2020-11-12 | Virus | Knowledge Gumbo
We all come from a golden weave of flourish and decay over six thousand years, scrawled from pictographs to semantic world wide weave; we all come from this. True, we see the plastic form of the cultural retainer we are stuck in now, bumps from the mold press against our lips as we press it to our teeth each night like a kayak against our thighs. The weave flows, tributaries and tributes, idols and horror bounce in the rapids, enemies and men to be feared. Our teeth rattle anyway. And her, Medusa, the vicious White Goddess, rips out any plodding man's viscera, dashed on the sharp grey rock.
There is a caution, a form of Wisdom born of fear of the rapids, that the weave is unknown. From a certain perspective this is true. We have six thousand years of civilization around written language. How could the weave be understood? Only a fool would attempt it. You will be cast out of Eden for that! And, again, she snakes around the tree of knowledge. She is always there. She will always be there. All answers are vicious. All rides crash. We cannot leave.
Before word, what was that? There were no accounting tables for grain. Our idol was Venus, a stone token of birth, reproduction, and breasts for sustenance. Here we are in word, though, in civilization, in our retainer, our law. "The words are just confessions of a mask".