In the preadamic membranes of gnosis, before Mass. The Arena of Mass just
one kind of playground in an infinite series. Seen to take its place as a
spacious hardroom in a Soft Infinity. Kinda funny how we get so wagged
out of shape about it, so shapeless about it. We are all ghosts. Most of
our life is an underground phenomenon that proceeds underneath the radar.
Subradar transactions, and we blunder about in empirical synthesis,
barely animate matter, pushing money about and manipulating chromium
steel in terrible furnaces. Such a tiring proposition that we must return
to the soft underground for much of each day. We are flowers who turn our
faces to the sun, then go burrowing back into the earth in search of
inspiration for the new day, in search of syntheses and syncretion, in
search of iconogenesis, burrowing in the genesis earth. This, *this* is
the Genesis Planet. THIS IS CETI ALPHA FIVE!!!