The certainty of self, other and identity that is sought in language is only ever represented in language but is never of it nor of the world we assert it upon as system(s) of belief. Notice here that the self-gravitation towards repetitive patterns of thought as unacknowledged pathology is the most common form of mental (as much as cultural) life and that it seems only when these linguistic systems find themselves detached from the form and flow of the shared and consensus pathology of a world that requires them that they become problematic. I guess I am wondering what these words and the selves we build around and with them really are. Why is it that language allows us to simulate the closure and certainty we all seem to seek but never allows us to obtain this dream and fantasy of complete self-knowledge or indisputable rational proof and truth? Is our core psychological existence and as much as we might ever express or share it through words deeply dependent upon an illusion?