In this end there is no ending, and in this ending there is no rest. The world is as it was, the world shall never be as it was and shall never be again. The sun will burn, the sun never has burned. The child shall starve for tomorrow he shall feast. The mother shall die with her shadow at her feet, for yesterday was the same as the one to be, so she shall only know the end that never arrives.
The City in its wakefulness sleeps, for in the impossible twist of these streets the practice of living continues. Office workers march, suits and clipped skirts, hollow eyes and same faced, into buildings swallowed by the clouds, mining profits and grinding piece by piece until their flesh is raw and weeping and they awaken the next morning under still crisp sheets. Others sit chatting in the cafes, where food comes and is replaced by coffee and is replaced by sweets and is replaced by yesterday’s food still half eaten — or perhaps those are the marks of tomorrow's bite — as you enjoy a conversation that is always ending. Children play in the park as their parents watch, but there is always one more there than you remember, isn’t there? The trees always a little taller, the slide a little longer. The children play in the park as their grandparents watch but there is always —
Here, we remember and cling to that which never existed and will never be again. The City will never be as we wish it, though it will remind us in its shifting ways of what almost was. The world can never be as it was for the world never was as it was, and one cannot return to a memory. That which broke the world was itself shattered in its remaking, for the fear of the sword which hangs by a wire can only last until the blade falls and threat makes the transition to certainty.
We mustn’t forget, it is more than the city that is changed. Past the hill where the old fort stands is where land turns sour. It will start small at first, a lightness to your step, a lack of traction upon rough ground, or it might even be a tree that repeats itself while those around have the decency to take a new shape. As one trudges on, one might find as they turn to the left all that greets them is the scenery to their right, and should they go right, there shall be the same. Perhaps you will meet a storm there, one of sand and grit whistling between the trees that leaves in the completion of its fury not a single grain behind.
There is delirium in its heart, in lands so forgotten that they are only remembered within the memory of the land itself. Birds shall sing from empty branches, gravity shall forget its own hold, and when you dare close your eyes, it will find new wonders to greet you with when they next open.
We do not go past the old fort upon the hill, for the City is stable. Though,it is changing. This is nothing new, of course, but it isn’t memories of what was that guide its shape. There is someone who benefits, that is what the workers of the endless offices believe, and they know what it means to change for another’s benefit. The why or how are hard to say, for it never seemed as if there was direction to the City’s shifting before. What changed the world before is gone, that is a fact, but what changes the City now has a plan, and I don’t think we wish to see the end of it.
—~—~—~—~—
It’s touched you, hasn’t it? The City’s change. A home lost, perhaps, a routine broken, a death changed, it’s something I can tell. This isn’t new to the City, its growth and shifting define us, but how quickly, how directed the changes are speak to something more. Someone has found a way to touch the City’s heart, and they have taken from me something I was not willing to give. I do not know if the city can be made right again, for it never was in the first place, but there can only be more loss should this continue.
For now, there is an office building that wasn’t there yesterday growing from a mall. There will be the first place we check.
The City in its wakefulness sleeps, for in the impossible twist of these streets the practice of living continues. Office workers march, suits and clipped skirts, hollow eyes and same faced, into buildings swallowed by the clouds, mining profits and grinding piece by piece until their flesh is raw and weeping and they awaken the next morning under still crisp sheets. Others sit chatting in the cafes, where food comes and is replaced by coffee and is replaced by sweets and is replaced by yesterday’s food still half eaten — or perhaps those are the marks of tomorrow's bite — as you enjoy a conversation that is always ending. Children play in the park as their parents watch, but there is always one more there than you remember, isn’t there? The trees always a little taller, the slide a little longer. The children play in the park as their grandparents watch but there is always —
Here, we remember and cling to that which never existed and will never be again. The City will never be as we wish it, though it will remind us in its shifting ways of what almost was. The world can never be as it was for the world never was as it was, and one cannot return to a memory. That which broke the world was itself shattered in its remaking, for the fear of the sword which hangs by a wire can only last until the blade falls and threat makes the transition to certainty.
We mustn’t forget, it is more than the city that is changed. Past the hill where the old fort stands is where land turns sour. It will start small at first, a lightness to your step, a lack of traction upon rough ground, or it might even be a tree that repeats itself while those around have the decency to take a new shape. As one trudges on, one might find as they turn to the left all that greets them is the scenery to their right, and should they go right, there shall be the same. Perhaps you will meet a storm there, one of sand and grit whistling between the trees that leaves in the completion of its fury not a single grain behind.
There is delirium in its heart, in lands so forgotten that they are only remembered within the memory of the land itself. Birds shall sing from empty branches, gravity shall forget its own hold, and when you dare close your eyes, it will find new wonders to greet you with when they next open.
We do not go past the old fort upon the hill, for the City is stable. Though,it is changing. This is nothing new, of course, but it isn’t memories of what was that guide its shape. There is someone who benefits, that is what the workers of the endless offices believe, and they know what it means to change for another’s benefit. The why or how are hard to say, for it never seemed as if there was direction to the City’s shifting before. What changed the world before is gone, that is a fact, but what changes the City now has a plan, and I don’t think we wish to see the end of it.
—~—~—~—~—
It’s touched you, hasn’t it? The City’s change. A home lost, perhaps, a routine broken, a death changed, it’s something I can tell. This isn’t new to the City, its growth and shifting define us, but how quickly, how directed the changes are speak to something more. Someone has found a way to touch the City’s heart, and they have taken from me something I was not willing to give. I do not know if the city can be made right again, for it never was in the first place, but there can only be more loss should this continue.
For now, there is an office building that wasn’t there yesterday growing from a mall. There will be the first place we check.
