Sometimes, I imagine I hear a male or female voice narrating a black and white documentary. The vague scene is of a city with a lot of people. The impression has such a meta quality about it that any god also viewing this would be bemused, almost hypnotized.
Maybe the voice is in a language I don't understand. It doesn't matter at all. The main thing is the sense that something is being said, in serious tone and cadence, about the odd complexity of all these people moving about in an unknown city.
As if conclusions have been drawn and are now being communicated about the patterns manifesting. The sense that shattered pieces of phenomena and consciousness are being shifted around by an unseen, insentient, drunken magnet and are forming into a curious significance. Or maybe forming into a composite mood merely from my "looking" into the scene. A disinterested melancholy (so to speak).
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| Photograph: Alberto Incrocci/Getty Images |
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