Ill, and the city is spreading all around us, in all directions. Ill, and the city is bigger than us and how will we ever escape it? Ill from the city. Illness – from the city, and by way of the city. You’ll never leave, said the city, and you won’t even stand upright. You’ll never get up, said the city, you’ll never be vertical again. Lie down – accede. Lie down, give up, I’ve won and you are mine. Lie down – you’re mine.
Are we ill from the city? Are we sick from the city, and the extent of the city? It’s everywhere, and who are we, lost in the afternoon, getting off the bus into the day. The city – everywhere – and who are we who go to and fro beneath the day? Give up – get sheltered housing. Give up, find a flat you’ll never have to leave. ‘Doctor, I’m ill, I can’t get up …’
I’m going inside, you said, I’m never coming out. In – and never out, you’ll have to come to me, the world will have to come to me, I’m staying in. I’m inside and the world is everything outside, the light across the windows, the traffic jam on the street. Inside – that’s where I am, I’ve given up, you know where to find me.
Lars Iyer's Blog 