Piles of rocks and rubble situate a universe where nothing ever quite clicks or responds, except perhaps to the faint howl of the brokenhearted. And yet, in the midst of this universe, something is moving: the dynamism of the movement that punctuates the void, the brittleness of a thing that is lost in the process, the slow progress of a movement that is neither broken up nor elevated. What remains are remnants, the echoes of a fractured world and a measure of pain. The suffering of the ordinary man is compensated for by the anguish of the world.