Wovon Man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss Man schweigen, and all that
I can’t really pretend that I know my Wittgenstein from my Castle Wolfenstein, but still … If this famous principle (“About what cannot be spoken of, one can only remain silent”) means anything like what it appears to mean, then I can — unexpectedly, utterly inexplicably — vouch for its truth.
Or rather I can’t, because I can’t actually vouch for anything: “one can only remain silent.”
One way of saying it might be thus: it’s almost hilariously ironic that having written a book in which the protagonist experiences events which he knows to be impossible, I should now find myself in effectively the same situation.
Nevertheless, it happened. (Is still happening, in fact.)
As for what “it” is … Silence is the only sensible option. Fortunately I’m a writer of fantastic fictions, so I’ll be able to write it down and no one will be required to believe a word.
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