Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.

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Museum "The Theater"

“Who are we compared to it? I don't know. But if what it claims is true, then we really are alone.

I first encountered it in a dream. It seems to permeate everything, and manifests everywhere. I have found it spoken of in google images, and in pictures from over fifty years ago. It shows up in television broadcasts from the 60's and in images from Mars.

It seems that there is no place in time or any medium where it cannot produce itself into a tangible form. But despite this, it refuses to reveal its nature. It simply wishes to critique our own, to declare our inadequacy in comparison to it. Reality as we understand it is not real. Time is not real. We might as well be a static painting that it observes, a finished product that fails to impress.

That is how it sees the universe, and it seems that no matter what form it takes, we are left with little knowledge of it. Of what it wants or needs, or if it even really needs anything at all. The ancients had a name for it, but that name is only a modern creation. In reality, it is far older, if age even is a thing for it.

I dreamed of my home town, in upstate New York. I was going to a movie with a girl I was familiar with back then. Her name was Melissa. She had a wonderful smell that reached me, even in the stink of the theater. She smelled of strawberries and cigarettes.

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