Right now oina?m?vta,tc?o#ΓΌ
What am I thinking about?
Of course not really the city. I mean, the city is great and all... but even the city of Kroy is just a pretext for thinking about everything else. Like about love and life and the reason why I am there and what I am doing. And why sometimes it seems to be so much more SINNVOLL (filled with the right sense) to feed squirrels than to get up early and go to work, even though this is what they tell you. {{they? yes, "they" again . I will explain this later.}}
The they-voice in my head also tells me that (sometimes). I usually answer "anibbnP(§&%$GmGB)mhm+NCMjO;))k"/??°°s°°"
And I always try to find out if that voice in my head came from
a) education
b) experience (without dobble-x)
c) the big nasty squirrel who did not get the peanut
d) bad luck (it was not meant to be my head-voice, just ended up there).
For the moment, I live in Bensonhurst. This neighborhood has traditionally been Italian and Jewish with few other ethnic groups. In the last 20 years, Chinese families have been attracted to the area and are now the greatest source of incoming residents. Sometimes there are violent conflicts and racial tensions. For sure, there are more cockroaches than other domesticated animals.
Walking through the streets I hear cars blowing their horns, I hear birds in the trees, I hear the metro pass by under my feet, I hear the train above me, I hear Spanish and Chinese and Arab and Italian and Chewinggum-English, I see dogs more than I hear them, I hear the wind blowing in the wooden architectures, I hear alarm and sirens, I hear cell phones ringing all the time, and I hear children singing:
Okka bokka soda crokka
Okka bokka boo;
In comes Uncle Sam
And out goes Y O U.
This is me.
I am walking through this visible city, looking up the facades and the tall buildings in order to feel small and become invisible.
Paradoxically, looking up has the opposite effect on me. The famous skyline of the city of Kroy begins to melt, it is not the dynamic skyline which I had hoped for from far away, neither is it the silver-gelatine-print-aesthethique. Everything begins to move around me, nothing is fix like the pixels on an image, nor the corns on the silver gelatine pictures. The dynamique is not in the city but in the people (and its animals, but this is another story...)
