I first notice my ghostly appearance has materialized, when a towering black truck slams on its brakes and some freakily elongated black metal kids spill out, all lookin like gene simmons, face-painted, and drooling up blood. They chase me back into another alley. I find cover as they disperse back into their vehicles and keep watch from behind trash can fires as the rest of there caravan of roving metal heads rip and thunder through the streets doing wheelies in their giant monster trucks screamin like spastic inbred demons. You can hear em comin and goin miles away from the resonating bass of the most evile death metal soundscapes one has ever heard. After there scene trails off, I walk back out into the proper city streets hearin them echo away. The cracked up asphalt looks kinda magical littered with glass underneath all those flashin amber street lights. Strangely clad and diabolically beautiful pirate women stand out on the corners lookin like some futuristic, yet not so safe, suicide girls, all dressed up for the day of the dead. I peer into yet another tweaker mat and witness this acute, yet, cloudy madness sorta feel, that hints of any old zombie movie where one walks into the room and, initially, cannot make out what exactly it is they are gazing upon, until the focus comes in and you realizes its a pack of zombies feasting on some second-rate corpse. I start to come to the realization that i am exposed and alone and must find some proper allies and a possible hideout. I hitch a ride on the back of some, burning man lookin, garbage truck all done up with glow in the dark stars and fluorescent paints, there's a bunch of weirdo day glo crusty death hippies hangin all over the thing like a band of third world indian kids up on a train, they look sorta frightening, all shiny black-lit eyeballs and teeth, but somethin about it makes me feel safe, maybe the stars.
But i hang on the back watchin the place scream on by. The city seem to talk to me, i feel like its uploading information into my brain, adapting me. It seems that all of these elevated buildings around here are in a state of constant change, morphing or maybe even breathing. All rising up to reveal pictures of their own futures which have been derived from an exactitude of the point in passing and at once reinvent themselves into various shapes and sizes just to ditch out any of their past formations. I feel familiarized and completely comfortable with the most of the city-scape, everything seems good as long as i am fixated on this truck and moving throughout, we seem to all be a part of the same monstrous organism here. A city as a somewhat foul and unnatural coral reef or aspen groove dancing and constantly expanding all at once, all together. I understand now that all the towers are specific to the gangs beings that have overtaken them. The tweakers damned up in their dirty yellow buzzing laundromats, the pirate hookers on there urban land ships, the metal head kids have taken up in a creepy gray old gothic sort of church, all their monster trucks parked sporadically on the steps and sidewalk. All made entirely their own to build up and shape as their minds flash themselves upon it. Another thing about this realm is that it consists only of the most completely sturdy souls, call em characters of good or evil if ya have to draw lines, but tried and true characters nonetheless. The weak and squeamish ones cannot continue here. There are no muddling middle ground sorta folk left, no room for the useless critics and evaluators. This city tells me they have all been drowned out long ago, faded out with the self pro claimed lords of the land and all those waiting room clerks, and every other variety of ineffectual official whose minds could not survive the shift. All swallowed by the seas or maybe burnt out with the long dead sun. But as dark and deadly as this place seems to be, as many dregg-ish fiends as one comes across here, i somehow know that there are some holy hearts holding onto a certain force of illumination. I know now that i have arrived here to find my own clan.
I ditch off the truck and walk most directly into a small group of kids all dressed in the most curious sorta garb. They all have a feel of somewhere between back then and up ahead. Spellbinding victorian caveman futurists perhaps. There all
standing symmetrically silent, hangin out under a substantial set of heavy handed steel cemetery gates that remind me of these weirdo art deco lamp posts by the subway entrances in paris. There all illuminated by a lovely eerie green light flooding all around them from a lamp post of the same design as the gates. This image is most grand, i can see the cemetery in all of its splendor rising up in the backdrop, giant mossy vine-covered tombs, like some old french burial ground, bubbling up over the gates, strung up on a perfectly, again, symmetrical hill that draws to a peek with a monstrously monumentous mausoleum thrown up right in the dead center. The mausoleum seems to be charged with a glow of ultra white, as if under a full moon. I don't recollect saying a damn word to these kids and instantly know them as familiarly ancient friends from one of the old worlds all gathered up to wait for my arrival. We walk away from here so slowly and fitting as in some beautifully formed funeral procession. It all seems so sad and gloomy but i cant stop smiling. Next picture cuts home to the front entrance of a large old red brick building our clan shall inhabit. It sort of reminds me of the rookery building in chicago from the front. A large archway leading in with a sign over top that reads, in giant steel old english letters, The Hanging Garden.
We walk into an enormous foyer decorated by the most intricate steel fixtures, hundreds of old tarnished chandeliers, the floor is all black and white checkered tile, tons of extraordinary antiques and odd furniture pieces, and the light is almost swirling with an ever changing array of harlequin shades. The lobby opens into something like the bradbury building (see below) from blade runner with about 20 stories of open lobby squared off by the hallways and railings. There's two reasons why this place is called the hanging garden, although these kids do seem to be the sort that would be into the cure, and possibly that may have just been a convenient title, but not the only reason for the name. First and most immediately evident is because of the fact that an amazing "hanging garden" has been somehow planted off of the railings and ceiling to hang down over and into the lobby of the place. This is one of the most remarkably awe-inspiring images i have ever seen. All the plants are of the queerest shape, size, texture and colors i can imagine. A lot of weird suessian, (dr. seuss), sorta flavors here, almost like a coral reef in the color and textures. Lots of florescence and an almost dayglo sorta shine. the place looks as if charged by black-light. So that being the first reason why this its called the hanging garden. The second being, just about the yin for the yang of it, because of, yes, all the suicides that took place here in what is referred to as the transition times. Why exactly it is that we are all in this situation is because the bottom fell out. There was a sort of culmination to a certain way of life that many had grown comfortable within and many of those that were not able to comprehend, or say, adapt to the activation of new brain processes, or new ways of life in general, well, many of those folks exploded right off the bat, not to even see anything of the transitional times. Some of these folks did hold out for a decent while, but ultimately grew depressed and inconsolable by these new living conditions, and in turn, chose to do away with themselves. And for some reason, possibly because of the abundance of high railings, came to this building to hang themselves. And this place became, like japans suicide forest, or the golden gate, a known place to come and move on to another plane of existence, or nonexistence, dependent upon ones take. But the inexplicable thing about this place is the lore of the link between the gardens and the suicides, the myth especially potent among the inhabitants of this building. It is assumed that all of these suicides left hanging are where the beautiful foliage comes from. No one knows for sure because the building was not occupied at the time of all the hangings, but one can assume such a metamorphism because of the magical fact that these plants seem to grow out of nothing, theres no soil or anything from which one would figure them to come about from.
We walk into an enormous foyer decorated by the most intricate steel fixtures, hundreds of old tarnished chandeliers, the floor is all black and white checkered tile, tons of extraordinary antiques and odd furniture pieces, and the light is almost swirling with an ever changing array of harlequin shades. The lobby opens into something like the bradbury building (see below) from blade runner with about 20 stories of open lobby squared off by the hallways and railings. There's two reasons why this place is called the hanging garden, although these kids do seem to be the sort that would be into the cure, and possibly that may have just been a convenient title, but not the only reason for the name. First and most immediately evident is because of the fact that an amazing "hanging garden" has been somehow planted off of the railings and ceiling to hang down over and into the lobby of the place. This is one of the most remarkably awe-inspiring images i have ever seen. All the plants are of the queerest shape, size, texture and colors i can imagine. A lot of weird suessian, (dr. seuss), sorta flavors here, almost like a coral reef in the color and textures. Lots of florescence and an almost dayglo sorta shine. the place looks as if charged by black-light. So that being the first reason why this its called the hanging garden. The second being, just about the yin for the yang of it, because of, yes, all the suicides that took place here in what is referred to as the transition times. Why exactly it is that we are all in this situation is because the bottom fell out. There was a sort of culmination to a certain way of life that many had grown comfortable within and many of those that were not able to comprehend, or say, adapt to the activation of new brain processes, or new ways of life in general, well, many of those folks exploded right off the bat, not to even see anything of the transitional times. Some of these folks did hold out for a decent while, but ultimately grew depressed and inconsolable by these new living conditions, and in turn, chose to do away with themselves. And for some reason, possibly because of the abundance of high railings, came to this building to hang themselves. And this place became, like japans suicide forest, or the golden gate, a known place to come and move on to another plane of existence, or nonexistence, dependent upon ones take. But the inexplicable thing about this place is the lore of the link between the gardens and the suicides, the myth especially potent among the inhabitants of this building. It is assumed that all of these suicides left hanging are where the beautiful foliage comes from. No one knows for sure because the building was not occupied at the time of all the hangings, but one can assume such a metamorphism because of the magical fact that these plants seem to grow out of nothing, theres no soil or anything from which one would figure them to come about from.
So those being the two reasons for the name. And now this place is a sort of communal living castle inhabited by all the illuminated and creatively driven children that dwell in this bizzaro dark and deadly city. All throughout these inner halls, walls and twisting stairways the same sort of vibrational, almost electric, creative charge continues. Up into the cradle of the place it looks like that mc escher scene at the end of the labyrinth, all sorts of weird angles and various levels cutting into hallways leading into staircases that dead end to nothing. But in accordance with the philosophy of the tenants here, nothing is superfluous, everything seems to hold a purpose. All of these spaces receive proper attention, even the apparent dead ends hold more odd gardens or wondrous little alters and shrines. I recollect this one long shadowy hallway in which the floor was lined with old thin, almost breathing, red carpeting. Time freezes out strange and perspective shifts, kinda of like Alice's doorways, I keep walking toward a shining arrangement of flickering light and being unable to make out what it was until nearly upon it. And at the end found a twisted old meticulously ornate wooden table that was hand-carved with vines and flowers and little gnome looking faces. It was all draped with a variety of tattered, multi-colored cloths and covered in burning candles that surmounted to a mountain of rainbow colored wax. In the center, a statue of some lady of Guadeloupe lookin dame that was encircled by a magnificent collection of trinkets, bones, rocks, jewelry and oddly minded plant-life.
Take this as the theme of the entire building, every inch of everything over-laid in complex designs, all the hallways covered with magnificent collages, cryptic drawings and murals, all adorned with hanging trinkets of mixed sorts of everything. Just imagine taking an elaborate old art deco sort of building and placing it in the hands of the most creative weirdos this world has to offer up with no day jobs and nothing but time of their own to keep the place breathable and steadily growing. And aside from the visual charm, everywhere you walk around here, one is haunted by the loveliest smells and noises you ever could envision. Every turn creates a continued symphonic collage constructed by most anything imaginable, from creepy old phonographs to some ghostly grandfather clock chiming through a non existent time piece. Conversation ghosts of a combined past, present, and future resonate throughout, interweaved betwixt the sounds of harmonica playing teapots boiling off inside retarded cuckoo clocks inside dollhouse homes of the dolls of dolls. I keep walkin about these hallways for an uncharted turn er two, eventually belonging inside one of the apartment chambers. All the doorways have been removed, some like the one i enter are draped with tapestries or frayed cloths, or those fancy beaded doorway things, but i figure that everyone residing here wants to keep open doors as to promote a free flavored movement to all the other kids. It doesn't seem like anyone here keeps regular beds or possessions at that, keeping with the tune of constant revision and everything for anyone whom is making use of it as they see fit. Inside the smaller chambers, no different from the wondrous arrangements of the halls, just a bit more cozy and warming. Everything in here is precisely how i would envision my perfect living quarters, book and record shelves that remind me of dreams library in sandman, all the most enchantingly fascinating books and songs ever written that were never written to hold. Collections from an infinity of perfect dreams disremembered. A warm cubby hole of a kitchen that reminds me of how i saw Mr. badgers house in the wind of the willows. All rounded-out, no corners, all rich dark wood, lovely shelves hugging containers of lovely smells, lined up with a variance of potion like glass jars holding unbeknownst teas and spices that one could get stuck just smelling on for days. The ceilings and walls all flowing and breathin, it looks like a carnival tent everything lined with multi-colored fabrics, strange mobiles made of feather adorned sticks laced with mirrors, jewels and every other sort of ornamented bauble-filled what nots. The floors and doorways all dark and olden sorts of wood. End-tables all filled up with living figurines and a million pieces of someone's lost last lifetimes. Eventually im led out to a balcony where everyone is gathered around a oddly green glowing fire, these kids all seem to be drawn to or maybe even emit this same shade of emerald i initially saw them standing under. This must be the color of my old world clans aura or some shit, because i seem to have amany night visions resonating with this same color. I actually used to have this reoccurring dream around my birthday for a few years pertaining to a sort of emerald palace i would see from afar and almost be magnetized toward.
But anyways, so i stand out on this old cobblestone porch with all these magical creatures for a turn and notice that looking off into the view that the sea seems to surround, at least partially surround, the building. We're about 20 floors up here and down below the waves are breaking on giant rocks at the foot of the building. From up here i begin to get the impression that were on an enormous ship, just as the thought turns into something else, we move and i look out to see black mountains in the distance growing larger and lighter. I just stare off into the sea for a timepiece er two until i turn back around and see only the face, of one of the more comradely, no offense meant, pirate hookers from earlier. Her face is painted to look as a skull, shes in her dia de los muertos vestments, and wearing a big red sombrero with the little yellow balls hanging off. She reminds me of a women i had talked to earlier that week about her son recently dying of cancer. I look deep into her eyes as they enlarge and reflect back the glow of the green fire, she smiles real wide-like at me and the scene goes for gone. I get a feelin ill be comin back here.
Take this as the theme of the entire building, every inch of everything over-laid in complex designs, all the hallways covered with magnificent collages, cryptic drawings and murals, all adorned with hanging trinkets of mixed sorts of everything. Just imagine taking an elaborate old art deco sort of building and placing it in the hands of the most creative weirdos this world has to offer up with no day jobs and nothing but time of their own to keep the place breathable and steadily growing. And aside from the visual charm, everywhere you walk around here, one is haunted by the loveliest smells and noises you ever could envision. Every turn creates a continued symphonic collage constructed by most anything imaginable, from creepy old phonographs to some ghostly grandfather clock chiming through a non existent time piece. Conversation ghosts of a combined past, present, and future resonate throughout, interweaved betwixt the sounds of harmonica playing teapots boiling off inside retarded cuckoo clocks inside dollhouse homes of the dolls of dolls. I keep walkin about these hallways for an uncharted turn er two, eventually belonging inside one of the apartment chambers. All the doorways have been removed, some like the one i enter are draped with tapestries or frayed cloths, or those fancy beaded doorway things, but i figure that everyone residing here wants to keep open doors as to promote a free flavored movement to all the other kids. It doesn't seem like anyone here keeps regular beds or possessions at that, keeping with the tune of constant revision and everything for anyone whom is making use of it as they see fit. Inside the smaller chambers, no different from the wondrous arrangements of the halls, just a bit more cozy and warming. Everything in here is precisely how i would envision my perfect living quarters, book and record shelves that remind me of dreams library in sandman, all the most enchantingly fascinating books and songs ever written that were never written to hold. Collections from an infinity of perfect dreams disremembered. A warm cubby hole of a kitchen that reminds me of how i saw Mr. badgers house in the wind of the willows. All rounded-out, no corners, all rich dark wood, lovely shelves hugging containers of lovely smells, lined up with a variance of potion like glass jars holding unbeknownst teas and spices that one could get stuck just smelling on for days. The ceilings and walls all flowing and breathin, it looks like a carnival tent everything lined with multi-colored fabrics, strange mobiles made of feather adorned sticks laced with mirrors, jewels and every other sort of ornamented bauble-filled what nots. The floors and doorways all dark and olden sorts of wood. End-tables all filled up with living figurines and a million pieces of someone's lost last lifetimes. Eventually im led out to a balcony where everyone is gathered around a oddly green glowing fire, these kids all seem to be drawn to or maybe even emit this same shade of emerald i initially saw them standing under. This must be the color of my old world clans aura or some shit, because i seem to have amany night visions resonating with this same color. I actually used to have this reoccurring dream around my birthday for a few years pertaining to a sort of emerald palace i would see from afar and almost be magnetized toward.
But anyways, so i stand out on this old cobblestone porch with all these magical creatures for a turn and notice that looking off into the view that the sea seems to surround, at least partially surround, the building. We're about 20 floors up here and down below the waves are breaking on giant rocks at the foot of the building. From up here i begin to get the impression that were on an enormous ship, just as the thought turns into something else, we move and i look out to see black mountains in the distance growing larger and lighter. I just stare off into the sea for a timepiece er two until i turn back around and see only the face, of one of the more comradely, no offense meant, pirate hookers from earlier. Her face is painted to look as a skull, shes in her dia de los muertos vestments, and wearing a big red sombrero with the little yellow balls hanging off. She reminds me of a women i had talked to earlier that week about her son recently dying of cancer. I look deep into her eyes as they enlarge and reflect back the glow of the green fire, she smiles real wide-like at me and the scene goes for gone. I get a feelin ill be comin back here.
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