Thursday, June 28, 2007 In the heart there exists a metropolis. A plot of land for each person you've ever known. On some plots are built towering skyscrapers (earthquake proof of course), solid pillars that seem to prop up the sky. Yet others are grandoise: palaces of marble and ivory, rich and radiant. And the plots of colour and excitement: theme parks and fun fairs, fireworks every night, filled with laughter and joy. And the cosy suburban plots, of warmth and comfort: a warm fire in winter, and a shining light in spring, beacons for the weary and the lost. But there are also plots of land, that are rank with weeds. Abandoned houses with half a roof. Mounds of rubble where towers once stood; hollow halls where grandoise webs spread across once-grandoise pillars. Worse still are the barren deserts, where even grass refuses to grow. Wastelands of death and decay. Scariest of all are the places where crevasses are papered over, where rotting walls are whitewashed, to make our daily journeys through our heart's metropolis less distressing, less painful. We sometimes forget and place our foot on the paper and it rips and we plunge into the chasm. Or we lean against the rotting wall and it gives way and the house collapses on us. But is paper and paint all we can do? Is there no choice but to let things fester and spread, and turn everything into a wasteland? And all the while just pretend it isn't happening, that everything is fine and dandy, only to be shocked and dismayed when the ground gives way beneath us? Maybe, for every plot of land in our metropolis, a twin that is its mirror lies in another metropolis. And it takes more than one person to develop it, or even just to fix cracks. Just like it takes more than one hand to clap, and more than one player for, uh, Old Maid. I am poised to clap. Are you? We could, of course, extend this analogy further. What if, the developers on the mirrored plots are holding different blueprints? Each tears down what the other builds, trying in vain to build their own version of paradise. Like two hands that try to clap but do not meet, then there is still no sound. Then how long, before the developers give up, and go develop someplace else? How long before the hands give up and flop limply to the sides? I think I've gone quite far enough with this. It's time to get some sleep.
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