letters from the land of white pith helmets & puggarees

When I press the desert to my temple my eyes become decorative papers with a pair of maps etched by fog. I am the marquis of loss. Perspective shifts around a clevis, still the directory of this landscape remains in whiteout, & my accoutrements are somewhat heavy.

Attempting to follow footprints of the lion is akin to tales of coming terror & crystallography for beginners not to mention these mysterious apparitions that disorient me:

  • ships found by 36 anonymous gold cloaks
  • dancing found by 16 very sad girls
  • a workman arrives with bricks to fix the wall

Diagrams from the mechanical curator include depictions of a brass cannon & clockwork village

Figure A: a comparative study of progress
Figure B: a comparative study of progress

My vehicle advances with such rapidity there is a sharp, grinding report within the gears, apparently, the sun travels southward above the clouds, night—come now, as I fire the first shot into the blinding warfare of the future.