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The ritual of rain

Updated on October 29, 2009

Living in the urban jungle

In this urban jungle, we step over the ruins of happily ever after. The American dream stripped of its fancy fluffy foundation, leaving only its basic barest piece. Shelter. A place to sleep, protection from the elements. Care and concern moved out when the reality of life in unsettled times out grew its previous residence, somewhere in that space of once upon a time.

in this urban jungle the fairy tale has ended. No one reads bedtime stories, nor bothers with books. Everyone moves at super high speed-right now. No one sleeps, the noise of rush too much for some, so they hang outside til the wee hours.

We're still here, surviving-moving to the beat of life's ordinary hum. Work, fun, piecing together what's ours. Nobody sees us-hiding in the wild overgrowth, putting one foot in front of the other. The beat goes on, the songs says, yet the noise here, in this urban jungle, rumbles through cheap speakers. Like some sort of musical cue signaling the monster to come up from behind. All we want to do is get through, out of the complicated situation our curiosity put us in.

Each second seems to bring a new twist, or turn-adding another step to our ritual.


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