#wasteland

Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where St Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stock of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him crying: 'Stetson! You, who were with me in the ships at Mylae! That corpse you planted last year in your garden, Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frere! ↗

— T.S. Eliot

#fear #humanity #london #the-wasteland #war

Silence. It flashed from the woodwork and the walls; it smote him with an awful, total power, as if generated by a vast mill. It rose from the floor, up out of the tattered gray wall-to-wall carpeting. It unleashed itself from the broken and semi-broken appliances in the kitchen, the dead machines which hadn’t worked in all the time Isidore had lived here. From the useless pole lamp in the living room it oozed out, meshing with the empty and wordless descent of itself from the fly-specked ceiling. It managed in fact to emerge from every object within his range of vision, as if it—the silence—meant to supplant all things tangible. Hence it assailed not only his ears but his eyes; as he stood by the inert TV set he experienced the silence as visible and, in its own way, alive. Alive! He had often felt its austere approach before; when it came it burst in without subtlety, evidently unable to wait. The silence of the world could not rein back its greed. Not any longer. Not when it had virtually won. ↗

— Philip K. Dick

#greed #power #silence #wasteland #dreams

I am familiar with the phrase, ‘needle in a haystack’ and I think I understand its meaning more than I wish to. ↗

— David Sadler

#urban-fantasy #wasteland #urban-fantasy

Look at me I am the life in a wasteland Look at me I am the slavery through the ages Look at me I am the mirror of the world Look at me I am the illusion I’ve fought for Look at me I’m still loving you and I keep being here for you, for me, and for what’s worth breathing ↗

— Rixa White

#illusion #life-in-wasteland #look-at-me #love #mirror-of-the-world