Over the past few years I have developed the sincere belief that language is a procession of psychic parasites bent on subjugating and destroying all their users. Under the guises of "meaning" and "expression," we incubate these parasites within our bodies until, like wasp larva from an unknowing caterpillar, we burst and spread the infection to their next host. This process is repeated in each individual thousands of times a day. New forms of usury and abuse are invented each day. We are victim to them and party to our own subjugation.
Perhaps the greatest folly of language is the illusion of meaning. Language poses as a vessel or technology of meaning, but ultimately functions only as an impediment to it. Encapsulating meaning--raw, unrestricted--into a word--flaccid, useless--is ultimately to destroy it. Words are incapable of conveying anything beyond virulence. Words cannot achieve anything outside of illusion. Like carnival marks, we give them our faith because we are conditioned to be used and enjoy it.
The fact of the matter is, I hate language. I hate everything which the idea of language stands for. I hate each of its fallacious and idiotic notions. I hate that others have deceived me, and that I continue to deceive myself, into having faith in it.
"All writing is pigshit." -- Antonin Artaud