Dump the Volcano, Says Mr. Tectonic #1

Seizure. . .a laddering formation appears in ground ripples from continuous overhead passings of the Hat. It is somebody's will to pull turnrows into Us down below. Imagine if this were an accessible moment: phaser beam or something from the oblong Ship passing overhead phasing out city-block furrows of, OK, a city block. What is so attractive in that? The leveling of what The Beam Wants, the Beam Gets. The Beam is a hostile, protracted page from the word processor with set and imaginary margins. Within the margins of the ray hitting earth from our Ancestors above Us, matter disperses. City blocks are measured and equalized, i.e., topographically degenerated. Back to Atmosphere status. Void Ancestral Tree.

Which is why neither We nor red Mountain could get into ancestor worship. As the plates rearrange on the topographical map whose contours We're charting just for you, red Mountain lays out the red Carpet though piling contour on contour, rippling upward until there's a perfectly good set of "proto"-step apparati for Us. We understand, naturally, this The End again. If We step up, sling our tool kit over shoulders and take a proper Hike, We will escape the the End of the world, again.

There are days set aside for all this, set days, and postage stamps to commemorate them. For every set day we map the contours to be imprinted on these stamps. It's never tedious because red Mountain is a perfect envelope. Not only is it entirely empty, it is the Letter (as the Letter is typed on the interior folds of the mountain). We take the Hike with Shoes, sloshing through the ink of marshes, leaving tracks that make a perfectly Nice antithesis, thus solution, to anthropology.