The Train People of Toronto | Scattered Prose

The progressive people of this oh so incredibly progressive city had a problem of many, of people unimportant and halted in irregular motion, which defied the concept of progress the progressives allow for in their sight; so they ignore.

What is the average Canadian if not nice? That is, where we know nicety does nothing but follow what nice is sufficient in being defined as. Further there is little to be said of the persons who believe they are unlike other Canadians, that they are the exception by some miracle idea of themselves in contrast with statistics and realities which we all know reflect themselves accurately as average Canadians are average Canadians. 

Senses remain for oneself, and here there is the individualistic culture impacting the manner in which people sense; what information is able to access the senses and what is not.

These people are so immersed here, through the tubes and stops, in their cellular devices that they are lacking in awareness of their physical surroundings.

Most pressingly, that of those consumed by their vices prowling and humbly walking, hunting down the way of the train cars yelling at no one, and speaking with nobody.

It was just the other day that I entered the subway knowing a stench would emerge. Why else would there be an array of seats available despite it being rush hour, despite there being plenty in need of seating just by their composure, age and ability as they stumble themselves across to a place for reasonable and standing for a period.

There the stench was, as it wreaked of unimportance and inconvenience, the stench of purposelessness and forgotten, and worse of all, the fumes emitted by the lazy unwashed insane and incapable, of much at all, not even their bodies were of value in the manner which slaves would have once been, they waste, and you can taste the waste through your mouth, to close your nose will never be enough, they are there. 

And sometimes, it is there, without the vessel; as the travelers of its cause dart their eyes around in order to scope out whom it might be, the source, they only find themselves. 

What indenturement without sin is superior to that of being unhoused here because being unhoused is impossible while indenturement, slavery requires a structure of which you are enslaved to; the unhoused have little to no where to go.

The enslaved know what is to come, they are forced into routine and experiences which demand of them their existence, for in only the way they perform in their enslavement are the valuable, are they are a being.

Slaves find themselves with sentiments of not being human though, in this way they are alive but not truly; the unhoused in their experiences as invisible and unimportant, exist not for nor in their experience within this reality.

Do we rightfully exist?

The others just do terrible things my friend, they don’t see themselves as human, but other.