Humid fresco on the mastubatory act and vision. Master where are you. Not shouted search but telluric implosion, statement of missing, useless s.o.s. thrown among paper notebooks, protective natures, cars off and forgotten nests. Orphans of masters long gone, scratched bodies find temporary shelters for solitary animal flesh coitus, dark landing places in which dying - and holding breath until the next shipwreck.