[I write like a bird.

When I land, I leave a drop of yuck, a condensate of the sublimated waters of Scholasticism and the burnt embers of Modernism.

When I fly, I leave a gaseous trail.

I cannot help it, because I am the harbinger of meaning.

Do not hold me to tightly.  I do not want to be crushed.

Do not hold me too loosely.  Otherwise I will fly away.]