Please.

 

Toss me some meaning, like some loose change you may throw the homeless or the street musician playing for so many complicated reasons.

   

I offer up to you some artifacts, more artifacts.  Yes, I know you are surrounded, your Place obscured by the number.  But where else am I to find it, this meaning?  Consider what I propound, see what you see, even if nothing, and arrange, categorize.  (Based on what, though?  Your inner idiom?  Give me that.)

 

And yet…

 

I subject you to limits, some regulations.  I can’t completely let go, can I?  I set the number of meaning groups (though how you arrange, or why, I cannot guess).  I created the artifacts, with their own vocabulary, didn’t I?  Yet you are the ones that give them meaning.  Advise me on that.  Every individual matters.

 

Here you live, day to day, immersed in all these signs, these systems of thought.  These floating  signifiers represent your future, don’t they?  How different are your efforts really, your writings, your discussions, hysterically generated?