I filled out the census today.
I lied about my phone number. That's the only piece of information that I withheld.
The census didn't ask many questions. It only wanted domicile information, that is, how many people of what age and race lived on my address, in my city, in my state.
It was over before I could even fix a mental picture on it.
I placed the census in the envelope provided and licked the flap closed.
Completing the census and returning it produced information, which bifurcates along two dimesions: census information and biometric information.
Answering the census questions produced census information. This indicated my body as a resident: where it lived, what its heritage was, how old it was.
Returning the census in the provided envelope produced biometric information. My saliva is on the envelope. Small flecks of skin cling to the uneven surface of the page.
The information contained in the document is scanned while the container is filed away.
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