“no, I don’t want to be an I anymore, I want to be infinite I’s!”
Luther Blissett, 1995
the city drew us a safe route:
home, work, shop window, home.
slaves of mechanical conditioning.
I turn elsewhere, away from the chaos,
to where the city frays into countryside
and there is nothing left to buy.
there the noise dies down
and I hear what it was covering:
a branch, a distant rooster,
water running in a ditch.
loitering, I untie knots in the shade
and my head, slowly, clears.
wandering aimlessly is sweet to me.
I find myself on the less travelled streets,
in an apparent drift
or a strange reconnaissance.
I live “egregio“,
out of the flock,
in this world of flocks.
the city wants me to be an I:
a name, an address, a box to tick.
but I am not only I.
we are infinite I’s,
and no box can hold us.
the light is red
even when the street is empty.
the others wait, and wait,
some even on green,
and no one asks why.
I take another street.
the red light doesn’t stop me,
not even the cage of art stops me,
the one that calls itself freedom
and still has bars.
I am often tense,
and proud of it.
the city holds me between two nails:
home and work.
I vibrate in between.
and someone, passing by,
calls it music.
the city still writes to me,
in its official letters.
it calls me “egregio“
out of politeness.
but I’s we are,
by choice.
egregi / egregio: the formal italian greeting used in official letters (“dear sir”). from latin e grege*, “out of the flock”. in italian it echoes* greggi*, “flocks”.*
a zonzo: wandering aimlessly, with no destination.
