Sense, as described through nonsense.

I don't think with my senses. I think behind my eyes. Is that why I return to the same spots so regularly, and retrace so often the same paths? So that I needn't revise my own world of symbols and simple expectations?

What is the pain of a biting insect? It has a great and commanding focus to it, such as can make a single, pulsing point out of a while swath of flesh in the mind. It shines, it is like a star, a single shining, radiating point, a vast expanse of nothingness set apart by the light which shines behind it, while it itself is no more than the path to the senses.

What if I scratched a star? Which Itch would it kill? And with what hand might I reach it?

What does a city always sound like? Cars, cars, cars. And people, in their cars, occasionally. What was a city before there were cars? Was it the sound of wooden wheels? Of breying draught animals? Chickens?!

Some sounds, with their persistence, kill our ears-- But it would be arrogance to distinguish which ones.

-FTF