To those of us (I’m speaking to you, reader) who love and nurture our imagination above almost all else, isn’t the ultimate goal to surpass our current limits, and thus increase our imaginative grandeur, our knowledge, our ability to grasp and hold things in their purest form of thought? Isn’t this the highest form of adoration? How does one leap the bars and walls of our word-prison to properly adore the universe? What might be attained through imagination.
The Wake is infinity’s singsong, if one remembers that infinity is something only imagined by human beings, so it is every little finite life’s singsong lovesong out to rich, pulsing, strangely comprehensible infinity. It is the novel that no one and everyone wrote all together, that no one and everyone might read and understand all together. It is a quivering monolith inscribed in wriggling runes. It grows while it decomposes and traverses the Spheres while it stays absolutely still. It is a life-tree and a time-stone, in an idyll beside a river. Language is what gave us time and space- without it one would only see and never know, and so never see. The Wake is above, around, inside, outside, and through the temporal and spatial essences of language.
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