We wander the coaxials of our summer reveries. As we pass through the transformer our minds light up with stupendous facts about the geography we are in proximity to. It knows, instantly, the name of all the plants in the ecosystem of the region. It knows the few animals that grace a wonderful oasis and which trees are susceptible to winter frost. The mind travels forward, out of the range of the land, into the resistance of other human beings who question the existence of anything so unreal as a message.

But haven't you ever sailed down the Amazon River, hatless, listening to the musicians of Manaus?

Haven't you ever escaped the robber and, twenty minutes later, dreamed the most grotesque dream of your life?

Are we not the source of our mutual entertainment and delight?

We begin wishing for the end to our complexities. Must we travel far to find its source? Doesn't it contain a vestige of what is not ourselves before we started?

All we hear are the disharmonious cries for help embedded in the lines