witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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I�ve begun writing again. I began writing because I returned to reading; my departure from it attributed wholly to being an English major. In exploring the depth of language, I felt pitted against the bedrock of it by the weight of words. The richness and history of them betrayed by the ignorance and ingratitude of those, of me, who used and misused them every day. Who continue to misuse them today. And tomorrow. And forever.

But language lends itself to use, if not more aptly, abuse. It simultaneously gives us everything we need, while also punishing us by withholding the means to arrange a proper bridge from our brains to our tongues, leaving the fluid stream of our thoughts to be crossed on a rickety string of rope and wood. Forcing gaps between each step and stepping (steeping, stopping) between each force.

After years of my head being dunked beneath the surface of every sentence by English professors, I was content to skim the skin of every word�to stop picking at the scabs of speech. But now I�m slowly peeling back the Band-Aid, and though it pulls at my hairs and stings, it�s necessary to examine the scar beneath.

7:06 a.m. - Saturday, Sept. 22, 2012

Then - Now