In the beginning there was silence, the map without roads. Nothing needed to be said because it was already self contained, evident by its own presence. Something must have deviated, something must have slipped, something must have fallen, and these imperfections were the creation of Voice. The silence was broken. And so we made more noise, more words, to try and find our way back to that place without a way, that place of no-place. We made words of all possibility until there were none left, until there was silence again, until deviation had consumed its tail.