I have had dreams in which I had no body. Revisionist histories fill the space: A woman speaking in tongues running through aisles. A singing in a tent. Having sex with a man in the back of a moving car. The man turned out to be a white supremacist. He wasn’t the one I wanted to remember. A variety of colors. Avoiding high spaces because of fear. Avoiding silence because of fear. A variety of fears. That wasn’t what I wanted to remember. I don’t know who my selves are. I make nonsense. I knead it from the earth. I make self. Puree of syntax.