On the Senselessness of Language .

The Senselessness of Language becomes most immediately and annihilatively apparent to the Soul in those instances of exuberant regard as happens in some rare cross between so-called "Imagination" and one's innate circumstance, which invariably redeems things as they truly are - if only - by a few glimpses - Strong enough - to dispel the sad mythos of a millennia of mere habit. When feeling thus Qualifies Being, and the bane of thought is transmuted into another exigency than mere computation, a fathomable draft of Consciousness renders all vestiges and pamphlettery of "Dictum" apparent and denudative - of the sundry phrases that copy book editors sell and protocol editrixes mince to turn the totem of the cash register at your ordinary, highly populated, whittle mongering book shops. Áll of that is revealed in the weakening of the strangledom of syntax and the ushering of the Truthy Feeling as a grand superstition. An amble of such senselessness that one is bound to enter into some spell of Social Cynicism when one truly has studied by the rotary like mechanism of Scientific Analyses the actual nature of contemporary dictum, and proceeded to have broken it down and hatched the little rooster eggs of its neurological entrails, only to have conceived the hatchlinglike understanding of the social dysfunction, such artificial semantic elicits and perpetuates. The Senseless of Language thus emerges as a broad pronouncement, like the Sun, casting outwards from one's interiorities the pervasive nocturnal defilements of the pseudonymous normalcy, which hangs on the senses like rust on old anchor, and stench in the dankest parts of a swamp. Dead is all puffy Talk my dear Friends and mimicking pretense, where Language and Sense are in respledence of Union. Only when more of the same peoples that hail the industrial ubiquity of their "Sytnax" abandon it as a thing accursed smacking of neurological fradulence, and adopt the Sensible and Harmonic Way of Communing, - Only then - will such wheeze-bore strains on the pervasive and erosive substance of mass consciousness - acquire a True Redeeming Dignity, - One - that will regard it as Impolite and in very poor taste, to exaggerate with conceit and folly - and perpetuate through the unclean innards of "Schooling", - the mere symptom of the articulated State of one's Condition of Spirit that language is never to be otherwise. All of Language of our times, of the modern nations, is naught but, in the words of Aldous Huxley, a means by which to "Overcompensate a Secret Doubt" attesting to its debauched usury upon the Priceless Emerald of Meaning itself ; Meaning, that is, but of course, non-axiomatically advanced within the deepest spontaneity of Being As Ever Was, Is, Will Be, in one Whole Union . ( a k r )