"Other limitations, or other vessels? It's not a definitive list. There could be one, maybe. I could make one. But it wouldn't--"
He's thinking out loud. He can hear it, and he stops abruptly and returns to inhaling the food with a renewed intensity. He doesn't actually finish the thought until he's thoroughly tracked down every last scrap of egg, sopped it up with rice, and eaten it.
"Me saying it won't hold water--not unless something changes in a big way," he concludes at long last. It comes out grim, and there's a truth to that, one that leaves a sour taste in his throat.
"I'm... cut off." He hates the way it sounds coming out of his mouth, hates the way it feels to say it, hates the dull feeling of his thoughts as they run up against an invisible wall, the emptiness of where more should be. The other emptiness, vast and silent, where the words should have been. And his words, and so his Word.
This is why any list he made off the cuff would be incomplete. Missing that essential element of canonocity. He cannot know, or say, and so his heap of ideas, however finely assembled, would only ever be just that. And so too would it be ever haunted by the ghost of more.
This tag is purposefully confusing sorry Steven
He's thinking out loud. He can hear it, and he stops abruptly and returns to inhaling the food with a renewed intensity. He doesn't actually finish the thought until he's thoroughly tracked down every last scrap of egg, sopped it up with rice, and eaten it.
"Me saying it won't hold water--not unless something changes in a big way," he concludes at long last. It comes out grim, and there's a truth to that, one that leaves a sour taste in his throat.
"I'm... cut off." He hates the way it sounds coming out of his mouth, hates the way it feels to say it, hates the dull feeling of his thoughts as they run up against an invisible wall, the emptiness of where more should be. The other emptiness, vast and silent, where the words should have been. And his words, and so his Word.
This is why any list he made off the cuff would be incomplete. Missing that essential element of canonocity. He cannot know, or say, and so his heap of ideas, however finely assembled, would only ever be just that. And so too would it be ever haunted by the ghost of more.