soon

At the top of Slot Mountain, Phillip’s head becomes bigger, anticipating a screw.

Sorry, but that’s just what he was thinking. The important thing: the mastermind behind Our Second Lyfe is here on the island; the slit acted as an attractor.

“I remember you. That Jeogeot art thing.”

“Yeah,” I replied beside him. “We’re back.” I took a breath and looked down into the slot. It all started here, I remember. On this island.

“I died (!).”

“Yup.”

“Blimey.”

His head got big again. He jumped into the slot, trying it out. Didn’t work. He jumped back up. “I so want to get this *over* with.”

“There’s only one way and you know it,” I spoke. “Begin again.”

He jumped back down. He couldn’t help himself. Longer this time. I realized what he was. Back he comes, head diminished. But the whole process is slowing down up here. “When *does* it start?” he asks at the lip. “I mean: life itself. I’m down there but I’m not down there. I’m up here as well.”

“Art,” I said. “Takes time. Building the proper receptacle.”

“A mountain, a castle,” he ritually pronounced.

He tries again, yet more successful.