phoenix

phoenix rises from the flames but not in glorious bursts of sky like peninsula park nearby where the white and blue glass reflects off the clouds until they are all that remain. instead it is a subterranean world of schizoid surfaces and streets buried under layers of dust. the sky is only felt as dim light filtering from the top.

this is what is bigness. large flat areas that overlook nothing except more of the same. once in a while, if you do manage to step into one of the scooped out courtyards, knife like spears or monumental behemoths loom over you. the dungeon is the only place where you can feel safe from the prying eyes of the men in the towers. and here order collapses in incoherent madness. new surfaces clad on older ones, gleaming escalators leading to rotting corridors, grey concrete puddles in car parks as far as the eye can see and policemen at every corner telling you not to stay. the souk would be the medieval islamic parallel. but this lies outside even that. a labyrinth of only the neglected in betweens. even outside the confines of the mall, below the flyover real life carries on in the shadows of concrete.