literates speak their own language

just as politicians and gardeners and alcoholics speak their own languages

even plain old vernacular is its own language

"style" is merely one's present adaptation to that language

humans practice this adaptation by choice, contort ourselves from places of subjective emotion and whim, whereas the "natural world" adapts out of necessity

an animal changes colors over time in response to its environment and not because it no longer wishes to appear as it has before


from where does this yearning to distinguish ourselves originate? why must we feel unique?

why are we so uncomfortable with turning to another and acknowledging, "I am you and you are me and you and I are the same?"

style limits

it is a negative response to what is

and the harder we work against existence, the further we erode the beauty of the inconceivable, by folding it into the constraints of the tangible, the physical, the real

by folding it into ourselves

by folding ourselves into it