These words from 'East Coker' would be a befitting preface to the picture:

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years-
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of *l'entre deux guerres-*
Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholy new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.


On Saturday, May 7, 2016, Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

> The 'Word' vis-a-vis the 'words'
> "If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
> If the unheard, unspoken
> Word is unspoken, unheard;
> Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
> The Word without a word, the Word within
> The world and for the world;
> And the light shone in darkness and
> Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
> About the centre of the silent Word."
> CR
> On Saturday, May 7, 2016, Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]
> <javascript:_e(%7B%7D,'cvml',[log in to unmask]);>> wrote:
>> TS Eliot at his typewriter, 1945
>>                               "Words strain,
>> Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
>> Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
>> Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
>> Will not stay still."
>> CR