I used to think that I might learn myself into some authority. With that, I might point, insisting look, look! In looping response to a constant call. This and this, on and on, beyond divisions or classifications, or orders of being, or causes as something other than effects.
My natural response was to melt away from authority, preferring to drip into hollows and wells, to be among those strange strangers where the dominant discourse, such as it was, was guided by a compass of laughter, silence, body, and song.
What home was that, pulling our constant whirls back for mealtimes of melodic banter, brimming with every former and future self? It avoided our gaze while seeing us, into and through.