London, in Springtime Tatters

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London, can be a misleadingly whimsical little city. It’s easy to be carried away, and deceived by the quaint features it displays. The little red doors, and telephone booths, the black cabs, and pub corners all contribute to its reputation as a caricature of sorts. However, you should not be fooled by such witchcraft, this town is rotten to its core.

This city is full of misery, pain, and defeat. Tortured souls destined for nothing but eternal damnation, line the streets. It reeks of disparity, insanity, and depravity. It’s a hard city, and it apologises for nothing. In amongst all this chaos is a large population of people. These people, the people of the city, are from an assorted tapestry of ethnicities, creeds, lifestyles, and political views. Yet, we all coincide here together for one reason, or another – regardless, of the hardships each one of us face, in consequence to living here. Although, I do believe there is still some happiness to be found here.

This is best observed on a sunny springtime day, out in one of the many parks. My personal favourite would have to be Victoria Park, which is close to where I live. I can only speculate, but, if I were medical practitioner and I were presented with a patient displaying obvious signs of the ole’ London blues. My prescription would be a long walk through the park on a sunny afternoon – and maybe a joint.

I would give careful instructions to pay close attention to the other patrons in the park. Mums with young children, babies, toddlers, and their dogs. Couples lounging about in the grass, forming memories which will outlive their relationships. Thinkers, fitness freaks, the unemployed, football enthusiasts, artists, musicians, stoners, boat owners, skateboarders, and adulterers. Everyone sharing the sunshine, and emanating its energy. Such a sight gives credit to every ancient religion which worshipped the sun. It is after all, the giver of all life here on earth. But, at the centre of all this activity on such a glorious afternoon amongst your other city dwellers, is the undeniably noticeable feeling of love, floating about in the springtime air.

It’s intoxicating, a scent more potent than the wildflowers. Suffocating you, with every spin of your head. And, like any good stimulate it’s terribly addictive. Drawing you in further, stirring up emotions old, and new. Pulling at your heartstrings, urging you to give in to temptation, and just fucking feel something. And that, that is the real cure to those London blues. That energy of love, passion, and devotion which is at the centre of this city.

Perhaps, that is why there was no distinguishable change in the city’s rhythm, after the attack on Westminster. Because, despite the many grievances of the day, and the horrifically callous carnage; it was nothing which any Londoner could not already handle.

This city tests you at every corner, and gives you every opportunity to work harder. Any person successively living here, already knows how to overcome obstacles put in front of them. Because they must, it is essential to surviving here.

Despite London’s cold nature, there is still plenty to be taken away from this city; particularly, from being a resident here while something so awful has occurred. This city will teach you lessons whether you are interested, or not. I would suggest to listen when it speaks, or, you shall be held to all its whims. Such a suggestion is aimed at anyone, anywhere intending to pursue something of passion here. Be it passionate artistry, passionate socialising, or passionate hate filled destruction. You will not affect this city, it will not notice your arrival, nor your departure. It will bow down to none, and serve none. It will remain intact, and function on forward as it has always done. Do not attempt to disrupt.

After all, this city is already composed of innumerable bereavements, heartbreaks, underdog tales, and love stories congealed together into a hardened exterior, protecting the city’s inner nervous system. And no one, and nothing is essential to its function. It’s steady unwavering rhythm is the very essence of its allure, and its strength, and I believe at the very core of it all, is simply just love.

Combat Boots, and a Three-day Beard

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