Sights and sounds dominated his notion of sensory experience, and so it was patterns and contrasts, arrangements in abstract perspective that attracted all meaning in the familiar places where he strolled. This meaning was as if read out of the changing presentation, and so it seemed that there must be patterns of words that could pick up and repeat its significances, or even that the significant configurations he was experiencing were the refracted memories of poems he'd once read. He could not develop this hunch any further, the words would not come, and certainly not with the same determinedly unemphatic pregnancy of spatiality. So it was silently the he immersed himself in the relation of this dull greenish patch and that rust coloured patch, and that grey edge of a roof against the sky. Could the relationship of things seen become the subject and he the object? He was all event and they were being, but these were in no way separable. These scenes to be effective needed to be sought out in the most familiar, to have the quality of having patiently awaited recognition, whether he of they or they of him. But also, he was forced to admit, he made too much of the modality of the visible when it was immersion in sense, in the sense of sense, the modality of modalities, that he sought. Taste, smell, feeling and the inner sense were the sleeping giants of being. No philosophy but that would sit at the feet of his nose.