Catching the embers of yesterday's parties, echoes from another time zone, pings of urgency, losing their meaning already. Here under the black mountains, the monte-negro, the silhouette shards are just enough resistance to keep this world unknowable. But I'm ready to descale, to saltify, to slough this skin for fresh and pink, submersion, submission, sublime. A mad dash to the sea, a fury of white noise, stretched metal skin and shallow breathing, we arced over the atlantic blue. Thrown down on this side, all stunned and a world behind. Intruding, diluting this familiar seaside calm, a heat blanket, a glimpse of a different meter, a slower urgency, an already sense that it is lost. Not everything translates.