nothing was right about the building. floors rose at unexpected angles, closets were cluttered with oversized tractors, kidney-shaped doors were small and hairy forcing all who passed through to squat down for passage to other rooms which tolled from vast and impossible to tiny and hazardous. elevators led to floors with comical names like “DANGER” and “RUMPUS” but the character of these floors never matched the names assigned to them. the “CANDY” floor contained a swimming pool visible only from 1000 feet above, a height from which smiles of happy swimmers and sunbathers gleamed but from which you also saw that the swimming pool abutted a cemetery at which every name of fictitiously deceased humans glowed in throbbing digital letters, each letter’s color stirring itself like a mystery tub of yogurt. in this building search engines returned far more information than anywhere else but none of the results made sense. enormous computer screens everywhere inhaled your thoughts and matched your body’s movements to those of others whose minds had been indexed, calculating search results designed to match your consciousness and thoughts. analysts and freeloaders alike long ago announced that all of it was randomly generated gobbledygook. some testified before congress as others systematically debunked every press release. but the product monetized well and the business thrived. the screens produced maps of countries that never existed, complete nations with histories and governments built on keyword density and passions of textual rainforests rising like ancient libraries but rising invisibly and rising as superstitious fantasy in the bubbles of a saltwater bathtub. real doors to real rooms suffered under the blight of non-existent worlds, diminished in stature to unread footnotes under garbages of the hour. you balance your walk through another tilted hallway, dodging out-of-control farm equipment that lost its way from already incongruous city locations. a nuance to an errant swing of a wrecking ball reminds you that you are a bag of bones and water (mostly water) that is wiped away as easily as the reputation of randomly surveilled citizens and the politically potent aloof. the hallway seems to want to crush you as you near the hairy doorway that squirts you into strident oblivion, a crowded city intersection sewn together by unknown paths traveled by millions who arrive at the same moment as you, a squalid mash of self-contained political ignorance propelled by fiendishly-maintained lies, lies so righteous and thick that the libraries of the living have assigned them shelf space and genre names. so many theories, so many fabrications, you start tasting society’s fabric of lies on the bottom of your tongue, you see it from the corners of your eyes, those eyes bloodshot and sore from last week’s nightmares, lies racing around your feet and flying behind your face. here is the mælstrom of all these fabrications, this rugged gel of human beings whose absorption into itself creates vacuous legitimacy that comes alive to you as individuals ask questions and offer favors, securing your dignity for a moment of beguilement and dance while God’s numbness oozes on.