In a dream I’m to give a lecture. I arrive without clothes. Mountains of clothes are there to try on. Furniture in the lecture hall is everywhere. The MC introduces me with insults. I’ve made thorough preparation but now printouts fade and sentences are illegible. I persist. People start mimicking me. They ask, “So you believe in genocide?” “Why are oceans at the door?” “Paris is burning?” “What’s September if time is meaningless?” From deep inside me a sound comes, crying and groaning, the sound of R, growing until it fills the hall, the streets, the world, deep from within.