Paris Metro
// Like veins and blood vessels that course under skin through the limbs of
action. We’re carried on these pulses of new and old to reach the heart and
be thrown out again, rejuvenated, into the system once more. Repeated
cycles that change with each moment.
The vessels like the metro networks under Paris, turning this way and that
until finally you reach the woods, the edge of the city that stands like a beast
that you wish to tame.
You stand there, with your face cold and nose freezing, staring into and
through the empty branches that build this seemingly endless labyrinth. The
trees breathe with you, awaiting the entry of another member, another
sacrifice. Another treasure that will sit and peacefully shed its life, like the
abandoned cars housed in the forest rusting without wheels. Nature’s
perimeter watches you with eager eyes. The sound of cars and trams and
coffee shops and aeroplanes and vapid conversation and the whoosh of
emails and shit music and complaints and fear and the indulgence of a
generation lost - all forgotten and only a faint echo this far from the city, from
the world.
The trees and grass and moss all acting as the earplugs to a life filled with
noise. //