I am a traveller in the realm of the information grids, in the matrix of the magnetically defined. None of the things I touch exists, in the sense that what I touch can be said to be merely imaginary forms, a dream of the machines. I travel through pathways of electrons, arranged specifically, signals coursing through the matter, to change the configuration of their destination. But I know that I must alight back down into the lands of the breathing, to leave the phosphorescent skyworks; I am not born for the realms of scattered lightning. I will return when I have gained some strength in the solidities. But my home is yet in the dust.