Ciao Catcatgo
Home of parlour jazz, Al Capone, bastardized Bauhaus, and the only fake news we trust: the Onion News Network.
Chicago is like a real existing dystopian metropolis, written in haste from a scruple between the editor and a frustrated second-grade pulp teen novel author.
Especially at time, when ship hit the fan. International bulletproof spaceshipwreck.
Upstairs are having tea, downstairs is drinking second-hand tea. After receiving a Very Important Pup invitation from my favourite mall in the last year, this year they filed for bankruptcy. In an ultimate state of biter-sweetness, I’m no longer sure whether if I should be sad, or should I be happy to shot down several members from my wish-list with most despicable schadenfreude?
Hail to thee, the twilight of the first and last American Empire (stolen from someone else twice, both the Brits and the Natives). What up how ya doin?
Collage by Aran Meredith, “The World is a Big Black Pit; What a Wonderful World“.
The question of how do you do has no answer. Saith the socialite in full-on glitter beard, posing poshly, dragkinging in executive realness.
As the good book famously said, I would give you a high five but I practically can’t.
Tell me a little bit of what you liked about her: Fishhook, helicopters, the solemn formation of human-hating goos, a stray cat, and a middle eastern barista that seems always here.
Sitting still in the Bourgeois Pig Cafe, with an antique chandelier. For days are merged together in that Louis MMXX mirror.
No Bourgeois Pig Allowed in the Premise. Photo by Ingrid Cold, “Le Bourgeois Pig“.
Doing what young artists do best: play dead and act SAD!
Outside the window, a pale little horse is killing them, inside, we are slowly killing us. By none other than the royally underrated act of smashing harpsichord with a butterfly keyboard. Hanging out with moss, mould and decay, with a silver star on it.
It’s fine; it’s fun.
As the raindrops falling in the wind city, drop-dead gorgeously. We wander off, sing without tongue out of tone, stay put on liliputs, and walk on water in the rain.
Don’t forget to type your heart out lefthandedly. With a broken umbrella in disguise. Walking by the riverside stride, to drown a little.
For the first and last ever never hello and goodbye, see you in hell.
Where we all are.
by Aran Meredith
July 2020.
Photo by Aran Meredith, “Gatsby’s Greenlight“.
