Not another Word

Take one word. Take any, but for the sake of experiment, or what someone else might say, "humour me", just this once, just one if you please. You can proceed to write an infinite book or speak a never-ending discourse, a rant to be more precise, utilizing, or scripting or uttering every other word in the existence of former future noises and sightings in any language, even those never before heard or seen, and you can make sense to more than just someone. Might be anyone. Nothing said will displease everyone; how could you know such a thing? Are they even real or is there only a need for deafening applause and then who cares how it comes about? That could be your execution! Recognition and encouragement are quite other words altogether.

Your word. Every other word has something to say about it. And then you notice there is no word. There are no words. Alphabets grow on no tree in any combination but much reference to trees and reverent trees at that. There are war nodes, but these are imaginary. Iterations and re-iterations of sightings and soundings plucked from a string and immortalized in fret-work. If all the frets are in the wrong place, like around your neck instead of across it, there is still some play which makes music. The brain is just an organ, simulating horns like a rhinocerus mask and strings making you as well as a puppet. Don't fret. Bow. That is to say, fiddle.

In Japanese, the sensei is the one making sense, especially when it is not common. The sensei has a bag filled with arousals. Some druids had letters in their bags. Each letter is a word. There is nothing else like it in the world except a string of them. Robert Graves, the grave robber that is, he may well have been but noticed the secrecy of cranes forming cuneiform on the sky and some ancient one collected them and discovered the post office weighting for the right brothers to hear news of flying human thought impossible before writing. And so there is much precedence to wronging, setting both phones and ears to ringing.

Dialectics was always the crossing of lines and there was always the confusion between lines and words, immortalized by the latin word, 'lect' which sounds so much like a leg someone somewhere must have seen a utilitarian connection with running and then there was a flying off of the handle for the hard of hearing and their hand signals. The most efficient way to pull a leg is with the mouth. Taking care not to bite lest there be insult or fright. Without language, there is no magic. Ecology proves it in no certain words – it's poetic. There is no representation. There is no exchange. There are no terms. Senseless? There is more and less of it, depending on your firms or variable density. Gibberish, or the double reductive jibber-jabber is perfectly reasonable in the language of rogues and gypsies, which, in fact, is any cant or cryptolect but your own, and that is the final word on that. Take it or leave it.