Blue Tokyo (5)
As the months went by, the city’s nature had mutated innumerable times. The memory of the first time the neon rooftops lit up in bright magenta had faded away, for they had switched to so many other beautiful colours over time that the uniqueness of that first 245,0,135 had lost its initial meaning. The signs try to remember each and every saturated explosion with which they flooded the streets, but so many other meaningful events had taken place since then that even if they could do so, the image would have no significance left.
We could ask the traffic. We could ask the telecommunication system that weaves the city’s zeitgeist how did the ancient melodies that built the foundations of our streets sound like. Which samples did we use in order to structure the sublime cosmogony in which we basked for so long? They would tell us to search the archives, but then warn us that the recordings would not sound at all as the songs we remember.
However, the city still grows. New movements that must be witnessed require our attention, for neglecting them would be as irresponsible as submitting the older days to oblivion. The city needs maintenance, continuous care and, from time to time, sanitizing. And as long as we bare this in mind, every transformation will be welcomed, as much as the older layouts will be fondly remembered and held in high esteem.
In short: new landmarks will be declared, new shades of pink will be discovered. New tunes will sizzle throughout our nervous system, but though the main melody may be brought to us from unexplored, faraway lands, we need to remember to pay attention to the base line; it might turn out to be somewhat atavistic. It might sound as the old days. It might be coming from the underground.
.
And now, the fog.
