The picture tube plays its shadows at the back, like the winter night’s picture in picture, thin at the edges as if it is the sea at night touching a sky briefly at the horizon of rising.

It is at right angles to the horizon ,a conscious mind ‘s spanning night as its chimes go on in empty night. All things are at right angles to it. Even the night watchman’s whistle.

The watchman’s stick taps the earth vertically, exploring essential hollow. Watchman is vertical to the horizon, homo erectus previously on all fours. But moon is not vertical to watchmen being sprawled horizontally in trees. At night it hangs vertically in the sea.


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