(no subject)

Today I appear to be in a space wherein language cannot be used to meaningfully describe my environment. It's very interesting. I could say, "I really like the way that book looks," and it would be accurate on the surface, but entirely inaccurate in describing what I really mean to say. Which, as it turns out, might be indescribable.

Hmm.

Must be time for some poetry, or something.

Song of Myself, Stanza 18

18

With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,
I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches
for conquer'd and slain persons.

Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in
which they are won.

I beat and pound for the dead,
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for
them.

Vivas to those who have fail'd!
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome
heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest
heroes known!