“The limits of my language is the limits of my world.” – Wittgenstein
To make up for the mystery, tales told brought comfort, familiarity to the dangerous unknown, fortune saved us as numbers stacked up one to ten, googols to infinite particles colliding against a supernova, stranded dust awaiting for the intrinsic reaction that brings order to chaos, logic to irrational sequences of thought, inside in a graph paper, bounded hardcover, a rule of thumb: Numbers flirt with language until they aren’t confined by a letter. Logic flirts with us until there’s no way to say what extends beyond a thing. Not as a reader nor writer, but a tingling music scale, tupleting, infiniting a ting.
Want to go deeper into Wittgenstein’s work? Watch this debate about the limits of language: https://iai.tv/video/the-word-and-the-world