Tomorrow I leave the road of lust to be off the torn road to rust. “It’s all good”, says the self-fulfilling prophet, “you have to wait and work for the self you desire…” The air ahead is fresh and the air I left has consumed all in death. The canals trap you like a passive machine, no free flowing movement within our ‘real-time’ magazine. For I can not be sure they are living once I pass outside of the working city limits. The introspective voice need not wait for a natural perspective. Now, I hear only echoes of a subtle past time that has destroyed seas and moved occupied lands without question of reason in tyranny. So naturally all of this has occurred.