You must learn to function in the world before you earn the right to retreat. If not, you’ll never get the language right. And the last thing we need is another child of privilege blowing smoke up our skirts. Learn the rules. Then move beyond freeways and screens and bury the rules in a pine box. Ship it down a stolid creek after a rain storm. Then stand poetic as petrichor fills your lungs, and sing soft in fine fettle.