So a thought occurred to me today, something interesting and unprecedented. I was standing in the bathroom, sort of half awed at the tile and silver aura of the place, and truth be told I think I had just weighed myself. If the scratched postcard of my memory is correct, the scale said 211.5 today.

In any case, it was one of those moments that you can see yourself, from outside, and I became conscious of the fact that I was looking at myself, and had just started to wonder if my self-awareness was contributing to my pose, the angles of my arms and crook of my head, as if I were posing for a scene in a book (that's what it almost felt like) and then - I sort of fell, rushing, through the veins of my own history, my own art, and the ideas I had burned through in years past. Maybe it was just all those mirrors, but thinking back on it now, I see ripples through quicksilver. Or maybe that's from the book in which I posed. And the thought was basically this: words.

I don't know why this hasn't really occurred to me before. Perhaps it's one of those anthropology-like things: something so ingrained and ubiquitous that it is rendered transparent. And perhaps this is doubly true for me (if transparency can be doubled), since I have thrown around so many words in my time, a good 1/3 of them adjectives, and most of them unnecessary and indulgent. Or maybe it is because I am reading Delillo again, and that always gets me twisted up in a Futurist riot.

But it seemed so clear for one instant, one crystalline moment, that the way inside- the mainline to a human's consciousness- was words, not sound, not abstract shapes on paper, but words...

Not that I need another career change at the moment. But definitely, some further thought needed. But as usual, it is time to put the sweet little monster to bed. So I will return later, with more words.