MMMMMMMMMMMMM!MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ! MMMM$MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!~ ~!MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMM$$MMMMMMMMM!MM!MM! !MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMM$$MMMMMMMMMMM!MM~ ~~~~ ~MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMM$$MMMMMMMMMMMMM~ !!MMMMMM!! ~MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMM$MMMMMMMMMMMMM! !MMMM!M!MMM! !MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMM! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ !MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMM$MMMMMMMM i'm going back soon MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMM ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMM! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ !MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMM$MMMMMMMMMMMMM! !M!MM!!MM!M! !MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!M! ~!MM!MMMM~ !M!MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!MM! !MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMM$MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!~ ~MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! ~!MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!M!MMMMMMMMM!!!!MMMMM i don't suppose it will completely live up to my memories of it, i've been building it up for many months now. then again, it does have a certain magic that inspires novels and weird webbie proto-novels. i've even written about how it turns london into a city of moles. i do love it though... some of the cars on the northern line especially seem so old they could be haunted, or rattle right off their tracks into a grown up public transit narnia. i once rode unaccompanied in the first car of the train from brent cross all the way to goodge street. i took full advantage of my luck. i began to dismantle the car, pulled up every panel i could including prying up the floor panels with my finger nails and when they were full of shoe shedding, with my keys, and watching the big black machinery against the blurred tunnel floor. it rattled even closer and louder than usual. i reached down and got my hand dirtier feeling it thrum.riding the underground for me feels like passing through the intestines of a great beast that i can't see and can't possibly know i'm there. i feel like a symbiot bustling back and forth on my business, cooperatively bumping along which ever way needs digesting at the moment. all the time i'm in the underground fictions invent themselves out of the dark windows and the myriad people and things they are faithfully carrying. stories just form, continually suspended in musty lukewarm underground air and framed by the line maps and the central london journey planner. tube rides have a particular relativity to them- as near as i can tell it somehow takes about a half hour to get anywhere, during which the sense of time passing is suspended.
the stations themselves are full of giant ads and cadbury's vending machines and masses of people carefully going their way. i love the ads, they are so large and deliberate and so out of place. as people flow by they seem to be accepted on a sub-level to actual acknowledgment. there is an overwhelming but non-obvious surreality to interconnection of tube stations, like an anti-city contained within and slightly below the city of london. the process of emerging is a powerful transition back to more human context, and often one that entails more tactile elements on lifts than a california girl with a strong sense of personal space is used to... when good frotterists die they go to covent garden station.
all the noise of the underground is white noise, and it amplifies internal thought while dampening the sense of personal relevance. it is easy to slip away, easy to slip into being anyone, even yourself. riding the tube is an act of british meditation.
{:q:}