The Teacher of Cheops, Albert Salvado

It strikes me that we are not living our best lives in this great city, in this life. It’s like an experiment to see how well we have been trained. Like a mouse (why are we so preferentially cruel to mice I wonder…) or a dog that has been taught helplessness, and now we don’t even look for the lever anymore. Just keeping to our boxes, following draining patterns.

I do love all of our colours though. The noise, the cacaphony of sound and emotion. By no means perfect, but a thread running through, keeping us together despite, or perhaps because of our differences.