Thought is Dread

We think with our tears, with our sadnesses, W. says. We think from our humiliations, our desperations …

Thought is the hangman, our hangman, W. says. Thought has its nooses ready, just for us.

Really, thought is a kind of assault, W. says.

To think is to stray. To think is to err greatly: who was it who said that?, W. wonders. Well, there's erring and erring. There's straying and straying.

In the end, thought is dread, W. says. It is indistinguishable from dread.