" Mathematicians, shed light on such an error as this. The spirit has no voice, because where there is voice, there is body" And nothing was remarkable about that. 'The destruction of experience no longer necessitates a catastrophe,' and the humdrum life in any modern city will suffice. For today's man's average day contains virtually, it contains virtually nothing that can be translated into experience, it contains virtually... and as for those eternal moments of dumb promiscuity among strangers... Could you disappear from your own speech, could it go on without you
And finally, when they can no longer find wood for fuel, they burn the wooden ladder connecting their room to the rest of the house and are left in this happiest isolation. The impossible vanishing point at which the break in knowledge is healed and science and experience meet in parallax. It is experience that best affords us protection from surprises. It is what happens. I did not know who I was at first I knew who you were I did not know you "at" anything I did not first know you "with." You were with words, you were at words, you were in the place of words, so they were somewhere else, in the place of your speechless spirit maybe. Either way we were at home. And nothing was unremarkable about that. We sat around the ladder unaware we were on fire, we might have even been brown but what could heat prove about color, besides movement, the casual sky (made-you-look up 'soul' or scroll up), and the verb: to-be-the-sky-at-noonnight-above-a-room-with-no-room-for-ladders-is-a-lonely (infinitive)-relief
