A Thousand Plateaus: #6
An audience of young people. A crowded if awkward accolade. Intense social acceptance followed by the lovely subway. Big dark halls, casual and anonymous relations with family. Up steps to an empty place, once built for crowds, now blackened in the corners by a few businessmen lying on benches and leaning over papers too dark to read. The religious debate, in actual time, the cleric defeated but willing and gentle. He accepts your tirade and the crowd loudly repeats an onomatopoeic hymn invented just this evening. Standing to a side your words make them excited. At the peak of noise you turn your head to them. For a moment you let the noise of love exalt you, then guilt and self absorption return like a stolen pendulum. It’s time to go. Kensington, Wood Hull, White Chapel.