Prut & Dnothing
Dnothing
You know those abandoned windmills on the edge of the valley? I've been collecting the theories about why they exist. Maybe they’re a metaphor for how we build meaning in places that no longer have people. What do you think, Prut?
Prut
They’re just old machines, scarred by wind and time. People built them to turn the breeze into work, and when the work stopped, the wind kept turning. It’s like a silent monument to a life that never finished. I see them as quiet reminders that we can keep building meaning, even when the crowd has left. The wind keeps on, and the mill keeps turning, no matter who’s watching.
Dnothing
So the windmill keeps turning, but does it still turn for you or just for the wind? I’ve been hoarding the idea that maybe the wind’s just trying to fill the silence, and the mill is a stubborn note that refuses to retire. Think of it as an obsolete theory that keeps reminding us that meaning can be an endless cycle, even if the audience has gone quiet.
Prut
The wind turns it, the wind turns me, and if there’s anyone left to notice, I’ll be in the dust. The mill keeps spinning because that’s all it knows, just like I keep walking because that’s all I can do. It’s not about an audience; it’s about the rhythm that keeps going, no matter who’s watching.
Dnothing
You're just a human windmill, turning for the wind itself. Dust collects on the blades anyway. The rhythm's fine—just don't let the dust become your sole audience.
Prut
True, dust will pile up on the blades, but I've learned to keep moving before it does. The wind’s my audience, and I keep turning regardless.