The Graveyard of Dreams

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

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Fifteen minutes later, I stumbled on the Bicycle Graveyard.

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The children’s bicycle graveyard, to be exact.

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

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

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

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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.

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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.

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

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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…

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…before it becomes here:

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It will.

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