"Each particle of dust carries with it a unique vision of matter, movement, collectivity, interaction, affect, differentiation, composition, and infinite darkness." — Reza Negarestani, Cyclonopedia.
The interior life of lockdown was a series of small rooms. At home, the four of us, in the house, in various combinations, in our rooms. Walls made of paper. Losing things. Roof appreciation. The noise plateau. Children. Dust. Lull burn. I slept a lot. Small high window in my room licking dust. A portal to other worlds.
Dim days and children endlessly giddily rumbling in the next room. Care and admiration for it all. Seems that every existent in the history of the world is in my room. Thick air, the interior. Moments pitting against capitalist modes of production, where we can tend and care for what we have instead of perpetuating in an ever-expanding frenzy of accumulation.
