What I’m interested in is the feeling of history the aesthetics of history not history but History with a capital “H” or maybe not even history but historical-ness like when I came to the Forbidden Purple City fifteen minutes before closing with no idea what it was and ran across that field between crumbling walls and the grass looked faded in the faded fading slanting light and everything was grainy like an old photo or a decaying painting

It was the passing of time wasn’t it that chased me across that made me look back over my shoulder, the whitewashed sun backlit the Imperial Palace then slipped down, I could feel it then . . .  turn around, keep going . . .


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