Moment of Zen: Body without Organs

The bakery is like a body without organs, a surface whose primary functions have been exfoliated into a howling dimension.  Freedom, should we accept that nicety, is contemporaneous with existence, such that there is not a moment that we are not free, and becoming unbound, we skitter and oscillate between lunar poles.  What would it mean to conceive of a tangent to the surface of the Earth?  Would that tangent land you in a mixing bowl or upon a dough hook?  Perhaps in a vat of cookie dough or upon a crumb lying on the slicing room floor.