The silence stretches in the tomb, familiar, the shadows comforting. The stains left by grave wax and it's cleaning lay thick and rich against the stone, years of use in my absence.

The doors are closed, or else closed off, the ways barred. What remains of the space one may walk through the halls lacks facility. Some tools with which I am unfamiliar, hopeless in the wielding. Halls of debris, crushed furniture of some sort beneath. Some rooms have changed in their purpose, and so they are further lost. Stone pews remain, alcoves and cells for prayer or seclusion. I sometimes pray here, beyond the threshold of my sepulcher. My veneration in death, by the brothers and sisters of my time and past, stir complicated emotion.

As I follow the ways, I am overcome. The labyrinth of my home a comfort in the face of the labyrinthian constructions above. Cities of glass and metal and concrete loom over the sky. In sojourns, in the depths of night, I learn confusing and wonderous things. I cannot stay wholly confined to Nameless.

Steeds, engines, bound into carts of steel. Oracles available in corner stores, smaller even in size than a bar of soap. Cars and phones, staples of the modern world, and also trappings. I am learning to use them.

I watch the roads at night and learn from people I see there. The pictographs and their meanings, the rules they follow, the ingenuity and safety these things provide despite the terrible danger they pose. I do not fully understand, but I take to the wheel naturally. I hope soon I may learn to blend in as well as I can pilot. And perhaps how to access one without rousing the neighborhood.

Phones, hateful, wonderful, indispensable. Tools for communication, around the world, and for the wide distribution of vital information. They also serve as tools to monitor the masses. I have broken four phones attempting to remove the battery. Twice again the number of times I have damaged a car. Lessons well learned.