Chapter 2 --   Mindtuning (Some Sound)

In fluorescent moonlight swims the city skyline like a carnival, washing time with green, yellow, and red blinking lights advertising merchandise, with people moving to and fro like cattle in a concrete pasture. Slim and tall metal men stand evenly spaced along the streets like gargoylish guards, holding in their iron claws neon orbs to dispel the darkness. The enemy, darkness, hovers outside the pasture and frightens the cattle. The neon fireballs burn to illuminate strips of pavement for metal chariots like ancient straw torches once burned along the edges of subterranean passageways to light paths of men. These chariots, screaming devils, speedily carry members of the herd to destinations within the concrete pasture. There seems to be much hurry. Members of the herd travel from one place to another without ever leaving the concrete pasture. The entire conglomeration of blinking lights, metal men, pavement, cattle, and chariots-- even the concrete-- almost burp in contented self-sufficiency. The contented burp  sounds day and night as the herd multiplies and the concrete pasture grows and grows. A red aura, waves of fear, emanates from the conglomeration. The red aura glows as the concrete pasture expands even more. Death, like a germ in a lab culture, thrives on the aura of fear, until both death and fear are fused into an intense terror of death-- i. e., a death-causing terror. Chariots often smash into each other, concrete walls
                                     c r  u  m    b   l  e 
                                       c r   um b    l    e   and
                                            collapse
                                          collapse
                                        collapse
                                      collapse    while strips
of pavement crack in chaotic zig-zag patterns.

      The herd itself is constantly replaced.

      In the solar night the earth city sparkles like rosy carnival glitter. So twirl, night of racing  clouds, twirl. I scatter my words like picked petals. I feel wild winds caress my soul. Sail on them too if you would like to fly for once. Go now, tender friends whom I touch but for a moment, embrace sparkler cities as you go, and weave through the wooded mainland solidly framing her restless waters. Land upon a pink-hued tropical rainforest and lay upon the white and golden brown shores. Sail, sail the foamy waves and feel your wind-blown hair. Then come to me again.

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