Think of oblios-cap as experimental writing, with a little bit of the semantic overload effect one experiences when repeating a single word over and over too many times so that it begins to lose it's wordness.
Below, a relevant quote from Douglas Hofstadter's "Le Ton Beau de Marot: In Praise of the Music of Language":
I shall devote the remainder of this chapter to describing the highly unstable, dynamic, intuitive art of translation...or at least my own personal experience of it. In doing this, I rely on drafts that I have kept, sometimes up to twenty highly marked-up drafts of a given poem. And yet, despite this wealth of recorded detail, in any particular act of translation, whether of a whole poem, a stanza, a line, or just a single word, there is an unfathomably wide gulf between what I can jot down on paper and what actually goes on hidden in my mind (of which 99 percent, just to pin a number on it, is subconscious and hence inaccessible to my introspection).
Oblio's Cap is, amongst other things, the result of introspectively accessing my subconscious, whatever number one chooses to pin on it.
[]
static link
writebacks: 0 (writeback = trackback +/- comment)