People advised him to explore this part of the city. The interest he had for spaces at the edges, or for the eeriness that is often encountered between the residential and the industrial started to come through his work. And so people had started to share with him their vision of Los Angeles and orient him towards what he might find interesting to explore.
I am struck by the mental violence it arouses. But instead of being drawn to it, I now feel aggressed, invaded by its destructive repetition: not directly participating in it, but on the outside, suffering it.
I have reached a limit. It is not a physical limit, such as a wall or a cul-de-sac, but a limit in consciousness, a limit that brings thinking to a halt or withholds the future from our possibility.
I read an endpoint, the sensation of an imminent disaster. The city has suddenly dissolved into a desert and pumping machines continuously extinguish resources from the earth. The space feels impossible. I am not welcome. It is violent, aggressive. It hammers my mind. In fact, it is in complete disregard to my presence. It is completely unconcerned.