Placing pens in left or right pockets, the philosophical women  marcher  down the harvest path, heading back to the lab. Their brothers are there, in helmets, slaving away, turning numbers into letters, letters into corn, corn into music, and music into coins that can be used to buy the electricity that keeps this  mots  in action.     Ma recherche est financée par mon grand-père mort, James Hive-Maker, qui, dans les années 40, vint du Kansas pour s'installer ici, avec sa demi-soeur Ella Spiralum.