These rude approximations, how I tire of them. Tangential, having a hope of the center, but the archer is too weak or his vision indistinct. He goes on believing the target accessible. If he did not, he would go mad, or at least go madder than he is. It is crazy to try, but more crazy to ignore that which cannot be gained by the employment of language.
Words hang from our mouths like lost notes.
We collect them because we believe that the attempt of telling might activate a parallel tone in minds that share the harmonics. The thing is ever beyond us. Sometimes our eyes connect in perfect intersection of sympathies as if we knew for certain. Words come as an afterthought. They cannot impart incorporeal wonder any more than a liturgy precipitates visions.