|Order, disorder, structure, chaos. Function or dis. The thin line there between. Chaos IMBL.|
Slow and stop. Pause and stare. Consider this: a fixture which worked for a long time, performed its function well and reliably, sturdily made, overengineered by some standards, a design evolved since Roman times, yet recognizable by one of Caesar's subjects as to its intended usage. All our works endeth thus. Broken, shattered, upturned, broken chunks scattered in the sunlight across the road, grinding down to dust beneath the wheels of the madding crowd.
|No rant. Just more data about here, the place, and its people.|
I stop and slow on my bicycle. Look and listen: to the passing cars, the birds, the crunch of toilet chunks beneath my tires, to gain a brighter sense of here. Mostly we are dim about here. Mostly, we cruise through this here, onto the next here, and the next. But what about this one. What's unique about it? Who passes by? What's interesting? Where am I? I'm in the bike lane, in the place of the shattered toilet. Marked. Here. Onto the next, but mindful.