impractical weapons: part one
The rest is silence: or, my adventures in the united states of relative freedom. 1 All across the midnight sky, fireworks bloom like sprinkles on a cupcake. A cobweb on the chandelier and the neon sprinklers weren't alone; the anarchist airship the royal Marie Antoinette was its northern star. Leisurely with engine's cut, drifting those July wind's, that were alway's nostalgic. Its captain and her ladies-hands held-leaning over the bow. Eye's speckled with the duck tape light of the city below, in all it's modern power a speckled piece of coral. It wasn't an independence day. And the skyscrapers and slums were empty from the skies. Nuclear in her mind, however, was that slow descending bomb, the winds didn't disturb it, parachuting down with its blades slowing its descent through the sky. It was a dreamy kind of fall that forced meditation like a campfire. She remembered watching the propeller blade's fall from the trees a
