old cities attract us with their old age. they seem to have many hearts, one inside another. these chinese box hearts palpitate in different rhythms, and you can hear those throbs, or choose from them. gradually, you also develop multiple hearts, you live in different caverns of history. but the most challenging thing is to question history itself. even when you reach the farthest corner of history, you reach no golden age. there is no solace in history. only angst. and yet, when many histories are bouqueted together, you understand that you can play with history, that it has a burden that can be emptied again and again and the bloody skulls inside it can be replaced with flowers.
