i do not like the energy of this place.
it has the feeling of a skin graft...naturally artificial. this place, much of it, has been transplanted here, imported. it does not belong.
the walls are invisible, but clearly marked. an abundance of urban blight surrounding the fortress/oasis...pleasant place to be as long as you don't go too far out of the box. when the lines have to be crossed, the fear is palpable.
there is something restless here. history razed to make way for housing, parking lots, new research labs and other assorted knickknacks.
but this place lies over years of memories, blood, sweat, tears. it is not just the antiseptic feel of a hospital that lingers. it is the image of the plantation. the memories of the homeless people who disappeared. the children and the lead.
it is the way black folks are kept in the basements.
the back entrances and lonely service ramps haunting the undersides of the sparkling new buildings.
hierarchy is in the bricks here. bureaucracy in the air. it is difficult to breathe.
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