there once was a city. there were legends told about it. and it was legendary.
slipping in and out of allies. smelling the pee evaporate in the bright sun. ducking into shadows to grab the urban black berries off the bushes. the almost ripe ones that the crows have not claimed.
the prickly weed spew from the cement cracks. the breaks in the sidewalk. climbing into houses and escaping again through the window. all we have is black berries.
the allies of a city are a whole other universe. you avoid the sidewalk traffic and meet others along the way, who dont want to walk shoulder to shoulder.
no one wants to make eye contact. you slip bellow their glance. and you are invisible. and rendering others see through as you choose not to see whats there in front of you.
for only your eyes capture the reality of the city. and unless to you look really hard, there are a lot of things you miss.
there once was a city from legends, or was it a legendary city?
its streets were lined with ghosts of luscious forest all year long, green seemed to seep from the cracks in the cement.
the structures hold firm against the creeping that yearned to reclaim its footing on a land, that so long stood sucking in rain and spitting out forest.
sometimes black spores would win the fight and the structures would crumble and rot. seeking revenge on the lungs of the squatters inside.
only the cement knew the stories by heart. and on this coast line. the snow did not fall so heavy, and the ice did not bend and break the cement so easily. none the less. occasionally it would break open, cracking like dry skin. for thats what it was. the skin of the city splitting, its moisture being so cruelly manipulated by the elements. and it would spill its stories like blood pouring from a cut.
city planning is not proper planning with out a way to capture the stories of the cement. but fact does not allow room for such strange behavior. infrastructure does not bleed! cement do not tell stories! keep the traffic flowing down the main arteries. dont stop too long in the core, you may go blind. the crows throw dirty needles at you. keep driving into downtown. clean downtown. shinny stores. and buildings reflecting the sky and pigeons in a sickeningly calming way. back into the artery, up through the weaving cars, back home. dont look too long at the glow. pot hole, and off comes the tie. city planning.
there once was a legendary city. or perhaps a city of legends.
its ports convulsed with containers, and its industry frothed money from deliveries. but never for the goods received.
like all urban centers, the street commerce boomed. good and services exchanged and people live and die by the sidewalk. the invisible economics of a certain corner. a spot of grass, or a secret word yelled into the night.
the cities core. its center swelled with reminiscence. a waft of a past that recently had made an appearance.
the core was infamously known to be rotting. a place where white rich people chewed their nails as they navigate ally’s desperately lost. terror in their eyes, trying to find a way back to the main drags. punching blindly at their gps screen.
the core contained, like many cores. something so distinctive that it was impossible to recreate.
it held the city up, and down. the city rotated around it. so fast you could not feel it moving. but if you stood still for long enough… your feet would leave the ground. if you went to deep into the core. you would die. but burning so hot, it was untouchable. and it glowed. it glowed like nothing else.
the contents are not tactile things. not something to capture, package and sell.
and if you looked past the glow. if you just looked hard enough, because really it was not that bright. it was there; the magic of the core. the swarming crows. the beaming faces. a greeting yelled across the street. a familiar face lost for months. a shared joke, or smoke. the center of the legendary city. an invisible population. hiding behind bright lights.
but to truly be invisible. non existent in another perspective. a reality so unimaginable that it makes people chew their nails in anxiety to be exposed to it. rendered non existent, because your life, an existence remains only in legend for most.
but as the legend of a city grows, so does it value.
the city itself, a product.
you could wander the streets for days in search of a hello or a smile. its reputation boasted friendly citizens, but this was somehow lost in translation when the cement hits your shoes. the cement see’s when those shoes carry you away. but it cannot talk back. not from in front of the glow.
there once was a legendary city. perhaps a city from legends, simultaneously existing, but also within a brief memory. did it happen already? was it a story? or was it going to happen? like some tale of heed we somehow forgot the moral to.
there once was a legendary city. a city perched on the edge. where the mountains and the ocean collided. a city built on the strength of the rainforest, but not strong enough to hold back its weather. a city that still held its wildlife in its concrete hands. occasionally allowing clumps of old familiar green groves for them to seek solace in. the people who tell tales of coyotes they were familiar with, making visits from their local parks.
not many people were from this city. in fact anyone you asked would tell you. “no i just came here one day, and i never could leave.”
you may try to go on vacation, or move somewhere else. but the call of the skyscrapers downtown, the whizzing traffic with its weaving bikes, the ever reaching cranes obscuring the sky line. and the mountains to the north that seemed to loom over the city everywhere you went. watching. turning almost black against the dark blue sky at sunset. spewing hundreds of crows on their rush hour flight to a roost tucked into the far east side of the city.
its was not an old city. a fairly youthful city. built on top of its self. a port city. tucked snug up against the ocean and bordered by a range of mountains. as far west as you could go by land. the final resting place for rail roads, ships, and a large highway that carved east through the mountains. ever broadening into forests, and ripping across streams. carrying vehicles over distances that no feet could conqueror in a life time.
These were the sketches that helped me conceptualize this illustration for my friend jjlevine.ca.
JJ has a hair salon in montreal go check them out if you are in town. below is... well all the info you need.
so i am very excited to be working on my first set of visuals.
the intention of this video project, is to have some queer visuals to inertact with while you are shaking your butts. (as in dancing)
here is my playlist. or my sources. so far.
strange psa's about drugs and sex
everything is captured in time
this is my blog. thing. i write in it. post new stuff. blah blah internet. blah blah blog.
Lets go back in time!
stuff i write about