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?"
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