Is it and are you – bound? Are those the vectors that delineate who we are, our poetics of relationality? With eyes but through my disputed body what I see is a filter bubble – a lonely pleasure – painfully aware of its ‘independence’ its ‘individuality’ its framings. Is this periphery we see heading straight back to the pleasures we despise? Gently swaying in contemplation – safe, highly addictive and kindly stimulating like a lullaby. A place of sight I have no option but to approach this through the tactility of being bound.