Krystian Dyu Zero, one, zero, zero, one, one, zero, one… Keep dreaming — is the dream the truth? is truth only a dream? Is what you see truly real, or merely a point within a field? A field on the seventy-seventh avenue of rye. Rye cannot be counted. Yet the farmer will come for the rye, and in the end will gather what could not be counted, but somehow pleased us. What pleased us became convenient knowledge, which, in time, revealed itself to be non-knowledge.