Speaking of which

It occurs to me that there is not an appreciation of play. I mean, word-play. And here I'm just Heideggerizing some stuff, 'word' and 'play', but anyway here's the point: language is fun.

Better still, language is that through which (and only through which) meaning is possible. What there is in the world, and what is interesting, if terrifying, about the world is mediated by our language. Poetry is word-play taken to extremes. Shakespeare can't be anything but word-play. And ordinary cleverness with words is the extraordinary expression of that quintessentially human mode of existence which is the conceptually embodied life. Or something.

Apologies to fizhburn for philosophizing without a license.


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