Preliminary Findings in Psychogeographic Superposition

In the rush of the metamorphic city, it’s deemed inappropriate to pause. This is no place for an old man with skin like tree bark dried in the wind, with limbs as slow as sleep. It’s no place for revelations which emerge like blooms on the Puya raimondii, which may take up to 150 years to flower. Yet, here he is, precise in his deliberate gait, inching towards both home and the very idea of home. Those few passers-by who notice this odd apparition, chancing to glance up from their feet and their phones, either tut in self-righteous disapproval, or take a quick photograph to post to X, assuming he’s some sort of performance artist that the cops have yet to move on. And in those moments of fleeting attention, the city mutates again, the urban landscape reshaping itself like blown dunes. The old man becomes the tree he’s always been in his heart, and the passers-by reconfigure themselves into the quantum duality of crowd, both particle and wave.