Language, and the ever expanding volume of words, is a collection of venn diagrams. From one thousand feet up it looks just like a storm cloud. At the smallest scale, it seems like cells in a state of mitosis; splitting and fragmenting – all from one original idea. One day, I hope I’ll get to meet the speaker from whose lips came the great, indelible origin of it all. Now I’m not a betting man, but I’m guessing the first word sounded something … like love.
Sometimes you want to make music. Sometimes you just want to listen.
Sometimes you want to write novels. Sometimes you want to read them.
Sometimes you want to speak.
Sometimes you want to be heard.
Sometimes you want to be quiet.
Sometimes you don’t have the words.
Fulminant – occurring suddenly and with great intensity.
“Each day is fulminant, exploding brightly under the gaze of his exquisite sires, frozen in the famed paint of dead masters.” – Maya Angelou