Let not the cruel attractiveness of the old draw one away from the clean beauty of the new and true. The litany reverberated around the small cove. She sat, huddled in a damp and tattered blanket, in the cove, listening, waiting, listening. Below her, around her, above her, the city bellowed, in and out and out again; tugging itself ever faster through space. She sat in the cove and felt the city expand into and out of itself. The city, pulling itself through space, felt her in return, the city felt her breath in and out, felt the most minuscule changes in the electric fields of her body, feeling her every thought. The city did not mind her, she was a singular element of the whole, a piece so insubstantial that its loss would signify nothing. Let not the cruel attractiveness of the old draw one away from the clean beauty of the new and true The litany klaxon sounded again. He lay in an office, dead on the floor, watching his body as its muscles tensed into rigor. He felt the city extend itself into his person, pluck himself from his corpse, and at the same time let him die in a pool of his own urine. The city pulled him through space, it felt the minutia of state change within itself which was him, the city did not mind him, he was but a small part of the whole, his loss would have meant nothing. Let not the cruel attractiveness of the old draw one away from the clean beauty of the new and true, The never ending reminder reminded all again. A support pillar bellow a top level tower strained under the acceleration of the city, it had worked so long, it was so unfair, the others, they experienced the city, it dreamed and it sheared. The city noted as forty thousand of its people descended at an unusually high rate, the city noted the “breach of atmosphere” warnings as one of its top most towers began to fall in on itself, the city noted the unique pillar at the base of the tower, longing for something. The city noted but did not mind, these were pieces so insubstantial that their loss would signify little. Let not the cruel attractiveness of the old draw one away from the clean beauty of the new and true the litany sang out once again, the bodies of the fallen serenaded with the same words in death as in life, many felt comforted.

Do not allow the ways of the old sciences to bias you in the modern pursuit of absolute truth the man at the lectern said Their self-indulgent fantasy of predicting the behavior of the universe lead to only suffering, a murmur of agreement raced towards the back of the auditorium. The city itself has signaled it would be diligently observing this lecture; the entire Corpus Civis would be watching this lecture. The behavior of the universe is obvious to any who look, the failing therefore of the old sciences was not in observation but as always in prediction. The city polled The Corpus

General Poll #I04AS5X

The Corpus Civis is requested and required to provided either a body majority or in the case that a body majority is not reached a body plurality on the inquiry: Is the role of the Corpus Doctrina that of the pursuit of current truth or that of pursuit of future truth. Members of the Corpus Civis will respond within one standard voting block with either a yay or a nay. Thank you for your participation in the Corpus Politic.

The few remaining in The Doctrina subscribed to the old notions were swiftly lowered through the levels of the city, by the city, for the city, out of the city.

The city soared forward, faster and faster, slowly and inevitably approaching the point it will never reach. Members of the Doctrina wonder why in times past people had silly notions of trying to predict the future, everyone knew by that time, enlightened as they were that only the past and present exist. The past, laid out behind them, a pool of light spinning faster ever second, but completely knowable, completely recorded in the great state machines of the city. The present, simply the past yet to pass. The future was unknowable, there was nothing before the city, nothing clearing the way through the darkness, and therefore no future to know. The old members of the Doctrina tried to construct stories of this and that, force and momentum, energy and mass, time and space, they told stories to their children of these things, asked them to say what would happen if this had that much force and if that had this much energy. They never lived in the present, they never looked up the towers on the top levels of the city, into the warm void which was their home, they never saw the future was unknowable, how obvious that fact is, now that it is in the past.

Let not the old notions of things keep you away from our enlightened knowledge of the truth in the here and now. The woman at the lectern preached. The city thought a sermon was needed, The Corpus was divided, the old notions of science were being traded on in the back alleys of itself, Pauper and Faust, James and Hemmingway, Wren and Oberon waged a silent war on what it knew to be true. The Corpus had decided long ago; a sermon was needed Look before you children, look into the space above us all, absorb what is not there. Look below you, look into the sea of history, feel the twine of knowledge flowing from you to your ancestors below, see that there is no future, only past. The city thought to itself, in the private alcoves of its mind not meant to be that it missed the ravings of the mad men who built it and told it when to first ignite its flumes, when to first dam them, and when to face north, ignite, and never look back on them. The city knew they were mad men, The Corpus had told it as much, but the city missed them. The city knew there was no future, The Corpus told had told it as much, but the city knew what would happen.

Let not the cruel attractiveness of the old draw one away from the clean beauty of the new and true the klaxon sounded. Those in The Coprus Civis enjoyed the familiar reminder. Those in the Doctrina sat in their chairs, they knew so much about the past, giant projections of it floated in their minds allowed them to pull the string of history ever closer to their breaking points. The past was small now, the city, in its own personal past, recalled when it filled the sky, when the past was brighter than any of its stars, but it was small now. The Doctrina reminded the Civis that the past was small but the past was true the past existed, and was clear, the future was empty.

A sub-element of the city allowed a beam in existential crisis to loose structural integrity, the party of Doctina ideologies was contrary to a General Poll. The city noted the actions of its sub-element, but did not mind it. Let not the cruel attractiveness of the old draw one away from the clean beauty of the new and true. The city sang the song a final time over the blood and bodies. The city had been told to sing it only that one last time. The Klaxon, the sirens, the theater, the halls which had rung out in the past with the litany went silent.

Special Remediation Action #A456DF
The Corpus Politic, by request of The Corpus Civis, is requested and required to cease all actions associated with General Poll #YZ14GAST8 effective end of past.

The past did not exist but The Corpus recalled it, the city recalled it, the Doctrina Recalled it. Individuals in The Corpus asked the city if the past does not exist what do we recall. The city noted these and did not mind, the city had stopped interacting with individuals in The Corpus, a sub-element would interact, it would calm them.

The city knew the future did not exist, and it knew the past did not exist, the future was black and empty, the past was black and empty, and yet the bodies within in, The Corpus foremost among them continued. The City flooded its lower, uninhabited levels with air, The Corpus, the unitary body that they were, suffocated together over the manicured upper levels of the city. Each member watched their body writhe while their thoughts slowed and stopped. The city lived in the present, there was no past, there was no future.

The future existed before the city, a swirling pool of light growing larger and larger. The Corpus, existing in an instant, for an eternity, were wound back, the strings of their past were returned to the future, Let not the cruel attractiveness of the old draw one away from the clean beauty of the new and true sounded in the cities mind, the Doctrina argued over the past, the Corpus argued over the present, the Doctrina originators were fell through the bottom of the city, the mad men returned and told the city about force and momentum, about energy and mass, about space and about time. Towers were stripped away, levels cleared, opened, and removed, the central core was all that was remained, a small tours with beads of past and future suspended within. The city had failed, in the past, in the present, and in the future. The first course adjustment since the past had been the present, barely detectable, and a electrical cut off to a magnet, the city ceased to exist.

Sitting outside, on the cold stone, in the time after a heavy rain and a good hunt, the village stare at the sky. Villac the oldest among them tells a story of the when the bright star which is now lakeward blossomed like a spring flower. First a young child points a laughs, then Villac, and then the entire village. A streak of fire burns across the space between two of the fuzzy stars, then the fuzzy star burns, then another fuzzy star burns and another and another and another, but each a bit less brightly and each a bit more slowly, until at last no more. The message from The City would not its home until its creators, the people, and the planet were long forgotten in their past, but The Cities Future.