Sometimes I feel like murdering them, squashing them under my feet, watching letters bleed out, separated from the word they are attached to.

Other times, I place them in an incubator, checking in on them from time to time.

Some go in a special box. I wear the key around my neck.

On occasion, words sting me, knowing just how to punch my buttons, which aren’t that hard to find, since I come equipped with all kinds of buttons, switches, and on and offs.

A few have lost their way, trying to find the morning from the depths of night.

Others become feral. I’ve been told not to feed them, though I’m too sensitive. Now they’re hopelessly dependent upon me.

I’ve broken up with a few. They either get mad, sad, or crazy. A few have broken up with me. I either get mad, sad, or crazy.

Really though, I can’t complain. All in all, they’re pretty solid, clearing things up when communication gets hazy, commanding peoples’ attention when they’re not reading me.

Actually, I think, I kind of like them. I know you do too. (But don’t say it out loud. They have humongous egos.)



22 Comments on “About

  1. Yes, I’ve just been working on other projects that aren’t related to the blog. This is the first time I’ve signed in. I’ll be back posting again very soon. Thanks my friend.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. The picture along with the words you have written, can’t help but make me think. That you make your own path with your words. One that will definitely take you far. Lovely photos paired up with such well put together words. Well done!

    Liked by 1 person

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  5. You might want to read Phaedrus by Plato. Thoth makes an appearance. But what is rhythmic, writing or the voice? And can being out of tune be communicative? You might stumble upon a theme hidden in my latest post.

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  6. Hello, again, and the fact that old Thoth was the god of writing, wisdom, and magic tells us something. I am currently reworking a novel and discovered long ago that the only way I can tell if it’s “right” is to read it or hear it read out loud. As I’m sure you know, you can “hear” when a sentence is out of tune, just like the instrument out of tune at the back of the orchestra. I might not know right away what the problem is but I know there is a problem. Eventually I find.

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  7. Hello, Elan, what a lovely discovery-someone who leads with language, edgy language, pure language, language for its own sake. Language is the only tool we have to formulate ideas–to think. We can do many things without it. We can feel, work, sweat, water our plants, rock our grandchildren, but we cannot think without it. And then there’s the sound, the music, most of it is meant to be read aloud. Aside from the visual arts, it is the way we describe what we see. I look forward to reading your blog.

    Liked by 3 people

  8. Pingback: Mystery Blogger Award – Crooked Creek

  9. Thanks so much. I guess butchering could be considered an art form. You know, spare ribs, pot roast, fish fillet. Lol. Good luck with slicing the fat off your “hads”.


  10. Well, you certainly have a poet’s soul. I had to butcher the English language to make my poems rhyme, so I’m a bit envious. Looking forward to future posts.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. I at times feel as if my words are so ancient no one understands what I am saying, including myself. But I always remind myself, I can not be the only one in the world who talks, writes, or communicates as I do. How else would I have learned to do that?

    Liked by 2 people

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