there is nan's visible neurosis as she tremblingly lifts the lid of the laptop & eyeballs the dark screen turning into action sponging from her a vision hemmed in worlds of hard borders. she never switched one on before & now nan's doing so in a dream of mine in which I call out but nothing crawls from my mouth: my throat is clogged. I want to say if only you'd abandoned tradition for the yolk of contemporary objects. their finicky keys igniting the required circuits. maybe…probably. I reach down my throat & pull out a frog. while sat in front of the aureoled screen nan opens a can with an electric object & worms spill out. the image speaks louder than words. receding into the droning maw of the bright screen I see synapses spark & the teeth of images in her mind's eye. there I say. fixed-in/out. nan is gone within forever. being in the world we measure feedbacks mediating responses —a world we feed objects in order to be fed. think…walking stick or crossword. there is so much potential in the improbable. look where you least thought to look. something's there.