Repetition

The first assignment in our conceptual art class was to sit on the Tube for and hour and jot down the bits of overheard conversation, then take those bits and form a piece of poetry or prose. I really liked the assignment even though I felt a bit scummy doing it. But the project made me notice the repetition and the rhythm of transit, also how in the mobs of people there are still the individuals that don't get swept into the repeating endlessnesss.

Look at you
The thing is that, the thing is, the thing is I see now
It wasn’t even in my head to see you
Don’t you see?
Wier kann nicht
Sehen

Change here for the Jubilee Line

Stop
It’s not that far, not that far, not that far
(I already told you)
Two or three I think, at least forty-two, a hundred
It’s the next station
Only one
Stop

Change here for the Piccadilly Line

Listen
You can’t, you can’t
I extended my arms
Listen
This generation, that generation, any generation
But what do you do if it doesn’t?
Listen
Move to the back
Make sure
Listen

Change here for the District and Circle Lines

He’s the man who carries
He’s proof to me that I got it
He’s my brother, my dad, that man there

Change here for the Central Line

Those are the one she feels like
Value what they value
I said yes, he said no
I felt like a rarity
It’s my choice to feel like a rarity
But then all you see is sand