The land was large but the camp was just so. There were no boundaries in sight when a person mills about, taking care of business. It is the tip, the vertex, the front or frontier, the very front terminates by convergence to a point somewhere ahead, further beyond sight somewhere the horizon looms forward always beyond grasp.
Many people were milling about, seemingly lost in task or thought, moving around searching for a stick, a brick, a board, a pane of glass. Over there, wiring is taking place underground and further a wireless tower being put up. A glasshouse over there, quite large, a crystal palace and a pavilion. Ink was being laid down on ragpaper, a newspaper tomorrow should come out at the make-shift porches, on each of them.
All around beyond the camp was dark, though at the horizon there is a line of light - the Milky Way beyond our reach. In the camp, quite large and borderless, an orange cast of sunlight complements the perpetual LED lamps placed rhythmically along certain lines. Over here a runway for the space plane. Momenta of particular individuals streak of woolen jackets, Ivy caps, silk shirts, linen pants, leather boots, space age boots, rubber runners, and bright orange shirts. The busi-ness buzzing along from this to that, from here to there, to here from there, to this from that. Crisscrossing of bodies and minds and transmissions and business, commutation of photons and electrons lighting up the premature grids, one overlaying the other from sector to sector. Overhead the 'copter traces out a irregular search and rescue path, seeking the helipad.
A fire in a tin garbage can here, a candle lit dinner there. Silverware crossing plastic cups of cola and beer, swamp water turned into alcohol. Multiple levels coalesce into a logic lattice, the matrix of communication and magic, rending the place a buzzing occurrence without end. A place without locations, an imagination without delay.
Rippling over river rocks the fresh water pipeline called a river, laser captures on the mountain ascertaining the location of the moon.
Communication is intermittent. Most time was spent in solitude: not quite solitary confinement for most do mill around picking up pieces and bits needed in yards scattered across the terrain. Terrible weather almost never happen, for there is no yield to reciprocally contribute to the greater patterns. Logistics was never heard of for the basic infrastructure was barely up and running. Smooth and efficient as they appear they could not be used because upon use they often revert to their previous inert states.
Visitors arrived with their puzzles and thoughts of inquiry. Yet, amongst the mostly working and busy people used to the stark conditions of frontier that looks further beyond the realm of the settlement, visitors found themselves unable to reach for words. There was something almost unspeakable about the towering silence in the barely describable geography and there was something immense about the invisible horizon onto even newer frontier not yet settled settlements.
We had brought with us the most refined of our stone tools and metal instruments, but they seemed so small in comparison to the immensity that is the unbounded unwalled rationale yet unbuilt though frames have been put up. Up high in the clouds another land rose truly towering. Gazing down upon the city in the cloud was seeing the orbiting, the suspending, the trajectorial modules in flight and in network.
A galaxy awaits, if not for the spread of the smog amidst the fragile criss-crossing lines of logic and energy, it shall be ours tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
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