Pedestrian I February 19, 2010Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, oddities, The Narrative, Toulouse Street.
…and there is no sharper point than that of Infinity.
— Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen
What use syphilis and opium if the supreme derangement of the senses is as simple as a stroll into work, the sensation I have standing at the entrance to Union Street that the diminishing buildings are not an optical illusion but instead a part of my daily progression into the office, that to walk down this street will gradually reduce me to a size appropriate to my beige cell in the corporate cube farm. How much larger my little box with its cloth lined walls will seem then, and my own insignificance in the trackless ant farm of the Counting House will be not a symptom of the modern disease but just a fact of what I become when I enter the building, a transformation as easily accomplished as putting on a tie.
If the fools had never given me a cell phone with a camera, none of this would have occurred to me.