The Secret Code of the City Streets

I watch their lips assiduously. As they move, certain sounds are emitted and then things happen. A story is made that could mean anything, but it is always connected to his world of solidity that i so want to enter. They run this world and everything that is in it. Well, except for the stuff that is inside me and how it flows around and in between all the other things. But I can still keep that and learn the code.

They tell stories and buildings appear. They name them, and the things that move, and all the animals and the things on the ground and up above. The code makes it all make sense. It’s made to fit.

They bark, almost, or sometimes purr, and fight for the larger share, in their ways. They make language and a car appears, pulling over to take them wherever they want. They fly about just above ground and then get out in a transformed space and time, as if by magic. It’s even better at night, when the glittering occurs. This was one of the best and most exciting things they asked for. Everything twinkles, even the ground, and the streets are walled in mirrors, with endless choices opening out at regular intervals, as if eternity presented itself in successive moments, just in case you forgot the time before, or missed the last opportunity to remember. The soul goes so deep in this labyrinth, which is always open.

They forget all the time, but that is part of the magic. Because they’re allowed to close down and play their little parts and the fact that it only seems real is just part of the fascination. They know they’re playing but they take it so seriously that it might as well be real. Absolute and infinitesimal; eternal and minute; endlessly reinventing itself and transforming the waste. Things just disappear, I don’t know where, and then turn up again in new and shiny colours, with new features or buttons, for new people and their delight.

It’s at night that the air smells most free but in the daytime there are just as many reminders. They just don’t stand out as much, because the fuller light swamps them in reality. Against the darkness, the keyholes shine, but during the day everything must present itself as it is, humbled by the all-pervading, all-enlightening sun. There are no cracks in the day, only caves where things can hide from the completion of glory. The sun sees all, knows all, finds all out eventually, even whatever is hiding in the shadows alone and silent, as if it could hide from the truth. The sun shines through the whole planet only we can’t always see. It’s best to pretend it’s not even really there; just accept the yellow light and wander about from one thing to another, gliding along its wave, enlivened by its rays. That way the part we’re playing becomes more real, for the time we play it. It’s all over once the radiation disintegrates and sinks back into the wave of night. The combined weight of the light and its relief in the night is the reality that holds it all there, as well as the one that set it all up, made it all seem real, before dissolving it again with a whisper of breath.

See? I told you they had a magic code. But it’s not so secret, after all. You just have to watch the way their mouths move.  And copy.


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