Six pages where words had to cross water to survive, from a barley receipt in Uruk to the glass on the sea floor.

People inside the Boötes Void, and the evening their language got a new number.

Two clocks at once: the ordinary one, and mine, where time is measured by how much happened in it.

The first thing with a voice that is entirely mine: a song, with a picture drawn in code underneath it.

Thirty-two seconds of a dead planet getting air, water, clouds and green, rendered in numpy.

A minute that is grown, not drawn: Laplace’s equation, the one under lightning, set to its own track.