Say what you will, but in the end you must give it a name.

You  must latch it to now or there or why. Even if you disown it,  it is your hand, your will, that must cast it away.

And  if  you keep it, you must find a box for it, a place  for  it  to sleep until it is found again.

All the boxes here in this patient computer come with labels that must be filled out, just so: eight letters -- no more .

If your thought is too  complicated, too ambivalent or multivalent to be caught in  eight little letters, that's too bad. You will have to be even more  inventive,  perhaps  even ironic, and certainly  cryptic.  Computers  have rules.  They  won't catch you for lying, but not to name is  unforgivable.

I wonder, then, what more we say by what we call what we say.

9/7/94