if there is a box, there is a place for that box, and the box has a color, and to me it is nude... and the room has a color- fading malignant opium... in the room, there is nothing. i see only the box, and it's color on the room's floor- a stale, cold, modern tile. one huge metallic tile. the room seems so tall and so boxy and perfect, the box just the same but so small and so isolated. right in the center. the box looks empty, because it has never been opened, or at least i can't tell that it has ever been opened, and that is the secret to it all. that is the smut. that is the deception. the release. the intrigue. the cancer. the downfall. the emotion. the masquerade.

in this box inside a box, there are no names or surfaces or tools or faces or towns or money or time... there is space and air and what is in it. the secret.

look closer, it seems the box has been opened already, and the bottom is ripped out and there is a small hole cut in the room, and the room is floating in air in space in time, and there is no telling whoever opened and closed that box. not to mention, how did they find that room, and why does it matter to me? ... to want to know what was.is.will be in that box.