Inside a beetv whose vanishing point has traveled off to the distance. A coherent hive clump of bees is visible far below you, straight out through a hyperbolic space. Then you are surrounded by foreshortened bees. Actually, foreshortened in reverse, tiny hands reaching towards you, and big clumsy feet hanging out back, giant shoelaces, untied, and a great infinite grid of a floor just past that, covered with overlarge dust and significant clumps left by still-drying chewgum and the scratch marks left by burger wrappers that, in great dying agony, have dragged themselves to the corners to sleep.     The X-shape led, and my old self followed, flying through the darkness on the bee television, that miraculous shape given me by the bees, and now being taken back by them.