all of dc glaser 's papers his notes his paperclips his pens his stubby pencils his folded scarps of paper upon which are scribbled in bleary midnight haste a bevy of fragmented ideas scraps gathered from the sleeping mind and ferried over into the light by desperate messenger that flimsy ship across raging seas and the note is all which remains a few ragged letters and these shapes are the building blocks the pieces which make up everything she looks at them not reading just looking and it strikes her then in a strange way that those letters are the dawn of everything they are the difference between animal and humanity the something else the spark language is everything she thinks it is the gateway it is path to self awareness without language there is nothing but sex there is only evolution the slurry of genes spilling out generations diluted and frail .