<!DOCTYPE html> <!-- Template for compiled 'Autocento' documents --> <html lang="en"> <head> <meta charset="utf-8"> <meta name="generator" content="pandoc"> <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0, user-scalable=yes"> <meta name="author" content="Case Duckworth"> <!-- more meta tags here --> <title>Last bastion | Autocento of the breakfast table</title> <!-- general styles & scripts --> <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="./css/common.css"> <script src="./js/lozenge.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script src="./js/hylo.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="./css/verse.css"> <script src="./js/verse.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="./css/stark.css"> <script src="./js/stark.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <!--[if lt IE 9]> <script src="http://html5shim.googlecode.com/svn/trunk/html5.js"> </script> <![endif]--> <!-- <script src="js/external.js"> </script> --> </head> <body> <header> <!-- title --> <h1 class="title">Last bastion</h1> </header> <section class="thing verse"> <p>Dimly remembered celebrity chefs shuffle<br />down the cold and darkened highways of the heart.<br />They are the last personality left. They are <a href="http://biblehub.com/matthew/5-5.htm">the meek<br />who inherited the heart</a>, what was left of it.<br /> Without food to cook in new or exciting ways<br />nor audience to gasp and cackle, the chefs<br />of the heart quietly waste away while staring<br />doe-eyed into now-empty Safeway windows<br />checking under the dusty produce shelves<br />for something they pray the <a href="in-bed.html">rats</a> haven’t found yet.</p> <p>Years ago, the economy of the heart boomed<br />and there was food everywhere. Produce<br />piled high in pyramids of devotion, meat in<br />gilded glass cases opulent under fluorescence,<br />dairy which ran like the <a href="music-433.html">mythical river</a> toward<br />cereals hot and cold. Under it all, thrumming<br />like great stone wheels on sand under a hot sun<br />near a river where reeds sang in the wind<br />the heart produced and gave reward for hard labor.</p> <p>No one knows when it all ended. No one can say<br />if it was the heart that dried up or the heart’s supply.<br />Either way, food of the heart became scarcer and scarcer.<br />People began dying, not of starvation<br />but of a certain facial expression that could only<br />be described as desperation. Now<br />all that are left are the celebrity chefs, last bastion<br />of a once mighty empire of the <a href="sense-of-it.html">heart<br />are reduced to husks</a> blown dry by wind.</p> </section> <nav> <a class="prevlink" href="sixteenth-chapel.txt.html"> The Sixteenth Chapel </a> <a class="prevlink" href="boy_bus.html"> Boy on the bus </a> <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> ◊ </a> <a class="nextlink" href="amber-alert.html"> AMBER alert </a> <a class="nextlink" href="initial-conditions.html"> Initial conditions </a> </nav> </body> </html>