The paratroopers fall and as they fall
They mow the lawns
So I wake up thinking about linking together words.
Syntax. I can’t help but love syntax. Syntax is to language, to words of all kinds, what gravity is to living on earth. I love what syntax can make happen between two words and among sequences of words.
Syntax is something to be crazy about. To be worshipped and lauded, praised and thanked; syntax, ah syntax, without you our thoughts would be dispersed and without meanings, without you we would flail about willy nilly sans sense and near-sense and nonsense; we would be lost. I know I would.
Mystery would have no where to propose itself in words; not knowing, being unable to know when being unable to know might be said to be our most significant, defining characteristic, knowing more about not knowing seems like one good idea, and it is often by means of syntax it manifests.
Faith has always accompanied me, a second shadow, an available shade impossible to see, impossible to not see. A near superstitious understanding that to have faith is to believe not in what one knows but in what one cannot know, what isn’t able to be known.
A tricky situation in words. If you know it enough to say something or anything about it, to go so far as to say, it can’t be known, that seems to be indicating you know more than you’re letting on. (And maybe we do, collectively know more than we’re willing to let on, maybe we need to be quiet about some things)