Street Level Broken Dreams

Street Level   Broken Dreams 

 

 

“Abandonment should not be expected.”  And so it is I am present.  Present myself and in doing so, provoke another fake news controversy.  See myself as a designated space saver until something more important comes along. 

 

Not sure if this is true or if it is my imagination.  Opinion skewed.  Translation loses meaning as I move around, from top to bottom and side to side.

First thoughts as morning finds itself around me.  Street Level.  Broken Dreams.   

Wakes up to reality screaming.  

 

the lead-in banner suggests a bad start to the perfect day, and that we should just defer until tomorrow.  It is a real turn-off.  "... to say ....wakes up to reality screaming.  Like the refrain of a song I like, it plays over and over, imprinting me to that which is suggested.  Street level and the broken dreams of so many.  We call them homeless, but this is only partially true.  They choose to not do what you are doing, and choose to live at street level.  Quite a contrast to the million dollar high-rise taking over the skyline, just outside and a few blocks away from my viewing window.  

 

 "Why are you telling me this?"   

 

Detected and reported so it must be true.  Street Level traffic and noise drowns out the passage of the sorrow we carry with us.  No place to go but up, they build skyscrappers and blue-window abodes in the sky.  More than just a reflection of where we are, is pleasant to know,  we cannot hear the screaming, and so for us on cloud 9 and in Tower 12, it is a good day.  By definition, this is true.  No biting.  No hitting.  NO screaming.  Adds up to having a good day.

The echo is persistent.  "Why are you telling me this?"  

 

Carpal tunnel airport fantasy and it is ours to wonder.  "Where are we going with all of this?"  "What is the final destination, please be brief?"

 

Woke up screaming.  Am a little worried I have lost my audience.  Changed blog sites.  From thoughts.com to ThinkR.something.  xyz perhaps.    Realize these people do not know me or why I write the things I do.  Can't replicate their existence in a single sentence.  Can't make this a better day, if it isn't meant to be.  Fatalistic and predetermined, are the things I do.  Blog routine.  Write.  Post.  Go Away.

 

I want you to be okay with all of this, but have no power to change even one thing, if you are not okay or okay with what is written here.  Its the NET.  Is a lot like street level and our broken dreams.  There are days when it matters little what we think or do.  Down there where I am,  the world comes alive.  Wakes up screaming.  

 

What remains unverified at this time is the idea that when the world wakes up screaming, I am unhappy or disturbed.  "Precisely the opposite."   He said.  But then does not elaborate.  Stands with hands in pockets inviting the cold silence of morning, knowing it won't be long before the people come down from the towers he is precluded from entering by a polite security guard that says over and over, "Entrance Denied.  Move on."  Not sure the voice is human.  AI-Alexis and artificial reality and dumbing-down has taken over. 

Then comes the commuter bus and the street comes alive.  Is ordinary weekday chaos.  People trying to get to work, make a living and go home to their family.  To me it sounds like screaming, but I am above it all, looking down and really can't hear what is really going on down there at street level, and with the people.  Broken dreams and screaming.  For some that is true.  For others, its just what is.  Noisy city and is where they work.  Came here for the money.  Pure and Simple.  It is just what it is.  Another day.  And everybody has a story to tell.  If only I had time to listen.