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Word games

Apprenticed so long, I forgot there are masters. Unaware of masters, the art is not recognized. Too sober, too somber, too sullen, too long. Reminded again, discovering the once well known by deliverance from worry and  misdirection. I find freedom contagious – that freeing a part of  you frees the whole. The snorting a good mood is liberating, self sustaining. Auto catalytic?

Feeling the fetters fall from my mind, and off my tongue Words, the reremembered Truth says, are fun. That is the meme. That is the little idea I wish to roll up and pass through you to be inhaled into your essence. That they can be parsimonious or extravagant. Parsimonious and Extravagant. Parsimonious and Extravagant at the same time. Sweeping from the depths of despair  to the highest point of joy.

Most importantly that they are only words. They are tools, our servants, they prostrate their worth at our feet. Their purpose is meaning, their purpose is interaction, but they are not defined by their purpose. They are  toys.

I require cultural literacy. Cultural literacy: the ability to converse fluently in the idioms, allusions and informal content which constitutes a culture. From being familiar with its myths, knowing its history, or understanding its slang, literacy demands an interactive understanding of culture. It is not a test of culture. It is a reminder of the richness of the human experience, how many shared assumption goes into forming something so simple as words. Words form worlds. What powerful playthings we have, you and I.

I bring more Reference to bear in all my doings. More quotations, sneakily used and often uncited, more history more myths more references to the classics and classical civilization. Diving off cliffs into awkward tangents, navigating through currents of obtuse philosophers and errant ideas. Building in jokes and catchy phrases. Or perpetuating myths that I instigate myself. Conscious of actions: they have resonance in history, great one, petty ones, mine, yours. Unconscious of resonance: you only live once.

If you’re still reading, you’re probably wondering what the fuck I’m talking about. Random gibberish, neatly divided into four paragraphs. Perhaps I underestimate you and you do; it’s possible but not likely. I wish you might see, I wish you might understand. But maybe, just maybe some day you’ll have a day like this day. And you’ll understand.

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2 Comments

  1. Sounds like one of those days when I pick up a random piano book and play the first few lines of every piece. Makes no sense to other people and not very productive, but hell it sure is fun.

    • mtalib
    • Posted April 25, 2007 at 10:41 pm
    • Permalink

    You are a genius Dom. That’s exactly what I mean. But turn it from some day into every day (so far).


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