sophist lycanthrope we're always finding out something it would of served us to know yesterday. Relevant information always awaits us, showing us how incomplete and mishapened words we had faith in, in the moment, were. This is the nature of words, they strain to hold the vastness of the world in their unsuitable scope, one must put faith in them, one must hope they have best allowed the information too massive to condense, and the information relevant but not yet known to be accounted for in how they are spoken. And it is impossible. did i mention that? I ever more find myself becoming the sophist i distrusted in fairy tales as a child. I lie untill even in my truths, i am overwhelmed by the possibility of words on their own. You can see this in the fun grammar games on this sight...marauding yak alter roasts and rambunctous tupperware colons and such. Not that i hold anything against them. I both envy and question those people of action both for nonsense and against who practically assume a unity of meaning in their words, who are not stunned to silence by the devil's advocate within. And how many layers of irony before one is tired? i ask that question of those who would seek to touch me. 020729 what's it to you? who go blather from