To sail around London as dreamed by Madox Ford 100 years later
Iain Sinclair, seeing the rage of it, or walking as interactive cartography:
take any major city, take every single inch of it, make of it this intricate
and then make it orchestrate, or (again Sinclair) just an endless attempt
to forget (Quinn tracing the Tower of Babel all over New York) of the
ritual in which one forgets one by one the faces caused a fugue—
the psychological imperative to walk straight ahead without stopping—
it’s a rare form of amnesia—the person is usually eventually found
hundreds of miles away living a new life under a different name, invisible
ceremonies, such as the blindman’s stitch: the conviction (Sinclair again)
that one can orbit London on the M25.
Sinclair says that it is in the fugue that writing and walking fuse, which
implies, as has been proved, that writing is the erasure of memory, and
as such, annihilates the past, as does walking—i.e., you can’t walk
backward without hurting yourself, and most likely also somebody else.