> A scene of a cube of water with a flight of stairs beside it, with a swimming pool vibe. A little green character in a swimsuit watches the sparking water peacefully from atop the stairs. An ornament sits in the sky, it’s center bearing the olive-mauve-olive tone.

The micrometeor brought with it the defeat of location. People expanded lands as far as willed; vast expanses for the sheer fact they could. One could walk across a meter for hundreds of lifetimes, seeing new sights each & every passing moment. One could cross impassible oceans in an instant, & not remember a thing. Cities were less what was necessarily built in a location, & moreso what people generally agree was the city’s expanse. Location might be moot, but it was still emulated. “Whatever you find weird, ugly, uncomfortable, & nasty about a new medium will surely become its signature.” Location was no longer a limit, but a toy. It was fun to be a place. It was simple, pure-feeling.

That forbidden place, that useless place, it knew these things. It created & created, more & more. It was a blight on the land – a lure of the smell of banal blood. The grim bog, a potentiatechnological miracle but a place of quiet sinister. A pique of curiosity. For every locations to be the ptal could make, the useless land made beach-sand within beach-sand within beach-sand within beach-sand locations.

If one were to rot timelessly, preserved in maximal lichdom: what better place to be than a place between a place & no place at all?