15 Parc Versailles 17 Carrière LaFarge 21 Rue Griffith
the edge, harboured fantasies of distant places while toiling away their days. They could not ignore who owned the vistas offered them. Times change, money changes hands. Some truth masquerades as eternal currency. Today, only the nouveau riche, suspended high in the aeries of luxury living, can aspire to rival with the incomparable views of the old captains of industry. Given such a cluttered perspective, is it better to submit, turn your eyes away? No. Whoever is kept from looking ahead can discover the truth at the tip of their shoes. Bend your head, prick up your ears, open yourself to whatever trembles, shudders, quivers, and yet persists. Above all, ignore the master’s voice. Listen to the feeble signals that manage to naturally escape the ambient noise. Isn’t the seagull’s displaced call, lured by its appetite for fish n’ chips and lost among the downtown pigeons, enough to remember the water? Isn’t it enough for the wind to slide through the open window, stroke my neck like a friend detailing a secret message with their index finger? An electrostatic shiver courses up my spine to the ends of my hair, incites the desire to leave this window, where I interfere with the signal’s purity, and go pronounce my solidarity with the insular cause. Goodbye! See you later! I leave to stretch fragile lines along the streets, stir the world with the tips of my shoes. Even the grain barons, the captains of industry, did not give themselves the right to build higher than the cross that radiates electrically at the mountain’s summit. The lords of this lowly world know they must pretend that higher powers exist to bolster their claims to omnipotence. Celebrate the Lowly One! The mountain nailed to the
meredith carruthers
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