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Michel de Certeau

Michel de Certeau
Everyday life invents itself by poaching in countless ways on the property of others.
Places are fragmentary and inward-turning histories, pasts that others are not allowed to read, accumulated times that can be unfolded but like stories held in reserve, remaining in an enigmatic state, symbolizations encysted in the pain or pleasure of he body. 'I feel good here': the well-being under-expressed in the language it appears in like a fleeting glimmer is a spatial practice.
The only freedom supposed to be left to the masses is that of grazing on the ration of simulacra the system distributes to each individual.
The walking of passers-by offers a series of turns and detours that can be compared to "turns of phrase" or "stylistic figures." There is a rhetoric of walking. The art of "turning" phrases finds an equivalent in an art of composing a path.
To walk is to lack a place. It is the indefinite process of being absent and in search of a proper.