earth’s engines murmur — / interwoven melodies / twining together
Almost one in the morning and I’m still in the city, typing, a cup of coffee by my side and the music swaying. I have eaten, drunk, danced, and still the city is busy and humming as it always is on Saturday nights. It’s the cusp of the party evening, the turning point, when people stop streaming into the bars and clubs and start returning home to their beds and lovemaking and rest. Conversation is plentiful. The traffic streams on. As a man whose lifestyle takes him through all twenty-four hours, I’ve gotten used to the way the city breathes: its shifting patterns of activity and rest, rise and fall, light and darkness, pooling and eddying across the different districts. Curious to watch the city as it lives and pulses, an animal thing. I think of the rolling book of the international forex market, whose life of abstractions — and what, after all, could more abstract than the shifting values of money? — also takes it round the clock in the ebb and flow of price; an animal thing too, with its own rhythms and breath. Beyond all we think of as society, these are the forces and powers that shape us no less than we shape them, born of us, dying with us. How fine it must be to be the architect of a city or have a place in a trading room, with the great tapestries of our interaction laid out before you, always.