I am standing at the westward facing side of perhaps the most mundane location that might come to mind— a prototypical American suburban house. It looks like any other ordinary home you might find in this residential area: painted white with a driveway, immaculate green lawn, picket fence, and a mailbox, all of it framed in a hodgepodge of unassuming mid-twentieth century architectural styles that probably already makes someone down in the comments section with a more refined palate, better able than me to pick apart all the individual elements jammed together, want to gag. I'm not so discerning. To me, from the outside, it is… just a house.

You might be expecting then that this is the part where I begin to tell you the extraordinary circumstances that make this particular house worth the time, energy, and expense to come out here to cover it, but you'd be wrong, because this individual house is utterly unremarkable. I mean, look around at this panoramic GoPro footage and this drone feed I've captured and you can see suburbia sprawl out to the edges of the frame with innumerable identical, exact copies of this same house lined row on row, column on column to what might as well be ad infinitum. 'Alright, so it's a house, and there are many, many like it,' you might be thinking, but, if you've been viewing this channel for any length of time you're now prepared for me to do a bit of subversion of my previous self from just a moment ago's commentary and lay out the hook or gimmick that makes this house, or this neighbourhood so special. There has to be something, doesn't there? That's where you're wrong, but not entirely.

Let me explain. Comparison of the house in front of me against a casual Google search informs me that its rough square footage, as best I can measure with the tools on hand, lands plainly within innocuous norms. Crossing through the threshold, however, leads to things becoming rather strange. Inside, there's a foyer that branches into an attached kitchen, dining room, living room, and staircase up to the master bed. Standard stuff so far, but that's hardly the end of it. In fact, that's somewhat the point. If you look in that direction, where you might expect logically for things to come to a head, they simply… don't. The rooms keep going. The house is, forgive me the expression, bigger on the inside.

I've walked for hours and hours without ever leaving the house. It's a labyrinth of rooms upon rooms and warrens that loop back in on themselves or intersect in ways that make your head hurt to think about. It's like a non-Euclidian Kowloon Walled City as designed by MC Escher with H. P. Lovecraft in tow as an advisory consultant, all of it decorated in a kitschy aesthetic.

If I stand outside, on that freshly mowed green lawn, and turn my head just so, I can observe an infinite hall of mirrors pattern of more than mildly terrified blokes in red t-shirts narrating by their lonesome to their camera. If I walk next-door, as best I can observe, what I find is not simply another house built to an identical blueprint, but the exact same article duplicated verbatim. At least the fridge seems to restock itself, and the electricity has allowed me to keep the batteries of my camera and equipment topped up.

More unsettling,