I used to think that location mattered ever so much. I switch mine repeatedly, almost compulsively. I am dreaming about the psychology of movement. Like a rat in a maze, why not try to find that ever-elusive piece of cheese, memorize the walls, find it faster, faster. If we keep changing up the path, go to the fromagerie at the corner, switch it up to the Monoprix, or the grocery store in Hyde Park or Auckland or Brighton or Brighton Beach or the 5th arrondissement of Paris what difference does it make?
The truth is objects are just that. What matters is how you feel, who you love, do you see yourself reflected in the eyes of others - do you exist?
Streets, rues, avenues, and the prize at the end. I seem to keep wanting to confuse myself, to remind myself that geography is pointless.
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