In Defense Of Texture

  We now live in an overly compulsory contemporary world. A world where two generations under the age of forty five are full of lyrical narcissism. Where texture, grit and non-smooth surfaces are the enemy, and are of the things that nightmares are made of. Safety is seen in clean shiny surfaces, where the new urban hoards can stare at their own reflection, and feel safe like they're still in their mothers womb. All the new skyscrapers are otherworldly glossy, the subway cars are glowing polished steel, and everything within this new reflective kingdom is lit as if it were a blockbuster movie set. When texture rears its ugly head, there's always their smartphones to catch a glimpse of themselves. These adult children fail to realize that a certain amount of imperfection in your environment creates a sense of closeness. But the city is now drowning in a dull, trivial and cowardly existence. 

Wet shoe prints on the subway station floor.

  Through the window of the EL