Cities conquered in a bygone era taunt the explorers and adventurers determined to discover new frontiers. “Be off! Be gone! And fare thee well. Send greetings to the Eskimos and Indians, the Cowboys, too, whoever you encounter. Deliver our indifference to the nameless. Deliver our forgiveness to your sons. Be damned in your pursuits of infamy, unless in infamy our fortunes rise. Squander to the riverbeds your local riches, to the whores and taverns, too. Demand of Her the convenience of establishment, the comfort of safety, the luxury of routine, but expect nothing from Her. And remember, fondly, the windows of your home, for many a night and day will come when you will long for their sheltered views and wish to gaze past their foggy panes into a world of memories abandoned.”

Conquerors from that bygone era respond. “We abandon nothing. Every last memory clings like the dried blood of an infected wound. Even those we wish to leave behind sting and scab and itch from time to time. Only new memories can cleanse them, if not heal them completely. Old lands, old homes, know this, for they are stagnant, immobile, changing but unchanging hosts to the pains of ages past, and they will forgive the souls who flee their walls. If all the world was blissful, we would have nothing to seek. If all the world excited, we would have no need for adventure. If all the memories were happy, we’d have no need for drink. And if death, that noble fear and lossless foe, if death was the only mystery to darken and inspire and motivate, we would have no reason to exist. Alas… Off we go. To live…”


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