sirens

Everybody in New York is apparently given their own personal siren at birth. The city screams and grunts and howls in a constant demented snarl of clashing sounds. Every siren is five times as loud as it needs to be and three times more piercing than a Zulu spear. Some are monstrous bass grunts: that sound like a brontosaurus has borrowed Metallica’s sound system in order to roar it’s anguish at the world.

The world though is having none of it. The world is waiting armed with high pitched screams and ray gun noises, plaintive whelps and banshee howls of despair.

And it’s all unnecessary, midtown Manhattan may look like a Transformers movie, but there aren't actually any giant robots emerging out of the east river, there isn't really a vast, chrome clad and tentacled alien ship hovering over the empire state. There is hardly any world ending menace going on at all: these people are turning the world into a chorus of screaming demons for no good reason. They are rescuing cats and arresting homeless guys who have found Jesus in a Starbucks.

It’s like the whole city is a kindergarten where each kid has been given a microphone, a Marshall stack, and then had his toys taken away. It’s just a bad habit they have picked up and they enjoy it too much to stop.

You just know that those firemen in their pimped up fire trucks got bored and said: “Hey, fuck it: lets go out and see if we can make more noise than those ambulance driving punks.” And the Ambulance service guys hear it and say: “Yo those wise-ass fire fags are looking to steal our thunder.” Then the police and homeland security and the FBI and CIA and NSA and KGB all hear the cacophony and join in until the echoing canyons of the city are a maelstrom of screaming noise.

Somebody needs to tell every last one of them to calm the fuck down.