This is the spectrum of colours. All humans can see it. However, we do not all see it the same way. Reading as you are the English words of this article, then its likely that you automatically divide this spectrum as: Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange, and Red. Each colour clearly ends and is divided in another. This is a truth of the universe is it not?
Well, actually it isn’t. (more…)
Should one of the creatures with the ability to decipher these very written words visit the place in which the following story unfolds they would surely find nothing spectacular. The bland tranquil openness would most likely be of little interest, and the upon digestion of the scene the spectator might condense it in the rather unexciting verbal epitome of “Yard.” However, for the seeing eye the area was buzzing with life, and the colours blended in spectacular tapestry. The other senses were tickled with the odours mixing in perfumed fragrance, and the humming of a beautiful symphony played by a cross section of instruments of Nature that filled the space. “Preposterous!” the reading and speaking creature might exclaim, but one mustn’t speak too soon, for it is not Nature who is mute but Man who is deaf. Unfortunately, for the Yard even a slight sensibility to listening would make no difference here, for every time Man came to the Yard he came with such a being-penetrating, air-shaking, ground-rattling, and roaring companion that nothing could be heard at all. (more…)
It was a nice sunny Wednesday afternoon, and I was walking through a park downtown. The breeze was blowing, ducks were quacking, and up ahead a man was lying down on the path not moving. Some people walked on by without a second glance, some began to gather around, as did I, but all kept their distances. I heard some people say that he was sleeping, others that he was drunk. However, by simply moving around to see his face I clearly saw that he wasn’t sleeping. Blood stained his hair and a red streak was leaking from his open and glassy eye. We huddled around un-assuredly, and someone called 911. (more…)
The old man took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the cup of coffee he held before his face. It brought warmth to his being, but his exhalation came out nonetheless as a sigh, fogging up the icy pane of glass out of which he was looking. This was the kind of sigh that would have surprised his wife, bless her soul, were she around to hear it. She would have raised her eyebrows out of surprise, a precursor to her baking fresh cookies to be delivered with a kiss, but those days were gone now. He turned from the snowy evening street and faced into his shop. Here too was a life companion that had heard very few of those sighs, and this too he was now losing. (more…)
( I wrote this with this song by Bohren & The Club of Gore in mind. If interested, play music while reading for full experience and cool band. )
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The purple silk sheets bent slowly under her paw. Padded cushions marked the division between the purple of the sea and the darkness of the pillar that rose to the heavens; centered in the sinkhole that occupied the ocean of softness. The cushions in turn fused into luscious black fur that led up a long gracious leg. A round feline shoulder rolled. Slowly it elevated, carving itself out of the slab of the back cresting like a wave at peak, flaunting for a brief moment the ultimate definition of self before coming back down to erase on the shore of body. As the wave descends from its crest, so too does the purple ocean perturb anew making a sound that is imperceptible, but that rings the senses, heightened by the shift of topography and flow of currents. A new pillar of fur passes the previous. Lifting to repeat the process of wave forming, cresting, and crashing into a new sinkhole in the waters; four of them locking in elegant dance. (more…)
Raise your hand in front of you, palm outwards, and look at it. Take a moment to take it in, and see its shape, see what it is. Now turn it over and look at your palm. Once you’ve taken that in, spin it around. Look at it from close, far, up or down; move your fingers around. What you have just done is exactly what you did when you were first born and were exploring the world. This is the first thing you did; your own hands and feet were the first subjects in your life of discovery. This is the innate wisdom of the child. We spin our hands around to get multiple takes on them because simply looking at your extended hand without seeing the palm or where the skin bends in the joints it is difficult to know what it is, and what it is for. Sure this might sound silly now, but that is because you know what hands are. When you were born you had no idea, and this is how you started the exploration of hands, most likely followed by experiments with smell and taste. (more…)
Foreword
Cities are, by virtue of being composed of living Humans, alive themselves. This was demonstrated by comparing Cities to the 7 Characteristics of Life in the first part of this mini series. In the second part we will shift the focus from the physiology to the psychology of Cities. (more…)
Humans have a curious tendency to regard and speak of Cities as if they were a single entity, or even alive. A closer look can explain that tendency, as resemblances between Humans and Cities are multiple and strong. Like Humans, Cities have clearly defined limits in space, purposes (such as resource exploitation or political governance), they have their own character, and most importantly they have their own names. Every community, from town to city, has its own vibe, spirit, or character that is created or perceived by inhabitants and tourists, which, like any individual, make it unique. Like peoples, communal identities are shaped and influenced by the history and the experiences of the community, which in turn influence the identities of the individuals living within its bosom. This is a symbiotic relationship that is witnessed in all communities whatever the size, and indeed is the very premise behind culture. (more…)
Julien Dupont 