Photographs had long been derided as being superficial, so I went inside this time. Mental interiors externalized as objects inside of buildings simultaneously shelters and prisons; as a clock perpetually moves from the 14th second of 9 o’ clock to its 15th second, a.m. or p.m. it does not reveal—it forms a perfect shape. False exits and doors that lead nowhere, windows that become mirrors at night. A terrible sunrise, the worst and most silent of clocks, overpowering the projectors and the lamops, its coming to kill the chairs, it’s coming.