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(those z-indexed lightyellow boxes you'll see very soon makes you think you can click on them to progress; you can't. they're just draggable, s'all. i know, it's confusing without the disclaimer but i kept it in because i think it's fun)
Passenger.
Pilgrim.
Sound of tempered metal. Sound of the reed lifting itself up from the gentle tension of the surface of the water. Sound of strain.
Bird.
I've thrown out all these words already, looking for a proper name.
Ever since he asked the question.
But I'm past that; I'm a whole country later, new, hard air in my mouth. No more morning darks in wet fields. No, I'm a person now. Or at least I should be.
THIS IS ABOUT IMMIRGATION, MOSTLY. GLOBALIZATION AND NATIONALISM, LESS SO.
THIS IS ALSO ABOUT HOW WE GO FROM PLACE TO PLACE, TRANSNATIONALLY AND DIGITALLY, IN THIS MODERN ERA. BEING AS YOUNG AS I AM. HOW WE FORM IDENTITY IN IT OR OUT OF IT. OR AT LEAST, THIS IS HOW I DID IT.
DESIRE PATHS. WEBWEAVING. A KIND OF WEBRING. INTENTIONALLY UNFINISHED, WITH BROKEN PATHS AND DEAD ENDS AND PROMISES FOR THE FUTURE, LEFT TO DUST. BECAUSE THAT'S IS HOW IT IS; BEING AS YOUNG AS I AM.
BUT YOU MIGHT WANT TO VISIT THE THREE SHRINES BEFORE YOU DECIDE YOU HAVE ENOUGH TO GRADE. MEET THE TWO SPIDERS. EVENTUALLY, YOU MIGHT EVEN WANT TO GO HOME.