manufactured modernity

the new train stations are giant underground caves of metal, marble and granite. they feel like airports. but instead of aeroplanes taking flight, we watch trains pull into test tube tunnels. it is always too bright and too clean in here. no one tries to own the space with graffiti. the bravest citizens only venture so far as to paste little stickers in awkward corners, stickers they have received in exchange for charity. hardly badass. B tries to tap his old ez-link card, but it doesn’t work anymore. i explain that this city is obsessed with evolution. he marvels at our manufactured modernity. a bell jar of shiny seeds planted by the men in white. he said time runs faster here. familiar spaces disappear too quickly. we are left wanting with faded photographs, consoled by a collective memory archived in digital worlds. we spent the weekend watching artists work off paper and onto walls, sitting beneath fairytale trees dripping gold. the arts festival opened with the park set ablaze, the most beautiful state it will ever be. a bonfire beneath skyscrapers.

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