I have always felt that language imprisons us. Every true feeling that we get. Every true connection with life. We destroy it by relating it only to the images that we can describe with our limited language. It’s like a prison cell. Poem and Mathematics stand near the door of that cell.
Sunday, August 14, 2016
How can I explain to you the joy of seeing a new color. From the memory of experiencing the first color, you start reconsidering what you thought of as giving you life, getting closer to realizing that nothing gives you life. The relief that finally you know that your life is yours. The beginning of everything that is yours.