The city we argue does not exist.
The potential remains unknown. The searching comes in the final goodbye. I wonder a thousand solitary steps why that it does prove a reprise. Why then does the city repeat such foot steps.
The temporary. The residual.
It lingers.
A moment which forces repetition to forge reality that can perhaps seek a solace in walls of partially cement.
The city we argue does not exist. it is a mere construct of narratives which we repeat and repeat to form and accountabilty. The city becomes an exercise in reason and rationale; a test of our own accountabilty to a general narrative. the everyday becomes a mock up of a series of dialouges and exchanges that layer a land. The everyday is a rhythm of silences and breaths; gasps and exhalations of simulataneous shock when our narratives collide. the personal reality and interealities which we allow to form constructs can fall; we can stop believing a visison of a city then the city falls and becomes a ruin.
Tomorrow I return again to Venice. The city a man on the bus tells me has died. he has lost faith in the narration of the city which his rather reclaimed and sees now only the pink glitter postcards of an unknow present.
The city however to the tourist who hovers arond us as we sit in Donatellos cafe still exists with a venom which I can not define.
To each of us the city recalls a different narrative; the architecture must provide though some unity; the street grid system keeps our narratives in check; forcing us to march in vague unity.
a complicated junction of a thousand narratives which seek different fairy tales as their empathy. the garden paths are paved now in sky scrapers and in the pub you can order a chinese take away; you can ship your packages now to america in one day and you can walk to little tokoyo in seconds on second life.
what is the city if not an intersection for these narratives?
Urban re:passages 