This makes me think of Anime, of a young girl singing about the lonely nights, okay, I'm thinking of one particular random anime tape I picked up, but yeah. The city has such a special feel to it, perhaps our ancestors had similar dreams about the jungle, but the dynamic is so strangely different.
We're still designed for fight or flight, but that's pretty impractical to today's world. However, life is so 'complicated' that we have lots of worries, we're constantly revving up our adrenaline, but with no release. Even getting all 'tribal' is considered unacceptable for anyone but the freaks, who are considered unacceptable to begin with.
The city is thus a strange maze, you can get out all the want, there is a freedom of physical movement, but that is meaningless, because conceptual boundaries keep you from finding any sort of meaningful path, nor any reasonable way to 'master' the city like we went about 'mastering' the jungle/plains/whatever.
The man walking in the city, head down and hands in his pockets, he wanders and he wonders, but it is a vague sort of thinking, reaching out tendrils of unformed ideas into the air, hoping one of the million arms of the city-god would reach out and fill his mind. Bun not matter how many streets he paces, how many he doors he walks through, he can't escape.
Quite amusingly, the iTunes, on random, is playing 'Welcome to the Machine' by Pink Floyd.
We're still designed for fight or flight, but that's pretty impractical to today's world. However, life is so 'complicated' that we have lots of worries, we're constantly revving up our adrenaline, but with no release. Even getting all 'tribal' is considered unacceptable for anyone but the freaks, who are considered unacceptable to begin with.
The city is thus a strange maze, you can get out all the want, there is a freedom of physical movement, but that is meaningless, because conceptual boundaries keep you from finding any sort of meaningful path, nor any reasonable way to 'master' the city like we went about 'mastering' the jungle/plains/whatever.
The man walking in the city, head down and hands in his pockets, he wanders and he wonders, but it is a vague sort of thinking, reaching out tendrils of unformed ideas into the air, hoping one of the million arms of the city-god would reach out and fill his mind. Bun not matter how many streets he paces, how many he doors he walks through, he can't escape.
Quite amusingly, the iTunes, on random, is playing 'Welcome to the Machine' by Pink Floyd.
There it is, as Jeffery Jones would say.
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