The other day, starting to work, I ran into a fence open. I pass every morning, and I've never really asked what is behind. I probably did not have enough coffee in the blood, at where I wander, to ask me intelligent questions (as long as the rest of the time ...) So as if it was necessary for me anyway, the extent of behind the fence opened . And without ever asked myself, I had the answer: behind the fence, there is a no man's land, with hollows, bumps, and grass that grows uncontrollably. There is a kind of marl and sand dirty city. It is large without being huge. A piece of land that has not bothered to tame the midst of building square well and perfectly clean them. Ça m’a plu.
Il m’est revenu ce terme, que j’entendais gamine et que je n’entends plus guère : « terrain vague ».
Je n’ai jamais particulièrement réfléchi à cette expression, un « terrain vague ». Je ne sais pas d’où elle vient, qui a eu un beau jour l’idée d’accoler ces deux mots pour désigner un bout de ville que la civilisation n’a pas tout à fait conquis. Mais ce matin-là, subitement, elle m’a semblé très belle et très poétique. Peut-être simplement parce que je n’avais pas assez de café dans le sang, hein, je veux bien admettre que j’ai parfois des élans lyrics that are a bit low-ceilinged. But since then, it tickles me.
Wave adj: that is unspecified, poorly determined.
wasteland. Areas poorly defined, and unspecified in the middle of a big city. Areas a little blurry, where everything is still possible, including "nothing". This is good news! Amidst this hive permanent, where everything is precise, where everything has a role, where everything must be profitable, where everything must remain in place for not only the machine goes wrong, there are spaces undefined. Empty boxes, we would not still corseted in a unique function. Of the clearance surfaces, areas where we could simply ask to be "latent," as we've all been in our development. Just something essential to be fully human, then.
Wave nf: wave motion of the water surface, usually due to wind action.
A-wave field. A place to dream. The sea creeps in thought between the concrete and polluted air. The ebb and flow, the rhythm of the moon as a response to the frenzy of people who work, who do their shopping, returning from The small school ... sound of water in the middle of the horns and people upset. A refuge, almost? Go figure ...
No, really, it's a nice phrase, a "wasteland".
I live in town. In a big city. The least we can say is that this was not an aspiration of departure, but I live without resentment and without anger is like this. I know why I finally chose to live there. I know what I love. I know that I support without enthusiasm. And I know what I hate. Foremost among these hated things, the feeling Standing does not have the space available to me vital. The city is great, but the way to get a place is too small. I'm suffocating.
There are fewer "wasteland" in our cities. And I'm not sure it is a good sign. It's been quite a payroll that I have not heard this expression, uttered by anyone. Well, ma'am, the land price, you kidding! Small digressions on spaces of reverie, all this is nice, but it pays nothing. Philosophy when it will be rich. Who cares, we, as people feel oppressed, compressed, chopped there is one square meter of their city that is not being fleeced. Who cares: they want money!
I know. Houle, yes, I know. But I am entitled to find that injury, even taking things from the smaller end of my lens of chick who knows nothing about city planning.
I came across a kind of wasteland, the other day and I liked it. It soothed me and asked to dream, not only linguistic. I found the sweetest day, then. I say nothing more than that.
