Skull-reference: we spent the majority of this time working on architecture and tracking secondary body memory, on which I should explain: the storing of memory cues on the body, both as evident in the remains left post-disease infestation and intentional body-play, fingers run unconsciously over the childhood scars, the cramping I still get in my right knee. There is no such thing as a simple device for torture because such machines are fetishes in and of themselves as much as the act: history as the pebble in your shoe. Thus, the obvious thing to do at that point was build low, hold to the ground, stacked slats to force wind out and away. Unable to awake. a sightless vista god exhales across the flats the smell of rot and burning leaves and cold and water motion across the screen surface tension and shadows from a collection of rags and newspaper and equipment stolen from an abandoned drive-in, wasps nesting in car speakers. Such models left potentials open.

Up and away, it said, up and away. I could never find the way through the rooms, so I had it tell stories while I was gone, to the bathroom, to the kitchen, and by the sound, the wound of the voice I could find my way back. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I had stopped going to class, to work. “Light-bringer. no survivors, no signal.” we kept the sinks filled with water and ice cubes in order to ward off contaminated spirits’ which one of us had to restock every two hours with fresh ice. Our fingers all peanutbuttery, strobing Christmas lights all over the walls of the hallways

the exit is hidden within the exit