I asked him, “How do you see this city? How do you see the people who live here?”
“Imagine a post-apocalyptic or post-war city in ruin. Individuals and families are traumatised and shell-shocked but they have lived through, and in, a war zone as long as they can remember so it’s no longer abnormal to them. They survive from one moment to the next by looking out for number one.
The sun no longer really rises over the city and so they live their lives by artificial lights that cast unreliable, ever-changing shadows. They eat and drink and feed their every appetite but though they gorge themselves they are never satisfied.
Each lives for himself, according to his own rules and yet in this counterfeit freedom every individual feels abandoned, orphaned.
They pass each other on the streets, in restaurants and night clubs, even in their homes, without really seeing each other, blinded to themselves. They long for home even as they sit in the comfort of their lounges, bedrooms and corner pubs talking about everything under the sun except who they are and why they’re here.
They fear the eternity in their hearts because they do not know who put it there or whether they’ll ever know. They worship smokescreen reflections, their city, their families, music, art – anything really – that is what they are crafted to do. But their praises return to them void and misplaced fears creep through their bodies, chaining their minds, hearts and souls.
They rarely look up because the skies are marked by fingerprints that go above and beyond everything they have learnt to see. Their eyes know only to scan for the manufactured, everything else is messy and inconvenient. Their hearts long for the impossible while their minds snigger and point out that what you see is what you get.
Blind eyes. Deaf ears. Bodies enslaved by comfort.
Oh, Children. Cry Out!
Open your eyes to see,
Your ears to hear.
You are broken.
Your are loved.
You are alive.”