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Round Again : Cones Bees : Comb Line
 
A grid of flat hexagons suspended above us. We pass through its plane, and continue into the darkness. Eyes at the ends of your fingers might see this when you pass that hand through your hair. However, this is a formally different reality than might be supposed to exist close to your scalp.
 
 
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I drove through a tunnel, and arrived at a city.







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divide the grid divide the grid
divide the grid divide the grid