It began with the Government-mandated registration of speculative realists and speculative real-estate agents. The wub-wub-wub of urban junglism had crept into people's souls and disrupted the borders of reality. Each day it slipped away a little more, geography became that bit more psycho and you never knew how long any given neighborhood was going to remain stable. The junk would numb you to the worst of it but even on the nod, you knew it was a temporary fix at best.
Oyster card, plastic wallet named for the chosen aphrodisiac of Roman emperors - gods made flesh who played at war like it was dice and dallied evenings away with beautiful adolescent fauns in groves of cypress trees, cooled by crystal fountains in the warm nights of Etruscan summer. Now they transport you between InterZones 1 through 9, used to be 6 but then the city in one of its characteristic spasms of growth enveloped a couple outlying towns like an amoeba swallowing bacteria. I swear this goddamn shitheap gets smarter with each passing season, it knows how to get to you...each street preempts your every thought, buildings from far off have that glow of a promised metropolis but as you approach it's just another old warehouse halfway to being made into flats. TOX got here in '03 and left his paint-piss, gonna be gone soon when the council boys get here to clean the place up for designers who'll sell the same scrawl back to you on a T-shirt for fifty notes. London is not a young town: it is old and dirty and evil, before the hipsters, before the cockneys. The evil is there, waiting.
Oyster card, plastic wallet named for the chosen aphrodisiac of Roman emperors - gods made flesh who played at war like it was dice and dallied evenings away with beautiful adolescent fauns in groves of cypress trees, cooled by crystal fountains in the warm nights of Etruscan summer. Now they transport you between InterZones 1 through 9, used to be 6 but then the city in one of its characteristic spasms of growth enveloped a couple outlying towns like an amoeba swallowing bacteria. I swear this goddamn shitheap gets smarter with each passing season, it knows how to get to you...each street preempts your every thought, buildings from far off have that glow of a promised metropolis but as you approach it's just another old warehouse halfway to being made into flats. TOX got here in '03 and left his paint-piss, gonna be gone soon when the council boys get here to clean the place up for designers who'll sell the same scrawl back to you on a T-shirt for fifty notes. London is not a young town: it is old and dirty and evil, before the hipsters, before the cockneys. The evil is there, waiting.
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