He passed under the thirteen guarded arches, six of clay and seven of silver, until he reached the golden doors barring the entrance to the Seat of the Sun. There he paused, facing the spears and shields of two-score of Yptah’s most hardened warriors, their faces inscrutable behind helmets scored with the permanent marks of war. He became intensely aware that the only thing between their blades and his skin was thin a summer robe. But the swordbearers were expecting this visitor. The golden portal was opened and he entered. Wordlessly they swung the heavy doors shut behind him. He stood alone in the innermost heart of the palace. It was silent as a cave, and the night air hung hot and heavy in the moonbeams. He ascended the thirty-three colored steps, their subtle spectrum barely visible in the dark. At the top were several chambers, each lavishly furnished, and each utterly devoid of life. If there had been any manservants here before him, as there often were, they were gone now. To...
Travel teaches you more about you and how you work than you ever learn about them . You learn very little about them, really. Globalization. Everywhere's the same now. The internetting interknitting of our cultures and our cities and our stories. You can't get lost anymore anywhere . You have GPS on your phone. Travel shows you how to get totally, utterly, wordlessly lost. If you're lucky you learn how people are the same everywhere you go. If you're lucky you learn how people couldn't be more alien. You return home from your travels. Tired, content, ready for a new adventure. Perhaps then you finally see, I mean really see , where you came from. You see your home. Feel it, even. If you're lucky, and your eyes are open. You start to see people. You realize that actually you saw very little about where they live. Where they really live. You wake up in the middle of the night in your own bed and it hi...
He starts to build a tower Half of dream and half desire While others live he's digging He so badly wants to be. He struggles to fuel the fire Finds the dreams burn up so fast But he labours on regardless Days slip by until at last. He's in love with what he's crafted Won't see this cage he's made is he Stays up till sunrise thinking Picks at meals alone and free. He is sad sometimes, frustrated No one ever taught him That his tower's to return to, Not to dwell in, endlessly. Still struggles to fuel the fire Till his dreams dry up at last But still he sits in silence Too proud to leave, to flee. Because he knows there's something to this, He just knows it, must be, So he labours on regardless Forging must be, must be.
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