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The city has movement made of an underground that goes for miles in  a spider web that holds it all together. The place that reminds me of that metaphor is Camden Market a spot made of more languages than people. I go for a beef patty at a Jamaican joint and talk to the owner and he says about this is the place where he gives out the spice. I buy my lady a ring and i can’t make out a word of the east London accent. Cockney it is called. And as a man walks by in high heels and freshly bought chaps I recall something about watching episodes of Benny Hill with my Grandma  back in Canada.  And i think of her, my nana, recently in hospital, as an old Indian women walks by in her sari made of orange and brown. It really is true i guess, the world is here. Or maybe this is just the center of the world holding it all together.

Many of the 300 languages spoken here can be heard on even the shortest of Underground voyages.
Fav spot: Camden Market on a weekend afternoon. This London hot spot draws in crowds as eclectic as the shops and merchants you’ll find on its streets.

I am staying at a beautiful place in Joordan that I found through
Craigslist for my weeklong shoot here. Anki was the upstairs neighbour
in this leafy uptown neighbourhood of Amsterdam. Anyway, I had been
listening to the Netherlands public radio but the channel wasn’t
coming in right and was making loud feedback. There was a knock on my
door and there was Anki. I thought she was knocking to complain about
the noise from the shitty reception on the radio.

But all the old gray lady did was just cut past me into my living room
and did a jig, some old time dance I didn’t know about, to the rhythm
of the station coming in and out. That was Anki. But bi-polar disorder
was the name they put on her when he was 28 years old. They put her on
what she calls her vitamins to take her back down. But she says that
only does so much and she has too what she calls her qualms.

She asks me what I am doing here and I tell her about taking photos of
the city, words, and letters. And how they will make messages. And she
seems to understand the idea easily, even says the city has sustained
her with kinds things spoken often. Going wandering she called it. And
then that is what she left my door to do. She left the door open and I
had to walk over to close it.

The next morning I see Anki with her ponytail from my basement window,
standing on the street just trying to see what it’s like to be someone
who exists. But the people are just walking by. And her eyes are
closed and I can see her listening to the city. The bicycles and boats
and all that what have you which makes up her time.

And I imagine what he would look like not from my basement apartment
window but from the sky. And I think I would see a girl moving through
the years. And around her are all the dirty and intolerable conditions
of her life. But always with the city buildings growing up around her
as some old friend to see her through.