(As Peter drifts to sleep he immediately enters lucid dreaming and finds himself in a remote tower, surrounded towers of books, American cigarrettes, and comfortable furniture. Peter draws up an
empty journal with a thought and proceeds to reflect)
Only having recently picked up the novel by Mr. Wolfe I couldn’t help but draw connections to the title on my melancholy visit ‘home’. England, and London, have changed. Granted, London has never been the same without my parents. After my initial return to London I soon found a changed landscape, not simply referring to my altered perspective thanks to the affect of my keeper and the trauma’s endured. Seeing London again after all these years it feels more foreign and alien to me than it had on my initial return. I wonder then if my situation is easier being already alienated compared to those that have to see the gradual decay of the city.
I suppose if anything London is becoming more like me or at least how I see myself. In my youth, pure, unchanged, ideal. Now different and altered. Each new bomb blast and building leveled, each new air raid shelter popping up on the ever changing landscape seems to reflect my own ability to change appearance.
I draw no comfort from this analogy…instead a sense of a deep remorse.