Like a hawker trundling bananas up and down the laneways, the Radio Free Korea broadcast began, its strident rhetoric pock-marked with apaches of radio static. Blue days and green days, orange dawns and summer frosts; all part of the terraforming mandate. Unfurling fogs along the coastal waterways and islands, the mandate encompassed both canals and streamlets, giant hydro-powered works and pipes, radiant dikes and estuarine fisheries. In the city, the tanks of the restaurants scrambled with the product of this hyper efficiency, this sea dis-ease. I checked the wireless updates for live feeds but found no point of interconnection, sitting there in the bar’s steamy light. No switches anywhere, and no need, not even at night. Broadcasts that re-appeared on Windows at dawn, backed by soft jazz. Pre-recorded night sounds and soft applause. Korean streets, stalls. Plastic money, plastic watches. Echoes of Buddhist teachings curling down a grimy laneway in reverse.