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Sunday, 1 September 2013
From A Tale of Extra Ordinary Madness
(By Mana Neyestani) |
Then the singing
starts; wordless, sweet harmonies as if in the presence of an impromptu, choral
ensemble drowning out all other sounds and thoughts with its beatific song of
ethereal delight; but with a barely discernable undertone of culpable discord.
I am swept away on
the turbulent night breeze, away from my misery; away from the misery of
others, the misery of the city veiled by bright neon signs flashing its
deceptive welcome to those who can afford its vituperative charms. The decaying
buildings which once housed the depraved and the masters, painted in
fashionable, muted colours, with sand blasted glass and aged wood and shining
chrome façades: home to the obliviously hip and happening.
The once
impervious mountain mother, the majestic Hoerikwaggo, brought to its knees
under the interrogator’s harsh, relentlessly brilliant white light despoiling the
beautiful face of the city.
The electrified
grid of streetlights stretches away across the flats to darker corners where a
more blatant misery roams the alleys. Undisguised and often unacknowledged
within the bustling, thumping conurbation where the blind reign supreme.
The driving bass
beats are replaced by gunshots and screams and cries; the raging, manic
silences that can no longer be penetrated or dispelled; the unvarying misery of
the hopeless and the perpetually downtrodden.
The sound of babies wailing and children
sobbing, hungry mouths feeding on mucous and craving for a more substantial
repast.
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