Tolkien wrote a new language to disappear into the middle of the earth. How can I throw my hat and my ring deep into the pits where none can say: this is good this is evil this is the one we've been waiting for. St. Augustine decided, after a time, to let himself walk into god's maw and grind up in His gizzard; I don't have enough faith in the process to be digested in a stomach outside my mind. Sartre was nauseous and more afraid of crustaceans than committed to more than the meaning a self might write. Today, I can't hear anyone think any thought that isn't meant to be the most important in history.