Reality is bleeding and I am
bumping into invisible architecture,

moving like a moth towards virtual light. Cathryn Vasseleu showed a film clip from Bunny. Bunny, too, has childhood hands that know potato salad, relish trays, and church coffee pots. Bunny's virtual space is kitchen, circa 1930 to 1950. The nostalgic comfort of the flour sifter, the sound of it as flour drifts, sifts, and measures imprecisely into the crockery bowl, the pastel pink and blue rings that date it as Grandma's kitchen—at least for those of us who know scalloped potatoes as comfort food.

The virtual light articulating the memory of similar spaces, of a particular kind of cookie jar, the way the stove looked, the kind of slippers Grandma wore, the sounds of water splashing from a single cold or hot spigot high above the curved and porcelain white sink. I can see the recipe, my moth-like wings bumping into the algorithms of virtual light.