If one were to be philosophical
(an excerpt from Lit Windows)
If one were to be philosophical, one could say a model is a construction of an ontology, a shelter of sorts with finite possibilities, whose dimensions mirror its signification, and thus, like children in a play pen, a model limits the probability of play – one cannot, for example, steal away and sleep in an unlocked car at night if one’s model (day) excludes it by having earlier set certain conditions upon which the range of the previous day, even if the car is the model like those of one’s youth when one would eagerly apply enamel paint, would carefully pull the decals from the delicate surface tension of a cap full of water before placing them just so near the window, a framed and segmented set of limiters delineating simply in chiaroscuro the couch, part of a table, and, further framed punctum of a kitchen counter, whose boundary-ray segments the conical visuality of these limnitations one arrives at the edges of the door or hood, or on the border of the trunk near the spoiler, before one imagines the pain a transmission hump can cause a sleepy body – (the body at rest); such models thus shaped would contain, however a possibility, if prolonged, sore kidneys and bruised ribs even after several attempts to adjust to the position and accommodate the safety brake; in a word, a model is a kind of shelter where one may dwell for a given time, when one knows for the exact reasons its boundaries are limited, movement is limited, and within a predictable range with established constants and limited variables set and allowed to play become abandoned in favor of a re-vised conditions and thus one may walk as the crow flies either to or from the kitchen with a self-knowledge that any breach of this contained probability is stuff of the moment of watchfulness, when one hears the front door or feet shod in expensive shoes moving along the flagstone path, maybe the gentle rhythmic music of a well hung key ring, and such signifies another model collapses under adjusted conditions of unobservable variables unaccounted for in the original model and that one’s ontology must be disrupted, that beyond the knowledge of the model, there is another, an original unlimited space of variation that regulates from without the matrix of probability of all other variables in the model resulting in questions, such as can one escape undetected, will the casualness of one’s habitation, however temporary, be traceable, indelibly marked upon this cushion or that toothbrush, and a cough, a snort, and yet, here again, there area footsteps receding and cigarette smoke limning the boundaries of ones mode and the ontological ramifications of such malleability and porousness of such an event within the boundaries of a model, though predicated on a fixed matrix of unfixed variables, results in a feeling of trespass, and although the accuracy of a model is not, as such, the inevitable collapse, and although cyclical over all, it is still a jarring event in the cold morning as windows light again and televisions flicker.