And yet, Human Communication is...

So, to you, language is more than just a means of communication?



Oh, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is. Language is my mother, my father, my husband, my brother, my sister, my whore, my mistress, my checkout-girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing-square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God. Language is the dew on a fresh apple; it's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning light as you pluck from an old bookshelf a half-forgotten book of erotic memoirs. Language is the creak on a stair; it's a spluttering match held to a frosted pane; it's a half-remembered childhood birthday-party; it's the warm, wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy; the hulk of a charred Panzer; the underside of a granite boulder; the first downy growth on the upper-lip of a Mediterranean girl. It's cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.

Nite, nite...