You piss me off with all your arrogant concrete, staring at me as if I were already dead. Immovable skeleton that takes away my sky, I will gladly shatter all your eyes with pieces of brick that fall from you (it is almost like making you eat your own limbs). For all I care, you can collapse sooner rather than later. And I will dance on the rubble you leave behind. Urinate and defecate on your remains to fertilise all the death you left behind.
Did you, building of buildings, really expect anything besides my most derisive laughter? I should hope you weren’t as naive, but we both know that you are. I have contemplated throwing molotovs cocktails into your intestines and speed up the process. But now that I see you’re already self-destructing, I will gladly pay for my front row seat and watch you implode with much delight.
Seeing you destroyed will make me happier than the fictitious situation of me being told I can stop eating the cheese between an unwashed fat man’s toes (a bold and lengthy comparison, I know).
I still have to figure out whether or not it is because you represent so much, or just so very little…
Tim van den Oudenhoven 