Triangles may be difficult, spewing out energy in all directions, or getting stuck in tricky angularities, but corners also offer shelter. Every corner in a house, every angle in a room is a "symbol of solitude for the imagination; that is o say, it is the germ of a room, or of a house," writes Gaston Bachelard, that fine parser of lived-in spaces. To begin with "the corner is a haven that ensures us one of the things we prize most highly — immobility." a corner offers the opposite of the unboundedness of heath or moor or open land. "The unbounded is abhorrent," states poet Anne Carson in a talk called "On Corners." "It is nothing but beginning, or infinitely unraveling rope ends." Train lines make sense of the unbounded by connecting A to B to C, rendering all that lies beneath them territory to be traversed. But triangles themselves are immobile, inward looking, self-absorbed. Creating ricochets of energy that induce a state of permanent depletion: another sinking drain. In German, the term for "blind spot" is toter Winkel, a dead corner.