I was the building & the city the building & the city was I

Hope disappears as flat planes of cloudy matter close the light off like an archetypal door. The door separates the dream from waking life. In darkness the monsters sharpen their claws somewhere near… 

The city slowly became my enemy today. The city smog has become its veil and I know it is here to stay with me for a while.

The world reconstituted itself with the ending of last nights dream. The passerby’s on the street continued to be devoid of any obvious motives. Non clarity is a sign of such monstrous existences and spirits I believe. I felt removed from the cities physical space and entered the world of superstition..

*Magic outlives the smokes of distant fires, a cry can be heard, smoke can be smelt. The city becomes the woodlands of primordial fears.

The streets unfolded in repetitive pulses, and with each pulse a scan of breathing reality appeared in front of me like a mirage. The faint renderings of those scans always broken up and monochrome. The buildings in theoretical cubical volumes were furbushing the flat plateaux of concrete strata, it is the minds strata I thought and felt immediatly removed, yet connected to a thousand of places, to a thousand of layered perpendicular white frescoed balconies. – That schema could comprise the city in totality.

As I walked down the main avenue to go to location 52. I observed some people up on their balcony looking down at me as I passed, I must have seemed so ill to them. Were they the dull faces from an old photograph someone once showed me….*In cloudy days like this the interiors of those spaces are transforming into the dark recess of the mind were monsters of sorrow lurk wearing the masks of familiar faces…

Spaces seemed intolerable in entirety, they remained hypothetical, subjective, far too subjective to even talk about them in a casual manner. – nebulous- nebula – they were invisible as my mind sought for refuge and quiet up on high places. Recesses of soft pillows, possibly far to deadly and lattice like to even dare to stay there long seemed sole choices. I was feeling so tired but still walked a great deal. Location 52 was reached but seemed unaccomodating I had to continue..

I passed an old lady while on my way to deep S4, the patterns on her veil showed the bold mountains of an eternal dusk with veins of lava bridging the flaming horizon with the boiling pools of some under hell. I am not sure if it was a hallucination; The lady looked mysteriously familiar.

I reached narrower streets,  – I could see the windows of small apartment blocks, some lit from inside, must be the product of old fashions bulbs. Their supposed whites are yellows.

The balconies seemed uninviting; Without doubt still filled with the sweaty stains of scared hands belonging to sorrowful souls. The cracks on the railing frames seemed massive and the tears on my face at that point validated the magnitude of this peregrination, it seemed to have no end. I felt so Desolate.

The city outlives hopes and breeds superstitions..

People I encountered in these parts intensified that assumption, and there is no obvious cause. I heard my voice echoing at some point as in an airtight space but I don’t think I spoke out loud at any point. Mirrors also conspired, shop vitrins were avoided at large. Were there bodily symptoms of my impending disease – I kept searching. The houses seemed faulty with their old plumbing. My mind associated, overarched the guts of buildings waiting to be collected with the mental ‘excreta’ generated by my own disease. I was the building, the building was I.

Those piles left out on the streets next to overflown garbage cans made me think of the scanty job plumbers perform in this part of town. Gutted pipes one inside the other, strange patchworks, are all traces of failure. Plumbing networks fail and I fail too. The city that changes without its people, folds and unfolds with them in it. Forgets about them. They are trying to cope but fail like mortals and come out of this process deformed and dismembered.

I forgot what the start looked like. A natural disaster like an earthquake, a glass storm has eroded the familiar neighbourhoods.. I can’t find my way back easily.

I finally reached the apartment. The hallway was dark. I switched on a small lamp to give the space and my heart some hope then moved straight into the living room. My look instantly fell on the family photographs hanging on the wall. Traces of virtuous clans, valorous testimonies of good heritage. The eyes of the father became rays of fire. From the wall to my heart.

The most severe of pains is to see the father cry out of sorrow for his child.

Last I entered in the bedroom, destination c-retra. There was a strange brown darkness, it felt moist, covers were left curled on bed creating the shape of a whirlpool. I could see the dead woman who used to live here laying down. I heard her familiar cough.. Don’t worry we can die together she said, her voice sounded reassuring. In death only death can consulate us. And the room with the city and the city with the room all dissapeared with the the next blink of my eye.

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