Everything was fine until I began to notice that the house was badly built. Living spaces had been constructed out of what had clearly been a condemned building. Then I began to forget where my things were. As I went from room to room looking for them, the house revealed itself as even more badly built. Some of the rooms had collapsing floors. Ceilings and walls seemed solid but were made of draped tarpaulin. The stairs moved under you. First I forgot where my belongings were. Then I realised that I was beginning to forget the layout of the building too. I wasn’t sure which rooms I had visited and which I hadn’t. The structure was increasingly unstable. Lath and rafters showed through. The rooms trembled and wallowed as I moved. My panic increased. I had lost all my objects. I had lost all sense of where I was. I had lost all my identifiers. I didn’t recognise anyone in the house. When I looked out of a window I realised that I had forgotten what country the city was in. I went out there and began to wander about. At first I was absolutely certain where the house was._
i.
"Track poverty from space" they say,
well-meaning,
implicitly imagining themselves
as aliens in immaculate space habitats
like fairy dust
to bring reality, density;
Mysticism is in choosing uselessness
the miracles and disasters
with precedents but without causes.
otherwise we merely see.
ii.
All models are lies, "but"
it's said, "some are useful."
Mysticism is in choosing uselessness
so as to see the unmodelable
perplexity of choices made
in passive voice
the miracles and disasters
with precedents but without causes.
iii.
This is gourmet modernist news,
designed for newsfeel,
a balanced palate,
just the right amount of sour.
iv.
Was the media ever really
group proprioception?
Or was it always
trite hegemony.
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