I am walking in a city. I see a crowd. They are imagining. They are obsessing about a city, or an idea of a city, no one knows what they are seeing. They are imagining. They are chanting and marching together. They are obsessing over a city they never visited, they can only imagine it.
I am walking in a city and I am tired of walking behind a crowd, I’m tired of searching for a city I don’t know, I want to stay where I was before, where I walk alone, behind no crowd.
I am walking in a city, behind the crowds I march, to find a truth, a reality, between all the fabrications and imaginations, I walk with no where to go, and nothing to do, except obsess with crowds and imagine cities…
I am walking in a city and I’m looking to belong, in a city I don’t know. I am looking for an identity in a city of crowds, and obsessions, and fetishes over a city that never belonged to anyone, not to you, not to me, not to anyone other than the memories that are suspended in time. To the million instances that come together to create a million cities. I’m still walking. Still imagining. Trying to belong. I’m left to obsess with the crowds over a city that will never be realized. I’m left to obsess with crowds over a city that will always be remembered.