The Obscuratinist translates poems into large limestone blocks, out of here hunting shadows to remember distant lands, severing the will. To power a magnetized chain: the extremity of human thought open for show. Women and men trace their outlines along the smokey glass wall, acting unconcerned. Some eyes hurt, some pierce. Where to place a couch in a circular room? It is cold, hostile; a natural antagonism beyond subjectivity. You become anti-device; index and emptiness curiously combined: two arrows, then, arguing in a field of straight lines, challenging gravity and also distance. There's a bit of your happiness smashed amongst the pieces of shattered mirror down there on the floor. Thousands of you.