The matrix on which the visible elements of our world are woven suddenly rebels. Instead of just being the invisible support on which human creations are plotted, it starts self-generating in an uncontrolled way.
This matrix is, in its normal state, an almost infinite piece of tissue that floats continuously in space, rolling up on its own, without ever touching itself. For some yet unknown reason, it starts to fold up and to crumple. A piece of the fabric ends up touching another, and suddenly fragments of different cities find themselves next to each other, creating a chimera of a city. Layers of this tissue start growing outside of their natural field, forming mounds of various shapes. They contaminate the surface of the elements and architectures in which we live.
In a very abstract way, we may represent this matrix as a big veil that flies. In reality, when we have the misfortune to approach one of its mounds, it presents a completely different aspect. It has in fact at times a waxy quality and at other times even a honey-like consistency. The dangerousness of the mounds depends on these different states. The excess, the accumulation of its folds and honeycombed cavities produces a honey that is a drug for all the forgetful. They come to extract from it forgotten memories, unforgettable impressions, of lost places and times.