Wurd up yo,

Today I find you talking and myself listening, and believe it to be wonderful that I may receive information from your monologue. I hear your meaning. Your words bounce around the room, and now I filter them for their purpose. The second conversation, the utility of your words which are too often unrelated to the semantics of your sentence. They are poorly disguised turtles in a crowd of cows, stumbling and betraying the unity of your words. "Moo, moo" you might say, but the turtles have no time to waste talking as a cow might. Instead, they listen and categorize your sentences into "senses". And they whisper to me the intentions of your sentences; "sense of accomplishment, sense of pride, sense of shame, sense of power". They plot to categorize and simplify each sentence you speak into hexes, so that they only need to look upon their back to understand you. Still there is man beyond turtle, and he looks on your intentions and has but three categories for your words. He calls your every word; god, self, and art, and he often confuses the similar three.