Everyone it seems is searching. Who am I? Where am I headed? The early eighties UK band, Imagination, who I accidentally and wonderfully, find myself listening to in a French supermarket expressed it well.
Between fresh fish and vegetables “Searchin’ for lust, searchin’ for breath, searchin’ for the touch of life…”
I’m searching for tomatoes. The song stays with me, it’s still there, running around my head.
Yes we’re all searching. Even the dedicated psychogeographer, the splace invader, the flaneur, dedicated to walking without purpose, is searching. We just don’t know exactly for what.
Out of the supermarket and into the hot streets.
the ice-cream seller
points out the way to me
with an ice-cream
haiku haibun psychogeography pop culture zen writing