When you see these words & these arrangement of words you know which brother wrote them. In fact, brother doesn't even need to put his name on the book—his muddy fingerprints are on every page. You can read any single sentence from the book & see brother's signature. Brother owns these words. Or these words own brother. These words & strings of words are baked deep into brother's genetic code. I'm not even sure brother knows what he is writing when he writes, or if it's his genetic code traveling through his fingertips into a pen & transcribing itself on paper, into words, to get itself out from underneath his skin onto the pages of an immortal book object. Or beyond just the book object, it gets embedded into this giant muddy ball of word strings that is brother. Even if you are not brother you become brother to this brother by witnessing for yourself the brilliant spectacle of the muddy juggernaut of words, until you yourself see the beauty of brother's words in the world outside of these books (yes, that's a fish above the door).