In short, our systems of academic thought have attained a critical density that can only result in total implosion... much like a star going supernova and then folding in on itself.

The results, though superficially spectacular, are inherently devoid of meaning... Or at least devoid of any meaning save that that we force or impose upon them.

The concept of words that drive men mad is not a new one. Fiction is full of tales that describe "forbidden knowledge"... things that are too dreadful to know while still maintaining any semblance of sanity or reason. We laugh at the idea.

And yet... All of our academic and linguistic endeavors have, at their heart, the same basic theme: There is meaning only in the spaces between what we intend. Nothing can ever be communicated. Surrounded by words, we are alone... touched by nothing.

Every word you hear or read is poison, that drives you slowly mad. Every act you witness is a scene from a bleak, forbidden theater that you will never understand. You kill yourselves, not with thought... but with the thought of thought... and the thought of that, and of that and on and on to the very end.

There is only one solution, and every poet, prophet or wizard worth his salt has known it... and when they learned it... oh, when they learned it

the poets stopped writing
the prophets stopped speaking
and the wizards still laughed.

It can't be explained... not with words, not with thoughts... but you can be pointed in the proper direction.

The secret can be seen in the cards. Look to number 0, The Fool, and number XII, The Hanged Man. Every answer you've ever needed is there.