We could see. We could perceive the knowledge of the leaves in front of us. Rectangular and as yellow as the hands of an old lady they are liver spotted with words (each letter like a cancer spot, rattling the last call of death). Eye-muscles strain to focus on words that cannot be spoken with human voices. Teeth chatter and vocal chords strain to ring the individual notes. Language as a form of music. Language as the fabric of our flesh, knitted over our bones. It is solid. We can hold language in our hands. We can roll it around in our mouths and taste it. We can feel each of our taste buds stand to attention. They stand separate from each other, like individual hairs (though fat and rounded like tubules or rotund, phallic fingers) tasting the syllables. Senses probe the light (blank areas of paper between the black towers of letters) and rub against the black forms that convey or constitute language. Synapses and syllables, syntax and synaesthesia.