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Cole Swensen

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.