I went to vote on Sunday; nothing of divine about my act, I vow. The ballot being for the City Hall, I opted for a stroll to the site. Or was it the sun that invited me to? I decided to take a shortcut, a street in between the back of a convent turned into a hospital and the front of a manor house turned into a school. Further uphill, the former noble’s building turned into the Hungarian ambassador’s residence witnessed it all. I turned into the casual passer-by.
Halfway the thoroughfare the ruin.
A second thought established that this ruin has more charm than the building that lent its stones to the natural sculptor. How could I tell if there was an architectonical bad taste underlying the whole picture? What previous ruins gave way to this?
Later that day, the suffrage results came in: I’m voting for a minority. Not quite the desperate or despairing minority but definitely off the centre way. The centre is a hell of a place, if we think of whirlpools or black holes. The picture looks dimmer when I think of music, the music that sells the most, the centre of the music world. And doom comes to mind while thinking of large crowds following one idea.
And why do I keep on voting for those who will never win? Not voting would be the same as saying that I don’t care what decisions are made — my morality to protest would be thus severed. Voting blank would be protesting against the quality of the contesters but also not presenting any other option. Therefore I vote.
I’m glad I voted for a minority. If they ever win, the elections after their mandate would probably be for the City of Ruins Hall. A ruin is a leftover.
