For tribal man space itself is the enemy because charged with voodoo menace. For such a man the beautiful is that which suggests the indestructible or the invulnerable, just as for the time-frayed the womblike security of the limousine is beautiful because a promise of pneumatic bliss. For tribal man space was the uncontrollable mystery. For technological man it is time that occupies the same role. Time is still loaded with a thousand decisions and indecisions which terrify a society that has yielded so much of its autonomy to merely automatic processes and routines. The problem, therefore, is to control panic by “killing time” or by shredding it into “ragtime.” To reduce it to an imbecilic bebop point. We seek to hide in the tight bebop moment, as the tribesman hid in the squat spatial unit.