The  bleu   soleil  sets, leaving the contrail squiggles to fade to darkness, and in the process become a hundred small, bluer suns, all equally possible, all ready to be and do, ready to shine in the  ciel  on small  vert  earths, in future or  parallèle  times. But zoom back, now... the sky is filled with these picture-suns, but there are too many and the resolution limit is reached, too many for reality. Moiré patterns appear everywhere. This may not be a big problem, just a simple artifact caused by the grid of Jacob's helmet. These interference patterns, shifting minima and maxima, are the images of voids, the complicated bodies of the simple darkness behind every tvpicture, actually not just behind but also above and below and left and right.     C'était le Pays des Morts. La télévision des abeilles me montrait cet endroit, où les âmes de radium des esprits vivants se divisaient en d'innombrables morceaux, formant de superbes motifs qui étaient leurs nouveaux corps, et, en même temps, un langage.