Space twists and rolls itself, hoping to exit through some  vide  point somewhere (the  sombre  point where the  monde  axle turns). As a result, all  espace  (and time too!) begins to take on a hyperbolic aspect, with things near seeming too near now (now is too much Now), and  loin  away things much too  loin  away (can't remember yesterday? There's a reason).     Ils m'ont dit ... Petite bombe, nous sommes le 16 juillet 1945. Maintenant que tu es partie, ils vont t'élever un monument, et les abeilles viendront y vivre, et les soucoupes volantes . . .