Here’s one that drifts into the territory of identity—its layering, its looseness, and the dance between naming and becoming:
RHEO:
When you say I, who exactly is speaking?
TOPO:
The self, I suppose.
RHEO:
But which one?
The one shaped by memory?
The one performing for the moment?
The one imagined by others?
TOPO:
Hmm. So I is not singular?
RHEO:
Not fixed.
It is an ongoing negotiation—across time, roles, relations.
TOPO:
Then the self is not an essence, but a coordination?
RHEO:
Yes. I is a choreography—
not a source, but a site of convergence.
TOPO:
So when I speak, it is not one voice—but a stack of echoes?
RHEO:
Exactly.
And in speaking, we momentarily gather them into form.
RHEO & TOPO:
The self is not a singular thing.
It is a weaving—
and each thread says I.
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