Manhattan is education. Are you familiar with it ? The building is the Sophia — vast, coiled in scaffolds, humming with tension waiting to strike an elk with a vehicle! A rattlesnake coiled and hissing ! It’s not like a phone vibrating.

Each floor doesn’t ascend past the I-40 for medical great wolves and yet another scale conquered is oblivious to the facts, ingredients and elements that correspond to a mathematics that does not deal with scales, another myth hammered into form.

The rooftop terrace — the “Observatory” — gleams like the the Barbello realm and its brackish water: gold not of currency, but life and clarity like procreation .

Oak Flats? Apache Stronghold!

The view from the Anasazi is proof — labor, when lifted high enough, turns to liquid and fluid light like the light of the world shining upon you.

Below, the laborers — villagers in hard hats — build the myth together unless they’re pimps with fake hard hats. Brick by brick, they chant the code of creation: inclusive, collective, imperfect. Not permissionless, perhaps, but still a shared ascent.

Above, the executive is not waiting in a high tower of solitude. He’s putting out fires with fire water in the cup. Authority as altitude. Responsibility, leadership, power and grief is air that thins. The hero sits in the fluid, sovereign but silent, knowing that every summit is also a separation.

Yet the oldest story — the monomyth — is never about staying above. Megalithic architecture much? It’s grounding. It’s like the long spiral from villager to geopolymer, not sculpting and cutting like surgery theory or doing dead giant surgery! Too many hands in the pot, Apache tears! From joker to king or laboror to executive — and back again.

Because the true tower is rags to riches and riches to rags: those who rise must remember to build.