Temple of memorial
| |
| Flag of Temple of memorial | |
| Motto: Extemporaneously luminiferous | |
| Not terribly available | |
| Region | The Province |
|---|---|
| Capital | Not terribly relevant |
| Official Language(s) | English |
| Leader | The Insane Diarist |
| Population | 1 |
| Currency | Memories |
| NS Sunset XML | |
Dear Visitor:
You have, of course, found the NS wikipedia page dedicated to the life and times of the location known as the Temple of Memorial - that oh so worn and crumbling edifice to some lost, unknown, unnamed civilization that is now claimed and occupied by no less a personage than myself: the Insane Diarist, its one and only true citizen, regardless of what all those mindless statistics may say about ridiculous millions and billions of ridiclously nonexistent entities coexisting here with me; although it doesn't help me to sleep terribly well at night to suppose I might one day discover myself to be wrong about that. And now, a second sentence.
And now, a second paragraph. Naturally you did not come here to learn more about me, but to learn some semblance of background resembling a somewhat natural history of the unnatural creation known as the Temple of Memorial, and so I shall provide, to the extent that my regretfully limited knowledge extends.
The Temple of Memorial was born into being from the sands of desolation and abandonment once known as the Temple of Exchange. That one temple might be born from another is a rather bizaare thought I cannot pause to explore at this time; I will happily leave that thought for some other worthy, enterprising journalist to contemplate. Nonetheless, the fact remains. The Temple was not long for this Temple, and soon the Temple settled to rest within its new life, as the pre-eminent architectural masterpiece at the precise centre of that austere and utterly desolate region known by no less a name than The Goddamn Middle of Nowhere.
The rest, as they say, is history. In the beginning, there was a talking bush. Then, there was a pizza oven. Then, there were various and sundry imaginative figments sent to keep me company: a dragonic woman, several silent shrimp, a ship of gold and silk, waters with remarkable restorative properties, ninjas with a propensity for flying small planes in a most reckless manner, a most supreme rabbit (may I add here that I am an honourary rabbit hugger of the highest degree?), and various other worthies.
But then: there was the frightening economy beast, the traitorous sapling, and soon The Goddamn Middle of Nowhere was literally nowhere to be found. But - all was not lost. Oh, how annoyingly inaccurate. Several things were indeed lost. Regretful, regretful. What I meant of course was, not all was lost.
The Temple of Memorial presently resides within The Province. Its entrance hall has been converted to a dance floor with marvelous acoustics for the benefit of my new friends, and I can be found frequently carousing with these decidedly non-imaginary neighbours either there or on the surrounding grounds. Do mind the shrubbery; it becomes terribly itchy when you lean upon it.
