I dreamed a troubled dream last night of a language that consisted entirely of words. No constituent phrases, no sentences, no compounds, no derivational morphology of any kind: just words. In fact, there were no paragraphs or chapters or books: just words. The works of Shakespeare would be translated into this language as a single word. No homonyms, no synonyms, no metanyms: each word was unique. In fact the dictionary consisted of a single word. (No, it was not aum.) No libraries: just a word. I awoke and shook off the silly notion of finding just one word per concept, and in the light of the breaking dawn, I accepted that some things need more than one word to express. The freedom was invigorating.

Ceci n'est pas un seing.