Now, The Old Man Happened To Be

The Sea Where Living Creatures Were At One Time Immersed Is Now Enclosed Within Their Bodies.

New York Is Perhaps The Only Place In America Where You Feel At The Centre And Not At The Margins, In The Provinces, So For That Reason I Prefer Its Horror To This Privileged Beauty, Its Enslavement To The Freedoms Which Remain Local And Privileged And Very Particularized, And Which Do Not Represent A Genuine Antithesis.

For Those Who Pass It Without Entering, The City Is One Thing; It Is Another For Those Who Are Trapped By It And Never Leave. There Is The City Where You Arrive For The First Time; And There Is Another City Which You Leave Never To Return. Each Deserves A Different Name; Perhaps I Have Already Spoken Of Irene Under Other Names; Perhaps I Have Spoken Only Of Irene.

To Fly Is The Opposite Of Traveling: You Cross A Gap In Space, You Vanish Into The Void, You Accept Not Being In A Place For A Duration That Is Itself A Kind Of Void In Time; Then You Reappear, In A Place And In A Moment With No Relation To The Where And When In Which You Vanished.

Cities, Like Dreams, Are Made Of Desires And Fears.