Friday, October 30, 2015

Dithyramb.


I like words.  I just wrote about music:  It's the lyrics, the words that move us, right?  Some people, if the songs are lyrical poetry, are moved deeply by music.  It's the words, and how they are written, that trigger emotions...  The order, the emphasis, the punctuation, the syntax...  Italicized or bold or underlined.  Read these words!  Ignore the rest!

I want to write my thoughts into words, and express them.  Often.  I feel, not just a desire, but a drive to write.  I write when I should not.  I write to people who don't want to read what I have to say.  I write words that no one will ever read.  I write words that no no one should ever read; sometimes I offer them up to be read anyway; I shouldn't do that.  Many times I should write words for myself, and myself alone.

And I read words that others wrote for me.  I read words that were written just for me, to me, about me.  I read them, and they give me hope, or make me cry, or frustrate me.  Words make me angry.  Words hold such power over me.  I love words.  When a person can write beautifully, they can capture a heart and hold onto it; they are a weapon with power that no other craft can wield.  Kisses mean nothing.  I love you, sounds nice when said aloud, but is so commonplace.  Let me count the ways...

Once words are written are they truth?  Are they?!  If they are written just for us, a love letter, or a goodbye letter, or an epitaph, they are the truth from the heart of the writer.  Right?  Write?

Is it easier to lie when speaking or writing?  I read words and believe they are truth.  Because I can't write lies.  I can write things I don't mean.  I can write angry words, or sad words, or words that express a feeling or emotion that is in that very moment and not in every moment.  Even if I believe words are truth, I want to ignore that sometimes.  I want to ignore the words that hurt me:  Flip the pages of a story back to the part where it felt good.  It felt good to read that part.  I wanted that part to be the truth and only truth.  And once you keep reading, you can't undo the after words.  You can't undo words at all.  You can't just erase them and think:  There, they are gone now. That is not what I wanted to see and hear and feel.  I'll just go back to the first page and stop before I get to this part again.  I didn't mean it.  She didn't mean it.  He didn't mean it.

Because some words do erase past words, written in promises and in joy and in love.  Some words, even a few short sentences make all the other words inconsequential and irrelevant... Irrelevant.

Yet, I always feel like my first words are the most truthful... and words with no response become more and more desperate and unreal.  If I write words in questions, the person should answer.  Unanswered words are the saddest thing I've ever seen... or felt...

Imagine a letter, written so carefully and thoughtfully to you, lost in a drawer, or fallen behind a bench, or a chest of drawers... You never even know it existed.  What if they were the words you needed to read?  What if they are never found?  What if they come too late?

Words break my heart.  I hold onto words.  I hold onto words written long ago by me, by others... and words just written.  I hold onto words I know no one will read. I hold onto words I wish someone could see.  I hide from words I don't want to process or see again.

I hate words when deeply they affect me, and take me from one place to another so easily...  Words that take me to a place I didn't want to go, yet are carved into marble, and forever etched in my brain.  You can't erase words written in stone.  I hate words.

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