We encounter an formless landscape

Beyond this desertifying threshold, lies an overexploited archive. It exists under siege and turbo-stimulation: a forced representation for the “outer world”—from it, and not of it; a phantom limb whose innards disintegrate confusingly that has been left to reassemble the fragments, to scavenge through sorrow; a process of reclaiming relics of forsaken dignity. Futurity, thought in this space of perpetual exception, leaves us observing lesser life forms that mirror us to escape the light. We are left unable to recognize the archive. Its reading—under all the subjugations it has endured—requires the optics of an invader. Even for those with a legitimate agency, an approach without the etiquette of the center is futile.