Experience, metaphor and nothingness

 

Does experience have always to precede any metaphor we may offer for it, like some algebraic designator whose meaning as it were was in any if not every case a mere variable whose real value as it were was determined by its configuration in the equation? Hence producing a ticket out of our every attempt to determine what it may be like a mad machine that spins out a possible route to a puzzle, or - why not, a path out of a maze? I mean, can words really not stand in for experience - metonymically, offering us a slice of it, so to speak, rather than some kind of pointer sign in a white tiled corridor telling me where the washroom may be?

 Is there a kind of transmissibility of time, via the sharing, or perhaps - why not; the opening up of experience which seeks to shine a light on what was basically a blank emptiness we call the past, illuminated as it were by memory, even if the details are indistinct or unclear - hence perhaps betraying a wish rather than true recollection, which is to be understood via the brand of some emblematic clarity.

 What is unsaid, is what can’t be said - is how those who follow some puzzles find themselves staring at, however apart from this hidden token to silence maybe we should recognize that which was never said - and therefore must be said; thereby changing this patch of nothingness we were meditating over.

 Do only clowns try to do this? I’m sure i’ve heard hooligans claim that that’s gods work, or a priest! who can tell the difference in an age of trolls who have so inundated the critics of yesteryears not in terms of taste or insight but that unique quality Stalin found which quantity has all to itself. But why do I sit someone upon the stool by an old table with nothing on it? Nothingness, I suppose will have to suffice.