Face Detection, Bodily Glitch. I would carry the tote bag in travel, a blockchain paper trail executing the magic trick of convincing an officer or nurse that I am that who does not exist. The face is not the same; the voice is anew; it speaks in foreign languages in both Brazil and England. I am reminded of the archived spectre only at the edge of nationhood and gender, where I respond to an online system of records and citizenship. So I have mutilated my archive, erasing the first name off every document. Produced a glitch — between my face and the database, my voice and the passport, Vincent and the hologram. The funeral of the paper trail takes place digitally, amongst pictures of other people who do not exist and carry no identification. The child is now pointless, fictional and unnamed, my body cleansed from the glitch which presents nuisance to surveillance.