Language (n.) is the light-sensitive film of ideas, and when the referent vanishes into programming no representation remains.
Language (n.) is all de trop except forms that retain some silence and send language toward a shadow beyond our presence.
A Language (n.) seems to reproduce itself as is at every moment and reinvent itself autonomously: a happy predestination.
Language (n.) as form works like an anagram: it signifies as much as possible while signifying nothing.
Language (n.) is illusion in its very motion, carrying a thread of the void through the heart of everything it says.
Language (n.) can never quite speak reality, because it is never real itself; even when it points at things, it does so by ellipsis and irony.
Language (n.) is not there to communicate or inform, which is secondary, but to captivate; its basic power is seduction.
Language (n.) undoes what it means in the very act of meaning it; a thread of nothingness runs through its core.
Language (n.) carries meaning but superconducts illusion, serving signification only as an accidental accomplice.