My Romance With A Disembodied Entity (AKA, Things I wrote)

On Language: and My Subsequent Love For Her

My friend says that my attraction to language borders on the sexual, and save that I have never been aroused to a fever pitch by the well chosen use of a conjunctive adverb he may be correct. Undoubtedly if language were a lady, I would have wined her, dined her, bought her roses, left her romantic notes scattered around her home, and then when she felt so inclined taken her to a nice hotel room wherein waited scented candles and a Barry White CD. Then, together we could form something so incredible that the muses themselves could be inspired, I’d even stick around until morning when she’d wake up and I could tell her I was going to work but I’d come and see her again afterwards.

All of this is in and of itself, an outlook and approach so antipodal to that of the mass populous, who seem to have merely seen Language in a bar and decided she was “hot enough” so they slipped a roofie in her drink and once it had taken effect they pulled her into the bathroom and forced themselves on her. Leaving her crying and ashamed of herself when she remembers what had occurred that sorrowful night. This manner is only further enforced through how English is presented in today’s schools.

These institutions of learning do little more for Language that degrade her through slander, portraying her as little more than a common prostitute with an uncommon knowledge of Shakespeare. But even that knowledge cannot overshadow the pus-oozing cold sore caused by the herpes complex BBX1000 which these “educators” have made their students believe she has through their libelous claims.

Allow me this space however, dear readers, to purvey unto you the truth of Language’s form, her appearance, her styles, her very essences; all of which compound to make her singularly beautiful, and though imperfect, a brilliant and wonderful entity. Language is in reality a beauteous mistress, the sort who can and will provide you with the most stimulating of conversations. One who will allow you your quirks and perversions, and should she catch your eyes roving away to observe her body’s fine curvature will not chastise you but find it amusing, and with a knowing wink encourage you to look again later. She is a renaissance woman capable of satisfying mind and soul with an infinite range of costumes, dresses, and coverings and she is incredible in all of them. All of these features compounded however, do not equal that quality, the levels of which appear infinite in her as to blind me to her imperfections. Her forgiveness.

For I must admit I have wronged Language in the past, I have sullied her good name and wronged her in a manner that I may never forget lest I take her for granted again. Worse yet, I blamed her for the failures in our relationship; I stated defiantly that any grievance she could level was the result of her imperfection and that was my greatest sin. Yet she has taken me back and I am more infatuated with her than ever. As I look however, I see many of you doing Language harm, you have forced yourself onto her and it saddens me immensely to see her injured so. Learn from her other partners about her likes and wants; Bukowski, Burroughs, Homer, and Guanzhong, excellent references all, for they knew her like few others will and should you take the time to heed their advice before courting that ravishing lady, Language, you will both be better for it.

The ashen sky remained surprisingly still, only the silky grey clouds lapped at the skyscraper windows, rolling gently, dizzily across the horizon. Below however, the masses were wide-eyed in horror, some prayed, some wept, and most all panicked. Grocery stores were flooded by the fearful flocks of men and women as they packed in crying for canned Corn and Beans at 49 cents per tin.

These crowds subsided eventually as crowds will do, for it may have been the end of days but given the choice, people prefer to die in comfort, curled up on a rug in front of a fire with the dog and wife nervously playing Scrabble. As if by giving Armageddon the cold shoulder it might simply pass them by and wander back into the night sulking like a child.

Minutes ticked by and the city streets they were empty save for one couple, who strolled down the promenade arm in arm, giggling gaily at one of those jests which is so common between lovers. “To you two young fools down there,” shouted a man from a balcony, “do you not know what today is?”

“Of course I do sir,” came the joyful reply, “and what better time to live, as we have yet to die.”

The pair on the street tumbled about with unbounded glee, the man on the balcony merely sighed murmuring that he had tried. As the balcony door shut the skies tore asunder with a great flash of light, and there was silence broken only by laughter.

Some time later, shy as a schoolgirl the light receded blushing pale pink against that grey silken sky. The buildings remained though there tenants were gone, Scrabble words stood half-spelled, and the cans of Corn and Beans so carefully stored in cellars proved to have been a pointless endeavor.

However, one couple smiled at each other as they giggled gaily and strolled along the rest of the promenade.