Thunder & lightning shortly before 6 this morning set the block aflame and rocking. With the curtain unable to stretch to the last pane the light streaked along the opposite wall like some kinda visitation. Still somehow it was comforting. Even had the tower suffered a spectacular strike and we were all buried in the rubble there would have been little cause for lament. The Urbanist Paul Virilio tells the story of a space crew in orbit which fell into danger and needed to choose between a burn-out crash-landing on earth, or else unguided flight into the furthermost beyond until reserves were exhausted. In that case the decision was made for a fiery internment on the home planet. In Singapore in the midst of the towers with their garden-beds, void decks, sheltered walkways, the plastic fluro playgrounds, swept paths—another foreign worker yesterday was blowing leaves entangled in the bushes of a garden strip—the threatening hot spear of Zeus seemed less than troubling.
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