Spacetown

Yesterday I took a jaunt up to La Défense, a Northwest area of Paris, not overly convenient to anywhere else. Known as a business district with skyscrapers and glass buildings, it's the neighborhood of Paris that LEAST reminds me of Paris. I wouldn't even suggest that it reminds me of New York City because it is far too pristine and let's just say it... clean... in that sterol, surgical looking way that's a bit scary. However, on one of the few truly sunny days lately, it made for quite a striking site as I walked to it from further away than normal because the metro had a glitch one stop before I usually would have gotten off. The wind was whipping fiercely through the buildings and as I looked behind me, I had a straight shot of Arc de Triomphe in the distance. But as I got closer, the feeling I couldn't shake was that I had entered some sort of space town. A futuristic realm full of metallic and shining structures that can perform all sorts of crazy technological feats. It made for a very stark contrast to central Paris, with its historic architecture, quaint cafés, and bustling Parisian spirit. To compare the two, one made me think of space, stoicism and isolation while the other more of a colorful community of emotions.

While walking around this alternate universe I thought, wow, it must be a huge relief to be an automaton... To have no outlandish surge of chemicals that force feeling and confuse everything around you. A true agenda with clear sighted ability to be in the moment and assess things logically. Then I think well I am pretty damn lucky that I get to feel things that I'm not even sure all humans get to feel. This does not make me special so much as crazy, owing to the fact that I am clearly hormonally imbalanced on occasion. So, sometimes I love beyond reason, cry because anyone having to say goodbye anywhere seems profoundly cruel, and get overly excited at the merely potential existence of magic or ridiculousness. My empathy knows no bounds, probably classifying me with real super powers if I could ever master its use in a productive way. I make irrational decisions based on my heart even when my loud, bossy, over analytical, neurotic brain calls into question every element of my decision making. But to be a robot means being shackled in a suit of armor with no way of penetration for true love or life. I think I prefer a mortal frame to a cage of solitude just as I prefer traditional Paris to the other new age metropolis... Plus robots don't have pretty hair.