Sunday September 23rd 2012
I was born with both hair and a remarkably high
opinion of myself. And I still have an irritating amount of each.
Which is why, during the break time, I can find myself laying down the
law to no good end, and for no good reason whatsoever. And it's
this same high opinion that also allows me to avoid sharing those
criticisms of Kierkegaard that bemoan his lack of a structured volume of
work that sets out his thinking in sentence after sentence, through well
constructed paragraphs, on to a conclusion. Instead I'll say that
language is endless, and the very idea of 'conclusion' is a
concept better explored by something like a commercial, or a political
enterprise, or a week.
Language, was always the
first step out of Eden. And as well, it's the place to go for comfort
and joy, when proteins, roughage and pure calories from sugar are not
enough. "Yes you look pretty and not in the least like a Polar Bear."
And through the generations language has been reduced by what might be
called 'discipline,' or 'bundling' or perhaps 'fascism,' a something I'd
rather call 'the official in charge of safety.' But whatever its name,
it has quite prevented language from absorbing the parameters set for it by
both grammarians and dictionaries, spelling tests, or by what so many have
reduced to the word 'comp.' An absolutely appalling little word that I
think is supposed to reference some part of the word 'comprehension' that's
also found in the word 'composition.' And, according to my informants during
the break time, 'comp' is a nightmare to pass and I need a hair cut.