The city never seems so alive as at Spring Festival. Alive may not be the right word, in fact. The city almost seems at war.
I imagine I’m a reporter driving through Serbia or Iraq. I’m not actually driving, of course. The taxi driver is the one jockeying up and down narrow alleys, plunging through plumes of smoke, dodging explosives as if our lives really do depend on it.
I watch through the window. The only thing missing is a voice over from Dexter Filikins giving updates on the progress of “The Surge,” his paternal sympathy somehow disconnected from the destruction right before our eyes. The flowers of light and fire bloom from every neighborhood, and spring is literally in the air.
I wonder why people are so attracted to noise and spectacle. Maybe that’s why there’s always a war going on someplace in the world. It’s too similar to a celebration.
This work by @thebeautythatstillremains is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 China Mainland License.
