'Another day passes.' Progress is slow and perhaps the goal will always be out of reach: the path stretches out over the horizon. Progress is also quiet and one accordingly dredges up little to say. Each day one confronts an unwillingness to draw, and perhaps the dearth of language is similar.

Of course, sometimes speaking of things when they are not firmly understood serves only to obscure them. There are a great deal of mental stances, altered states one can assume while drawing, writing or really doing any activity involving the mind, and narration only serves as a distraction. Our languages and cultures would do well to give more vocabulary to the mind: it is our greatest tool and yet we hesitate to describe it in anyway. Evidence suggests that language arose rather recently in human history, and it may take hundreds of thousands of years for us grow into ourselves culturally. In some ways, too, we are an artificially evolving species, altering how long we live, the foods we eat and the lifestyle we experience. These factors, too, drastically affect us, and into them we've had even less time to adapt. It is easy to say 'change is the rule of man,' and yet sometimes one longs to live as a human only one millennium ago, where a century could pass and everything might stay the same in a sleepy backwater. Certainly industrialization has changed the pace of generations, and each one since has endeavored to hasten further yet.

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