Reflections on being a tourist in yer own backyard.

We seem to be tourists of our own pasts and respective pleasures.

Tourism allows us to "add" something onto ourselves.

I look to see the way others enjoy themselves as a potential or a hypothetical observer or perhaps, a participant.

I look to the people working to see the way they see me or if they even see me at all.

In a way this is the kind of seeing I am thinking about most.

That of not.

Passing in this context is a middle vision, an inbetween.

One that most Western cultures have decided they don't believe in while the rest of the world, the rest of my parts know that it is out there.

And know that it is within me.

When we wander, do we look to be observed?

Do we look to be waited on by waiting to be observed or spoken to?

Or are we looking for somewhere to enter?

When we stay in a place for some time as travelers, visitors, nomads...do we look to make it home?

Or simply pretend that it is home?

How do we decide and negotiate which space is a romanticized authentic place...and that we are looking really to ostercize ourselves...for a peak or a gander...and in turn ostercizing others.