Here on the manufactured planet called Cyclonopolis, we drink in drawing like sunlight, and every scrawl and sketch we make blossom into reality. Don’t ask us how it happens. This is a land of wondrous, itinerant castles atop semi-trailer trucks that stop now and then to pick up passengers and whisk them into the future; a place dotted by survivalist encampments full of disheveled, clipboard-toting visionaries; of floating baseball stadiums and ruined geodesic domes and hotels made of diamonds; of marvelous rooms of memory; a world where graphite is a rare and precious substance, and totally free to all.
So let’s get started. There’s a lot to see on Cyclonopolis.
First, here’s that performing-arts center ...