I
joined
without
knowing
it,
working
for
years
in
parallel
like
a
Manchurian
candidate,
never
remembering
them
as
people
with
lives
but
possibly
as
messengers
dispensing
information
in
the
interests
of
some
unknown
double-blind
experiment.
Some
part
of
me
thought
of
them
as
one
thinks
of
the
dead,
just
as
later
when
I
stumbled
into
their
actual
lives
and
began
to
learn
their
methods
of
working,
I
thought
that
I,
myself,
was
probably
dead.
I
just
took
what
I
took
from
that
first
encounter
and
moved
on,
placed
the
program
in
a
box
with
other
relics
of
the
time:
the
wings
of
insects,
the
books
that
provided
clues
to
the
ahistorical,
haunted
space
that
I
inhabited
proddingly
but
without
the
thorough
or
literal
investigation
that
might
validate
or
destroy
it.
=> info | Construct a last
Exhibition: The Last Performance [dot org] @ Haus Der Kulturen Der Welt