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Nobody Knows Who I Am 

A social observation; the aspirations, disappointments, and coping strategies in the society of a city, deemed home,


My name is the Conscience, and I’ll be your omniscient narrator for the duration of this account, in conjunction with all the subsidiaries, as well as the company I keep, and self-possessed by a considered, worldly wise gathering, the get together consists of being able to walk past your worst fears, to judge, to spare considered thought if the mood of the day, and world, has not already grated away the last encase of conscience.

The latter speaks of a walking conscience, and as such it's wherever you go, sometimes vivid, sometimes beyond dull, either way it speaks of the individual, among millions of other individuals, and non-existence presence becomes a forte; an art, a cause, a narrative in song or speech, or nothing at all but a non-existent presence; present.

 Further to the lens capturing the fabric of London society, unraveling the patterns lays out the bare all to see, and yet nobody knows who I Am...

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