We came in search of gold. We’ll leave with pockets full of solitude. We speak to the wind. We live here now, everything else is dreamtime. The cars and houses, the monies and the media, the interconnected web of information that ties us all together… none of that can truly exist at all. We know because we’ve listened to the quiet that raged so loud our ears bled. We know because we’ve stood on the edge and peered over and seen everything we ever held on to smashed against the rocks and washed away, only to be returned as the treasures of small children on the outgoing tide. We know because, if we didn’t know, there would be condos and pizza parlors, cotton candy and neon lights, the insatiable camera lens devouring all… but there is not. There is nothing out here. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. It belongs to us all. It is all of us. Dream on, dreamer, but when you awake, you’ll find nothing here. And that will be all that you really need.