City of Glass: Editor's Note(s)

Portrait of urban paranoia/superstition, in the frame of a weekend-editorial writer of vigilantism-worry; following the invisible hand of a masked 'maniac-cop' with dark-eyes for end zones.

An urban paranoia tale, loosely drawn from the vigilance-deformity superstition themes/imagery from the original 'glass-city' gem Maniac Cop (William Lustig), which I think you'll like (and thanks so much for reading), 

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I was living in the glass-city of Earth, fraught with frailty, fantasy of the dark side, and failures in flowery for folks; and I kept writing about this city in weekend editorials, when I wasn't busy wandering at night as a citizen-thinker or working daytime hours as a good Catholic telemarketing bureaucrat of incomplete-distances readings to the cleats of leviathan or manmade 'troubles' of stranger photo-synthesis.

My name's Amlan Satan, and I considered myself a normal editorial writer, and when my editor kept wondering about my new stranger turns/notes about this new news in the glass-city of Earth I called home, I simply explained I was simply fascinated by this tale of a masked ('Scarecrow') vigilante 'maniac-cop' who simply believed he was a 'maniac cop' of the dark side, no doubt moved by cinema-culture crazies/craziness (Selfie-like).

This self-titled vigilante ('Scarecrow') wielded a water-gun set of toys fitted with glass-tubes in the shooting-pistons to fill with hot-acid, which he used (liberally now!) to fire-away at targets of the dark-side in our (shared?) glass-city of leviathan-visions of insanity, piracy, 'organized' crime, and the uncertainty of everyday street-transit securities for 'confidence' writing and journal-art (damn). I became fascinated by the Scarecrow, this self-proclaimed vigilante of the West (American Homeland), a 'maniac-cop' of post-midnight. I wondered about his anonymous posts about his love of antique/classic (American!) cars, and I began to think that (somehow) he wasn't a normal/everyday 'living' citizen, but a zombie, resurrected from the grave, for some punisher-paranoia message about capitalism's broken arms (Facebook-like?).

SCARECROW: You doubt I'm human?
ME: I wonder if, you're in deeds, the maniac-cop of this glass-city, if I'm your twin!

SCARECROW: That's clever (Facebook-like!).

ME: I wonder, if you're in deeds, the Scarecrow of urban-story, if I'm your twin!

SCARECROW: That's bright (Selfie-like).

ME: I wonder, if you're in deeds, the prayer-punisher of insanity, if I'm your twin!

SCARECROW: I don't doubt you're an 'overground' Catholic-simpleton of charms.

ME: I don't doubt it either...or perhaps you're Jason Voorhees (or something), ok.

SCARECROW: Good luck, writer (Facebook-like).

I had it all in my glass-city America. I was a happy bureaucrat, a weekend editorial-writer, a 'witness' to the Maniac-Cop DNA ('Scarecrow'), and a basic Catholic-man of evening-prayers. I wondered what I'd think, in the long-run, of this self-titled vigilante, or if I'd start to think (somehow!) he wasn't human at all (damn). I wondered if my editorials sparked worry in my editor, simply because I was (somehow) 'romantically' straying...to the frailty-adjectives of Earth's bad-sportsmanship Thursdays (for all).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)