36 DAYS OF
A walk around the rusting environment of the old city. The noir remains of the industrial age and the shadows of the machinery that we thought would save us. It scared a few, numbed some, and inspired the rest.
Being stuck in the same loop as everyone, the hunt for oil went on. Methods of extraction kept improving and the minds were on their way to corruption.
Carefully cast iron and details hammered to its past. Maybe its future was molded right at the very beginning, and we were moving too fast.
Every single crevice was cleaned. While it was about functionality, the machines were a display of craftsmanship. World-class engineering was barely a gesture for the good.
Far before the limitations of man would come in the way. They kept on building. Hour after hour, they created in order to compensate for all the things they had lost. The war had only fuelled greed, greed whose only purpose was to pave the way for those men.
Guarding a legacy that set them up to fall. They oiled the tower and kept it warm, little did they know that it would be the same tunnel after it falls.
Hollow constructions hid the lack of imagination, while their only hope lurked in the draft that was unfinished. A plan free of expectations.
Inside the increasing complexities, lay a simple motive. To capitalize on what nature had to offer, and soon.
Just a matter of time before they move on to something more exciting. These relics will be nothing but a reminder of the forgotten, a rusting reminder of the greed.
Keeping things ready for what was to come, they thought they couldn't have prepared better. All that was left to anticipate was the impact.
Locked away in compartments of their own ideas, it was the last of what they would see. The clock ticked on everyone the same, and it was done brewing now
Managing a turnaround, they experienced a change of age. Word said that the war was far from over, but the purpose had changed. We're past the dawn
Not looking back anymore. It was time to move ahead, learn from our failures and learn the language of the new age.
Outside paused a world. One where everything built to function was a burden on the cosmetic change. Hinges and bolts shut off the soul, it disintegrated far away.
Railed against the war between ideas and movements. The equipment that was built to carry humanity on its hinges was slowly crumbling. The new was smarter, but not stronger.
Something seemed to be wrong. The strange designs had no functional explanations anymore.
Trapped on a burner of time and repetition. You could either blast through the end or just let it burn.
Under pressure, performing now, burnt feet, and a rusted conscience. It somehow felt like it was far from over, these metal plates were hollow and there was nothing to be made now.
Validated by our own fears, we put metal against metal. Bolted the security and held on. These nuts weren't going to determine their future, their persistence was.
Expectations that did not materialize, this is where they saw it all. Defined its purpose and gave it meaning beyond its form. It didn't matter what the situation was, it only mattered what they did with it.
Yesterday they were planning to be better, yesterday they worked for a purpose and they almost got it together. Tomorrow it shall all end, this look back only shows how far they came. Did it all matter now that it was done?
A test of time, ambition and effort. To days where they lost more than they gained. For we are blind in front of our greed and it shall forever be a curse.