Notes About a Place at an Infinite Distance from Me

Personal landmarks, in the city, in spaces, grow out of non-geographic, non-geometric resonances, whether it is the glow of dancing vegetables found on a restaurant sign in a transient busride, or the byways through which you followed a beautiful woman, then returning, as to a landmark, hoping that you may see her again. These moments grow like dirt on the omniscient picture plane. Wear the same clothes through the city wanderings for two weeks. The creases and worn out spots in the fabric carry the imprint and tie to the crooks at street and wall where you have slumped. You are tied to your fancies perpetually, sweating and soaking them out, rubbing through the map in your pocket, wearing it away at the intersections of the folds imposing your body on the representational fabric of the city, and in turn losing your body in the now mythical spaces of the city left by that erasure.

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