If an Aivilik Eskimo is given a photograph the wrong way up, he doesn’t find it necessary to twist it around. Bugs dig under the skin; leaving an itchy mound, swollen, to a tiny red eye. Aging skin draws a map to hidden treasure; hair waits for the next Ice Age. I am and I am not is the riddle that misled Oedipus into his Freudian dream. As the path is uphill, I thought I'll start at the other end, only to find that way is uphill too.