"It's miles away. miles". i was told. trying to witness how the city turns into limbo. on the way to discover where the city went. manchester has been empty for days now, and yet, there are traces. in the papers. on the broadcast system. on the moorways. even in the streets the few spread the word. go for trafford centre. submit. revolting turned to its end, so i looked for the new beginning of manchester city centre. deterrible. outside. connected. but miles away. miles. went by foot.

trafford centre. the building a giant blurbfly .the doubling of china town. reconstructed. no back streets. the only smoking zone. in china town clocks stopped exactly at OOOO, or better, never started. the paradox of having frozen time in ffwd motion. leaving china in a mercedes benz, talking history. disney's dream based: without you, beloved mother. thanks for your will. turn around. new orleans. blue skies. eternal.

the orient. 1600 seats. no use to talk about panoptions. the screen will speak for you.

moving bins. it's people. work. where even rubbish isn't property anymore. trying to fall asleep on the decks. forgetting about boredom. trying to consume only a little. just enough to keep yourself feeling allowed. awake. the love boat guards will be around. your server. they won't care for you. but they are numberless enough. they will get you. just by tuning up the surround.sys a little. just enough to get you know it's just for you. nobody watches. just yourself. the theme, of course, is boredom, is your park. play to bore. of course, that is. and it will get you within nanos, or better, within losing. even looking outside the sight is clear, they even cared for the distance, and all you will catch from the window are colonial villas and exotic plantage. there is no weather. only climate. 24/24.

trying to swallow the 900th mc donald's, where the machinistic weltanschauung gets burger. gets recycled. where horrified plastic applications hang on the closed circular assembly line, being spit out by the same machine that will swallow them just one round later. it's just too loud. just too boring, get away. don't move too quick. conscience will get you. go to the movies. triple it. get lost.

the gallery. the palms are real, the bushes are plastic, but at least, they are fin-shaped. absolutist state. 3rd order. internal. growth which never grew. crashed nature. bye bye. never rains.

having walked on endless pathways there will be a logic's run for you, a bradburyesque sundome, a venice, a xanadu, another constantinople, a babylon zoom. or whatever you want. but never ask for it. get yourself an ejector seat. don't wait. this is the only terror 98. and it's fucking REAL. push. quit.

Ejis Bend [info@art-bag.net]