From there the cameras lead us, unless we use language otherwise. Don’t just aim for the middle of the box. See inside it. Aim for somewhere beyond it. A utopian poetics found in old books, old journals, old trance-scripts. “The gift is to the giver,” noted Whitman, “and comes back most to him — it cannot fail.” “In circling twice in this way,” adds Lewis Hyde, “the gift itself increases from bread to the water of life, from carnal food to spiritual food. At which point the circle expands” (The Gift, p. 11). In an anonymous scrap heap of Things, our lives are finally joined.