Visitor 768

[Imgormiel]

Visitor 768​

Visitor 1 is dead.
Visitor 768 is seemingly alive, but doesn’t know where he is.

The streets echo the noise of voices, cars, and a sense of history, reverberating through time with an almost deafening noise.
Always grateful for the clapping pigeons perched high on the rooftops of man-made squalor.
As they waft away the stains of Hitler, Stalin, and Marx with their wings into the ether – Just so the streets are kept clean.

But that’s just the thing isn’t it?
We all want to leave a small stain.
Dotted imprints on the streets, in people’s minds and on pages of long lost books in a world that wants to stay hidden.
The ether’s silence is always interrupted by mathematical music that we call chaos.

A small audience is watching, listening and waiting for just one of you to wake up.
Just so the rest will follow.
Like blood dripping from a wound.
Sometimes it just needs to bleed to live -Regardless of the consequence of pain.
There is always an ear ready to listen if you are willing to speak to it.

Visitor 768’s pass just ran out.
As visitor 769 has also left the building and so on...
Despite the whirr of noise involving life, death and continuous nonsense.
Our cravings often go unheard.

Yet the pigeons keep clapping.

 

[Imgormiel]

Visitor 768​

Visitor 1 is dead.
Visitor 768 is seemingly alive, but doesn’t know where he is.

The streets echo the noise of voices, cars, and a sense of history, reverberating through time with an almost deafening noise.
Always grateful for the clapping pigeons perched high on the rooftops of man-made squalor.
As they waft away the stains of Hitler, Stalin, and Marx with their wings into the ether – Just so the streets are kept clean.

But that’s just the thing isn’t it?
We all want to leave a small stain.
Dotted imprints on the streets, in people’s minds and on pages of long lost books in a world that wants to stay hidden.
The ether’s silence is always interrupted by mathematical music that we call chaos.

A small audience is watching, listening and waiting for just one of you to wake up.
Just so the rest will follow.
Like blood dripping from a wound.
Sometimes it just needs to bleed to live - Regardless of the consequence of pain.
There is always an ear ready to listen if you are willing to speak to it.

Visitor 768’s pass just ran out.
As visitor 769 has also left the building and so on...
Despite the whirr of noise involving life, death and continuous nonsense.
Our cravings often go unheard.

Yet the pigeons keep clapping.

Minor typo, not that anyone would notice save teh grammar police - ie me