“Each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and by giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within…By wandering aimlessly, all places became equal and it no longer mattered where he was. On his best walks he was able to feel that he was nowhere. And this, finally was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere.”
Paul Auster – City of Glass.
Blackpool – repository of ghosts, dreams, closure, openings, opaque glass.
They come and go on the tide, swept aside before they’re built.
Lost, amongst the listless signs of disappearing possibilities.
There’s no time to bury the past.
Unjustly, it just weathers wearily away.