Note to Future Traveller #1
Dead End City

The streets here are dark, filled and lost with fallen dreams of another life, and now you have made it here Reader, the city were ends meet their demise and you now are holding this paper made of the flesh of trees and the blood of memories.

Breaking sewer lines open up the flood of it all… shoes that shine on their own to eyes bejeweled… lust trapped in a world not known to most but familiar to all… caging chairs line the floors here of places those bound to them call home… beds open flesh so the blood beneath can breathe… girls in red get strapped and wrapped to toilet room floors… skirts nautch dance in rooms full of liquor wounds… posters keep slaves for wanted torture… prisoners lock their own cells and dine on the keys… gentle hearts stomp out the sunshine for fear of something growing up beneath the cracks of who they are… binding poles shoot up and victimize the rooms reminding the lost women of places they ran from and to… blood is drunk by the ties of the law… tiger ladies turn from paper to ice carrying the meat of their own killings… the moon eats the ever present fog with colors of pink and blue shedding radiation of the son of stars upon the victims beneath clouds… the hospital heals nothing and no one ever so don’t ask… the police are the destroyers of your own safekeeping… and the eyes of windows watch it all from far far above with hearts black and bound to necks yet to breathe the pleasure of life and the living.

That is the place you now find… your eyes reading these words… under some light… breaking across the planes of the grid… round you… and your sense… of who and what… you are and were before.

Yet, things lie under you… deeper than that… for even the givers of nightmares… dream of fairy-tales … and so… this city that knows no days… has seen a breaking dawn across the blue oceans that surround it… last night.

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Last night… a triangle tree of this city gave birth to a rainbow and sparkle hopes…

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The seed that bore this wood of life… the occasion of a wedding… Jane and Ming… and the dragon on white paper breathed its fire between them…

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If humanity were the makers of stars… then much of the heavens was fallen upon the room…