I wander the city a lot, mostly in the same places, and when the noise and crowds begin to make my throat close up, I should be trying to remember the quiet spaces. The necessary silences between the clamour and garble…
I should be making more notes, thinking deeper, unpicking the complexities of place, but in truth, it’s beyond my abilities.
There are people all around me, making art, wrangling their thoughts onto a bigger canvas.
It’s a comfort, not a challenge, that discourse can be discovered squirreled in the corners where the eye rushes past.
My problem is more about the balance of forgetting, losing how to see and hold on to the brightness. It’s harder here to be writerly, by that, I mean to be open-eyed and observational; most energy is spent in simply struggling to get from place to place, like an ant in treacle. I wonder if this city is a place I can live for any length of time.
But then I see this, and wonder at how ungrateful I am, and how blind. Hopefully this will prove grist for the mill, and become something more fine in retrospect.