“The water runs into the hull and then the ocean becomes cooler. The ark is ventilated by the sea water and returns to normal.” The announcer’s voice was sterile as if the boredom of the room he recorded in came out in the vocal cords. She sat there staring off into the catacomb of ventilated materials, the surf that was no surf, the voice consistently anesthetizing her thoughts, the clarity of it producing an unnaturalness, a calm no human being was supposed to have. His words rendered all the wonder of the ark into concise familiarity. The ark was a mystery, a huge vessel with the ability to produce seas, and the sea under them was no exception, but now, in this voice’s hands, she just wanted to get off and explore, when the headphones went silent a little Muzak hit her ears and she almost pulled the things off. To her right large spirals of the ark’s native plastics cut into the air, mysterious and yet their exact tuning was what churned the waters below, the voice cheerily noted this, but with out the awe she always saw in the cluster of ideas, the means of water the ark contained.