for society to operate according their natural
desire for liberation. And as they did this, elements worked against
each other. The car accidents were re****ted more frequently.. their
sense were gashed.. and they could not let go of this sensation of
moving.. NY's dogs were perpetually regenerating themselves. And to
live in the city had its own internal logic. It was not grounded on
religious doctrine. It was the city's inner logic. As such
philosophy had no meaning in the city. It was yet a place for living
for the sheer sensation of living alone.
"Here I am.. a lonely guest in a Dark Earth.."
The Inner City (by Seung B. Kim)
