each city has lore that runs like blood, stories splattered along land by the settlers who started it.
from the desperate cries of the gold rush in san francisco to the fiery protests of the boston tea party to the strenuous labors of pittsburgh steel mill workers, the evidence is there.
only today, digital currencies replace pure gold, change.org petitions replace protests, chronic back and neck pain replace hard labor.
walking along the streets, mind like a model, i upload mental images. scrolling down infinite roads, colliding rigid bodies with scurrying natives, panning along gentrified landscapes, i render feelings into higher fidelity stories.
real cities, fake cities, digital cities. each with a humble beginning, born from a dream. a dream for a unified community.
which city do i wear best?
when feeling hopeless, i envelope myself in new york city, the intensity of shuffling polyester drowning my thoughts. when feeling rigid and uninspired, i unleash los angeles, letting its color and sunshine vehemently splash my monochrome shells. when withdrawn from the highs of hard work, i inject myself with pittsburgh and bend over my desktop as the ghosts of steel mill workers seep into my veins.
to escape, i tear it all off to reveal florida. shaking, i plunge into the depths of the unshackled, resurfacing only to the bright illusions of artificial worlds.
when missing home, i hastily grab unblemished bay area from the back. it fits weird, the unworn fabric folding imperfectly like the land. i tremble as the folds move unexpectedly. it falls apart in my fingers, like a shattering porcelain pot. i’m reminded how fragile the material is. how fragile the vision of my world is. how it all can so easily fall down again.
that the future is malleable. that nothing is forever.