Fortress Town

Today after work, I took a picture containing this image. Can you guess what it is? A Celtic pattern hidden within what was intended to be a clip of ugliness, to be included in another ramble upon what seems to be a recurring blog theme.

I was going to compare the modern town centre to a fortress. Bunkered within our cities are these places where we do commerce. You go there to do trade, to shop, to collect your bundles of goods then leave. If you’re not buying or selling, then what are you doing there?



Perhaps it’s just a Rod-weirdness, but I find the interior of these places sterile and depressing. Chrome and glass and unfriendly. I am, of course, talking about the mall. But others don’t seem to mind. Maybe I’m just getting behind on my therapy.

Now have a look at the exterior, and this is where I see the fortress. Stark, impenetrable blocks, surrounded by a moat of traffic. If you didn’t arrive by vehicle you’re in real danger. Now I am young enough and my feet are still fleet, but I’d hate to be old and doddery trying to skip my aged bones across the path of speeding cars.



But seriously, I don’t think I’m entirely off the wall here; consider what it means to a community to have such unfriendly town centres. It breaks down the opportunities for chance meetings; it brings a cold, impersonal feeling to a place. It builds upon the sense of alienation that many people feel towards society.