It's two wheels talking to each other, because no one else will listen.  It's the rhyme of the soil on your pants, the grime that lays in sheets, the caustic creaking language sworn by the dead metal tongues of the graveyard shift.

Welcome to ARCHETYPES.

Here we examine the naked anatomy of trains.  The following photos may be shocking to those of you who have never traveled past your front door.  We recommend dulling your input with smoke or picked water before you move on.

It's another door secured by Locks.  Tamper-proof, but not Time-proof.

Colors on trains are fascinating.  Rusty Reds and Peeling Teals.  Disgraced Wood and Punished Iron.  All these materials, combined with years of Jolting, Scraping, Screeching, Clattering, Clacking and Nerve-Wracking Human and Machine Punishment > melts these fabulous minerals into Art that we see Clinging to its own Skeleton in a Blur of Reptilian Technicolor.

And it doesn't cost a dime.

But then, all metals deteriorate in time: heavy metal, light gold, premium gauge, auger bits and angry bats.  They all go to the same Dinosaur Graveyard as you'n' me, Mister TimBit! However, until that merciful time, we'll enjoy some of the decrepit glimpses into the soul of the oven called "Canadian National Railway..."

It's a Rolling Door on a Canvas Floor and You're Rich and you're Poor - all in a Moment's Notice; all in a Day of Trains.

Free Rolling Doors are so Inviting, so Exciting, that we fail to notice the Amputated arms, lost fingers and Permanent Crutches built into the Union Contract.  So it goes.

Jack Here, Dave There, Round Robin in between. No one sees the lashes, the lips the folly in the god-awful fog.