An algorithm denotes efficiency — a way to mimic, reproduce, predict. Efficiency can foreclose possibilities, can exclude and do violence to bodies and ways of knowing. Writing on an old manual typewriter, within the grid of discarded accounting paper, I enter the field with the desire to fill and be filled by the present. The text is coproduced by what surrounds it, by its proximity to and distance from. I cut words out and replace them with new grids. The typewriter yields an object that displays its temporal depth. And yet, traveling from object to scanned image, this page appears more unified than it is — smooth and intact. And aren't we all so?