We’ve been together so long – I don’t know how to be without you.
Your anniversary and birthday presents are always crooked. I am rubbish at wrapping them because they are the only presents I ever wrap. But I can learn.
Even with a bit of luck I wouldn’t be able to laugh all the way to the bank because I have no idea where it is. But I can learn.
I wouldn’t know the first thing about fixing a boiler or getting a loan or booking a hotel But I can learn.
I feel uncomfortable sleeping on my own and wake up often. But I can learn.
What I am terrified of is that one day I will have to learn to breathe without you and I will suffocate in the void.
Cherries soaking up the sun – semi-transparent, sumptuous, filled with liquid sweetness… Roses taking the light full-on – harsh contrast between the petals, drama concretised in colour… A fly – black hole in space, consuming the light completely, transforming it into boundless energy, incessant buzzing. A quiet afternoon with time to look and see.
We erect fences around construction sites. We put signs on fences. Bright yellow warning signs, easy to see, attention-grabbing with screaming carmine letters: “DANGER! CONSTRUCTION SITE. KEEP OUT AND KEEP YOUR CHILDREN OUT!” Construction sites are inherently dangerous. Things change. New things appear out of the dust and confront you unexpectedly. Old things break and fall and hit you on the head if you are not careful. They are like that. Children have to be protected. As you think of danger, of all the unexpected, deadly things that can happen to them, your breath catches and your heart skips a beat. You erect fences and put signs on these fences. But it is never enough. The world changes so fast now-a-days that you can’t keep up. New things appear daily. The things you don’t understand can hurt you and your children. As the future is being constructed, you have to build more and more fences and put up more and more signs screaming: “DANGER! CONSTRUCTION SITE. KEEP OUT AND KEEP YOUR CHILDREN OUT!” Eventually, you end up in a cage, crouching in the corner, teeth bared, terrified, but ready to protect your children. It’s all for them, to keep them safe, to keep them near. The world under construction is fenced off, blocked off by the screaming signs. That’s when they leave. They climb the fence quietly, stealthily, trying not to hurt your feelings or break through the fence with all their might, screaming defiance. In the final count, it doesn’t matter. They leave. They have no choice. Their lives are there, in the changing world being constructed for and by them. With pity or hatred in their hearts they leave you in your cage. Anger turns to dejection. They will visit. They will bring your grandchildren, ignoring the signs: “DANGER! CONSTRUCTION SITE. KEEP OUT AND KEEP YOUR CHILDREN OUT!”
Underground is deep in places. Deep under. Buried in space and time. Connecting the romantic awe of the past, when the technology was new and the belief in its potential – unrestrained, with the pragmatic helplessness of the present, when we take a deep breath before plunging into the unknown. No longer an exciting miracle, mysterious yet knowable, but a complex system, poorly understood and therefore dangerous.
You have to enter, to give yourself up to the incomprehensible, to the frightening and uncontrollable, on a daily basis. Just to get from A to B. That’s how we travel in the close, crowded space of the city. That’s how we travel in time, progressively more complicated. Taking a deep breath before plunging into a crowd like water.
As you go under, you can no longer hear the rain. The water does not transmit sound, it exerts pressure. Comforting and stifling, it holds you tight. Deep under.
The train stitches together images, like a demented alliterating seamstress, cackling to herself with the wheels’ rattle, stitching wood with water, sand with sky, space with sadness, past with possibilities, unseen with unexpected, journey with joy.
