The Graveyard of Dreams

What a day! I watched a pair of elderly European grandparents buy their grand daughter a beautiful, coloured bicycle today.



Fifteen minutes later, I stumbled on the Bicycle Graveyard.



The children’s bicycle graveyard, to be exact.


Each one was a dream. Each one was loved. Each was taken to the recycling centre and thrown behind the shed.



It is the first thing every child of the Steam Punk City must learn:



age means the abandonment of dreams. It is one of the first lessons parents must teach their children about being adults:



adulthood means to throw away childhood; it means there is so much stuff that once stuff has been saturated with dreams, it can no longer be used by another child; each deserves to tame its own soul.



This is a pure image of Canadian capitalism. Children have very few years in which to learn to turn relationships and dreams into cycles of capitalization and depreciation. No time can be wasted.


The concept of recycling is at the heart of the city. It is supposed to ease the sense of pain and loss.


It doesn’t. How could it with a concept as romantic as the slaughter of the bodies we learned to become as children, so we can imagine living here…


…before it becomes here:


It will.

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