This place is a message… and part of a system of messages… pay attention to it!
Really, what more is this place
than a system of messages
? Bits of lives lived; scraps of pseudo-paper
shuffled up and sent spinning into the ether for the eyes of a hundred thousand strangers in the future
. Time made hard, stored to change synaptic bridges in brains not yet born
. This is our love letter to the ones that will never see us live
. This is our epitaph
Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.
We brewed the wine of hubris
as much as any emperor or flea chewed nobleman long dead before us. Our hearts are judged by us to be the pinnacles of creation
, just as all hearts before ours were. Some day, we will be an enigma
to be puzzled over, the frame of reference lost
and unlogged. We tore at the world as though it lived the same life as us. We couldn't imagine an infinity
, or even an era. Tiny hundred year bites strained our jaws. We drank oceans in sips.
This place is not a place of honor…no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.
is the one truth we considered. Not a penny earned, not a pound saved. No great truth within these thin walls. No Rosetta
for our age. The jewels of thought and craft and industry lay elsewhere
. The craftiest of our lot was no more than average, no noble blood or eternal truths within. This is a common grave
, made by common men
, for common thoughts
and common dreams
What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.
Stimuli garner response. Equal force makes a shadow reaction. We lived in these days, these seconds, these years, spraying our neutrons
into the dark places, bombarded by each other. We wrote about our hate
. It is buried here.
The danger is in a particular location… it increases toward a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.
Gravity pulls Everything to the center
. Down, below us we push this catalog
, into the past and forgotten, a shed carapace
. It is something we did
. Past tense. Buried. Dead. Eulogized. Forgotten. Lost. Gone
The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.
You can't kill an idea
The danger is to the body, and it can kill.
Hearts are not hearty.
all the time.
The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.
. bit packet
The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.
Never come back.
We loved you.