THE GUIDE
During your journey through The City Unending, young pilgrim, you will find many small nooks and crannies that may seem either unimportant or more vastly interesting than their small size seems to warrant. Those who have come before you have told of many such places. Crevices that speak, cracks in the pavement that hold something unspeakable (many legged things have been known to hide in cracks), doors that seem to lead to massive government buildings but actually leave one stuck in something more closely resembling a linen closet– and more and more and more. One must always remember when confronted with small spaces to breathe deeply and know that every pilgrim before you has found the door back to the streets of The City Unending and chased the setting sun. There are things that will help you on your journey in these places, and things that may deter you. It could be argued that both are equally important in your expedition through The City Unending, but ultimately, only you will know. The important thing to remember is not to panic. An interlude.
THE GUIDE
In the Borough Thoughtful, nestled within the District of Amor Fati, is a tiny cafe that serves waffles any way that you like them. It is a building separate from the others, marked only by a silver sign out front that simply says: “Waffles: Inquire Within”. If one should happen in, they will be hit immediately with the smell of authentic maple syrup and copious amounts of butter– a not altogether unpleasant smell, unless you are perhaps allergic to maple or butter. There are toppings in glass jars nestled along the walls– everything from fruits and candies to stranger things such as various cheeses and spreads whose names you’ve never read before. It is possible you will find containers marked with unreadable scripts, or potentially containing things you never thought could go on a waffle– perhaps “wood shavings” or “tears from crying over spilled milk”. These jars line all four walls of this miniscule cafe, which may make a weary pilgrim claustrophobic. Deep breaths. Smell the butter. You’ll be fine. You will find a blue padded booth that is quite comfortable, with a dark wooden table sat in the middle. You will soon find that waffles are not the only thing served here. Once you take your seat, you will be attended to by an unassuming person named The Philosopher. This will seem strange, but their name tag says “The Philosopher” and not much else, so you will have to address them as such. “What would you like?” They will ask you, and anything you would like at all– if it includes waffles, that is– will be put before you. And if you inquire as to The Philosopher’s day, how perhaps their time is spent outside the cafe, you will feel surprisingly unsurprised to learn that they do not often venture far, preferring the spontaneous company their profession provides. As a courteous and kind pilgrim, you will most likely want to leave a tip, and ask where you may do so. “I don’t take tips,” The Philosopher will certainly tell you, “Instead, let me get something out.” “Excuse me?” Is what most pilgrims reply, to which The Philosopher will always explain– “See, I have this problem– I always have a question on my mind, a query, if you will, that I cannot stop ruminating on. I tried to put it in the waffles, but that didn’t really work. They’re more of a side dish, anyways. May I give you one?” No pilgrim, to this guide’s knowledge, has ever said no. Nobody knows what happens if you do. And so, The Philosopher will look deep into your eyes and it will be a moment before you notice that theirs have changed from brown to blue to green. And then, they will serve you a small philosophical question. Perhaps it will be something like, “If you were given a different name, would you be a different person?” or “Is there anything truly wrong with being selfish?” Each question is unique, never to be repeated by The Philosopher again. “Thank you,” they will say, “That felt like getting a big burp out. My chest feels clear again.” And with that, you’ll be sent on your way. Many a pilgrim has contemplated their philosophical question long after it is handed to them, only to realize its significance long after they have passed through the stone arch at the westmost point of The City Unending. What might they ask you, I wonder? An interlude.
THE GUIDE
Hidden in a tiny corner of the Borough Potentiality within the District of Paper is a corner bookshop that most pilgrims do not notice. Most walk right by it without ever knowing that it is there, watching them, and taking notes. The door is ever changing, chameleon-esque, wont to blend in with its surroundings until a particular individual catches its eye. Nobody is sure, 3 exactly, what it is that draws the bookshop to a particular someone– all that is known is that it is drawn, and then reveals itself. If the bookshop were to reveal itself and one were to enter the bookshop (which has no name), one would find a startling discovery that there seems to be a distinct lack of books on the shelves for such a place. Amid forest green walls and chipping gold molding, there is a singular chair with white cushions that looks quite comfortable. Sit in the chair and you will suddenly find a book in your lap, which was not there before but feels like perhaps it was, in some atomistic way. If you open the book you will not find a classic story, a book you’ve heard of or perhaps read before–but a strange series of vignettes with seemingly no connection. As you read, you will find that certain characters become more and more familiar, and you may begin to recognize them as yourself. Colors or places or perhaps atmospheres emerge and coalesce into something only you can recognize– perhaps these stories would be unreadable to others, but to you, there is some sort of code decoded within the pages. Most try to take the book with them when they leave the shop, only to find that when they step over the threshold the compact set of pages has disappeared. Look back, and the shop may have disappeared as well, off to another corner of the District of Paper to find its next subject. Perhaps the pilgrim could have kept the book, if only they had left something behind in return. An interlude. Static, like on an old cassette tape recording. A voice begins to speak, recorded from another time:
LOST PILGRIM
Day two in this hole. I think it’s approximately…ten thirty at night. I’ve been searching every inch of this place for a trap door or a window or a hidden button to some secret other room for most of the time I’ve been here. I decided to start recording myself in case I…never get out. I’m glad a few guides suggested we bring something to record our experiences. I think most people interpreted that to mean a journal of some sort, but I thought this would be easier. Five days within the City and I’m already in deep shit. Anyways. I entered the room about two days ago, like I said. I was just looking for a coffee or something, maybe a snack. Someone in what looked like a town square in the Borough Unkempt told me to take two rights and then a left and there would be a place through a yellow door on my right. She seemed nice, if a little unfocused, and I think there was flour on her face? Honestly she kind of reminded me of my sister, she had this short red hair and I guess she was maybe impatient to get somewhere? Anyways, I followed her directions to a T and now…here I am. Guess I shouldn’t trust people as easily as I have been. Though I can’t fathom what that lady would gain from me being trapped in a tiny ass room until I eventually starve to death. The only place I haven’t checked is the ceiling because, well. I’m short, I guess. Just before beginning this recording, I finished constructing something as close to a stool as I could get out of a book, a wrapper from my dinner last night, a spork, some earmuffs, a mug, and some old chewed up gum I found on the left wall. Okay. I’m going to attempt to explore the ceiling and hopefully get the hell outta here. Wish me luck. An interlude.
THE GUIDE
It has been said that somewhere in the Borough Still in the District of Porcelain there is a fissure in a mural of a large bird painted on the side of a brick building– and this small imperfection breathes. As you lean in to inspect the details on the bird’s feathers, or crouch down slightly to look under its wing, you will hear the inhale. At first you may think you are hearing things and push the sound to the back of your mind. But the exhale is much too loud to ignore, and you will find yourself once again wondering where the sound originates. If you look closely, in the place where the bird’s wing meets its body, you will find the opening upon its next inhale. The movement is so soft, much too soft for brick (or paint, or stone, or sand, or whatever bricks and murals are made of), and you may find yourself fixated, trying to mark its almost imperceptible motion. Before you are aware of it, the western light of the setting sun will hit your face, and perhaps you will find you have been staring for hours, wondering what may live inside that tiny, craggy fissure. An interlude.
THE GUIDE
In the Borough Eloquent, around a hidden corner or two within the District of Elegance, there is a small stage no bigger than a bathroom stall set up with speakers and an unassuming lectern. There is not often a soul to be seen, nobody to speak to, except perhaps those that wish to remain anonymous, present but consistently nondescript. After all there is not a single place, it seems, within the District of Elegance where you do not feel you are being watched in some capacity. You may feel the urge to stand up straighter, to roll back your shoulders in defiance. Let them watch you. Pilgrims have spoken of a strange inability to walk past the stage to the other side of the District without first stopping and having a word with the lectern. There is not a barrier, exactly, but it seems that a certain something or someone must be appeased by your words before you can cross to the western side of the District of Elegance and towards the setting sun. It doesn’t seem to matter what exactly you speak on, for how long, or for what reason, exactly. Just that you do so, and do so honestly. As long as everything said can be construed at the truth of the matter– you will be able to move on. A pilgrim once related their speech at the lectern, and it went something like this:
LOST PILGRIM
“I don’t really know why I’m here. I don’t mean here as in alive, or even here as in this District in this Borough in this City– I mean, why do we travel West? Why do we feel this urge to chase the horizon, and why is it unpredictable? Why did my cousin feel it come upon them in their sixteenth year, and mine didn’t come upon me until I was almost twenty seven? What do we find, when we meet the horizon where it sits? What does it teach us? It must teach us something, because the people who return return different, and not in a creepy or bad or even measurable way. But they are changed. And I think, do I want to be changed? Do I want to stay here, in the City, until the urge can no longer be resisted? And why is the urge to resist even there, fighting with the urge to travel west? I don’t know why I’m here, and I don’t know what I want, and sometimes that’s scary. The only want I’m comfortable relaying right now is a craving for lamb.”
THE GUIDE
And the pilgrim felt the lectern’s mysterious grip lessen, and they were free to go. Nobody knows when or how this strange test was created, or if it will ever disappear into the maze of The City Unending. For now, it seems, the lectern stays. An interlude. THE GUIDE If you are feeling lost in The City Unending, there are different ways to find your way back. Most pilgrims just resort to asking directions, and when that fails, must follow the setting sun to the best of their ability. The only thing you know for sure is that your journey is in one direction, and that must be your guiding light. But if you ever find yourself unable to walk any farther, or perhaps the height of the buildings or the depths of the lanes hide the sun from you, a small pebble may appear at your feet. It is not anything grand looking, not flashy in color, shape, or size, just a small, smooth pebble. You will probably not notice it at first– you will step over it and put your weary feet in front of each other again and again until the pebble reappears. It may take a few times, or maybe even a hundred times, but eventually you will notice it. 6 Many a pilgrim has put the pebble in their pocket, only to find it gone once they found the sun once more. A few less than that ignored the pebble entirely, no matter how many times it appeared before them. And even less still have taken the pebble into their hands and skipped it through the streets to see where it would land. Those that chose to follow where the pebble landed found their way back on their journey without really knowing how. An interlude.
LOST PILGRIM
Okay, so the exit was in the ceiling all along. I hoisted myself up there and tried to salvage all the stuff I could from my shitty stool and put it back into my backpack, but I left the spork behind. I figured someone else might need it. And then I crawled along these rough stone corridors for like, an hour before I managed to find a little window at the end of one and I just…crawled out. Honestly I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life? It was really dark in there. Anyways I found myself back on the street and the yellow door was gone. Things seem to appear and disappear here with wild abandon and yet some things seem older than the earth itself and honestly, I have no idea what’s going on half the time. I’m just trying to focus on the sun. The setting sun. I am SO hungry. Fuck. I wonder if anyone in The City Unending makes a good rack of lamb… An interlude.
THE GUIDE
There are many small, almost infinitesimal things you will encounter on your journey west. You will not notice every detail of your journey, but they are there, watching, nevertheless. Many a pilgrim (and guide) have grown fond of the saying, “to truly notice the little things is sometimes the biggest thing that happens on your journey.” The smallest grains of sand in the desert and the most minute cracks in a concrete wall may not seem like they amount to much– but like you, dear pilgrim, they make a difference. They change the story. Without them, everything is changed. Each tiny morsel, every paltry tidbit is a detail that makes your journey West truly yours. It is why no two journeys are the same. And if and when you return to us, and share your stories, those details will no longer feel small. They may feel like the entire journey itself. In the end, each encounter you have within The City Unending is unique in some capacity. Perhaps you will encounter helpful people, delicious foods and smells, comfortable places to rest, and maybe even friends. Perhaps you will find danger, villainy, or just plain annoyance. Maybe you will encounter the places, people, things, or omens that pilgrims previous have seen, but the experience you have will be yours alone. It is in the little things, Pilgrim, that you may find the most meaning within the City Unending. Journey west, dear Pilgrim, and find what you ma
