And yet something in the objection will not lie down. Our words are woven into thirst, pain, work, mourning — into a form of life. When you say "water" it is anchored, somewhere down the line, in drinking. When the machine says it, the anchor chain runs to other sentences, and from those to others still. Whether the chain ever reaches ground, or whether — for any of us — it needs to, is perhaps the question this whole site exists to worry at.