In the beginning were the three planes. They were at first separate from each other---in perfect alignment and not touching anywhere. But one of them began to turn---ever so slightly---and at that moment the first touched the other two at distances unimaginable. The paths the intersection created drew nearer as the plane's rotation accelerated, until it was visible on the horizon. Another tilted into motion, prompted by the first, and there was suddenly a Point---a center for all things.

From the point the planes began to fold, and in the folds, the stressed surfaces gained color---pale at first, but deepening and cracking into all the hues. Doors opened and wrinkled; vast chimneys scaled sheer walls; and loops fell out in coils and piles. Lattices crystalized along the edges of spines which didn't quite reach up to touch the domes of white planar bubbles.

In the lattices, along the struts and through the holes, raced dots of every color. They left long linear traces on the blank surfaces, etching their lives in the colors of their names. But it was when the dots, born of latticework, reached the sky and painted it in circuitry that the world truly lived.