At a distance, the windmill that pierced the side of Jacob's head (allowing insertion of the BeeTV) rotates lonely, extracting water from a well. Here Art (or Bad Science, as it is known among Scientists Who Know) has degenerated, and become Technology, doing useful everyday work here in the desert, dragging up water out of the ground. But you can still feel the glimmer of Uselessness in it, which attracts your eye, your heart, your idle soul in search of either Ethical Encouragement or, more simply, a few moments of relaxation from the daily killing.     So it was that, carrying only the bee-television and my own thoughts, I walked out into the desert.