If you're sufficiently self-absorbed and in denial (I am not in denial) you may even raise your pathology to an art form, an art form predicated on multiple scars, multiple cuts in sense, that manufactures multiple senses out of multiple lesions. You embrace and if lucky even aesthetize anaesthetize the gap, the fissure, the blank. You may even concoct an entire epistemology of the scar, the cut, the non-sense. You may even, in your clouded cognitive decline, confuse an episteme with a poetics with a theology. A theology whose sacred text is expressed in a primitive deficient alphabet lacking vowels that converts every message into a kind of poetry, a letterature that multiplies senses because it admits of no certainty.