I'm working at Mute Magazine in Whitechapel, Jack the Ripper's killing ground. I'm two streets east of where his third victim, Lizzie, was found mutilated.
So on my lunch break yesterday, I went rambling with my wonderful co-worker Raquel. We found out the spot of that murder is now inhabited by four-square playing children on recess at school.
Photo by CJ Lotz
Her body was found just beyond the sunny flowered wall.
My actual building is far away from creepy. It's gorgeous:
It's funny how things come back to haunt us.
1 comment:
It's so eerie to think of a place having such a polar nature. I was thinking about it researching the history of some of the locations we'll be at in Berlin. So many historic areas were razed in World War II--some are in shambles, others have been fully restored, and still others have been replaced by new things. Some buildings housed refugees, others housed Gestapo, and now both house neither. A surgeon's room was converted to an indie music club.
I guess it's not unusual. Most slums in Indian cities were once just villages. Farms were forests, suburbs were farms, republics were empires were city-states were tribes. I guess I just a weird feeling about the sacred permanence a physical space should have in my mind.
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