final thoughts on the edge

There are all these traces left in the spaces around us. Crammed into little crevices between what is there and what used to be there are the pieces that we remember. They are fluid and manage to blend around whatever new thing is constructed. And maybe that new thing blends with it and becomes another layer of that memory. The memories are malleable enough that depending on which angle we look at them, they can mean or be different things. What once was painful can later be full of strength. Parts are removed and adapt to what we need at the time.

I'm a walking storehouse of memories and the potential for new ones. The thoughts explode out of me and everything I see is covered with a thin layer of myself. The areas around me are the past, present and future regardless of the physical shape they take. It's all just transparent and nothing is really a barrier so long as I don't allow it to be that way.

their idea

The boundaries and spaces that exist in the urban environment are their idea—it's an idea they want you to have. It would make things much easier if you would just abide by it and stay within the lines.

One of the things I have a terrible amount of trouble with while walking in the city is the demand that's put on me to walk a certain trajectory and stay within certain boundaries. For some people, these boundaries are a given, expected course of action. For others, they are loose and their loose treatment of those boundaries usually get them into trouble (even if that trouble is just annoyance). I have to watch myself when I start to get bothered by someone's behavior in a free environment where I don't need to be concerned at all with what they're doing. I'm impressing my sense of order on what they're doing but they are living by an entirely different sense of order.

There's a sidewalk I used to take more often that went from my bus stop to my office. At one point, the sidewalk diverges from a straight line that runs parallel to the street and it takes serpentine twists and turns through a desolated park-like area. I never see anyone occupying this park even though it is painstakingly maintained and watered—another green area in the desert that no one sits or walks on. Sitting or walking on the green would seem contrary to the point of the building of the "park". It bothers me that someone had an idea that so obviously forced me to take a circuitous route when all I want in that location is a the straightest point to where I need to be. A lot of the time, we have to walk around buildings but here I was being made to walk around an invisible point in space. So I usually just walk on the grass next to the curb.

Close by to this area is nearly a square mile of vacant dirt lot. There are neat sidewalks that run around the perimeter and "No Trespassing" signs scattered throughout the lot. In this situation, it makes more sense to walk directly across the center of the lot on a diagonal to the corner I'm getting to. The lot is desolate and whatever plants manage to grow are raked up and sprayed with herbicide to keep it "maintained" by city ordinances. My decision to walk directly across the center of this lot has to be a deliberate decision since again, it's implied that I take the much longer route along the perimeter. No harm is caused to the lot by walking across it but at some point it was determined that this was unwanted. The city impresses it's control again. And as I cross the center, I take note of all the undisturbed footprints around me—like walking on the moon.

shadows on the perimeter

shadows recorded on perimeter of tourist map in Phoenix, AZ

Inside and out

For at least 2 weeks in a row, I've sat in front of an older couple on the train on a Saturday who have obviously not been downtown for a long time. One of them points out "oh, there's that" or "that used to be this". Things were things, places were places. They were either there or they weren't anymore. The city, to them, was defined by these landmarks which, to me, had very little significance. I may take the Bank of America building for granted but it's certainly not what I consider makes the city what it is.

Whenever I look at a tourist map of a place I know fairly well, I can't help but get slightly irked at what is pointed out as an important part of the landscape. Not that I expect them to mark what I consider important (this place has good coffee on sundays but not wednesdays or this video store has $1 VHS rentals on tuesdays) but it always seems to cheapen the experience of the place. But what can they do? It's a tourist map—most likely produced with sponsorship by certain entities that want to be highlighted somehow. The design and emphases of the map take this all into consideration.

The boundaries are interesting. Why this side and not that side? Why is this building shown but not labeled; a road not marked; a green area fictionally created? Why is this building on the non-labeled side of the street labeled but nothing else? Why is a financial building considered a tourist destination? Why do I feel like i'm being pushed and shoved into a perception of a place I know very well?

All of these questions and more went into the beginnings of this Perimeter Walk piece.