What is in a word, in this word, in any word for that matter? We speak and think and consume these words, this endless being of expression, but they always seem to fail us. We can’t even trust the dictionary. It gives us conflicting ideologies of “Well… the word means this, yet it also means this, depending on the context, of course.” One is truth, honor, goodness even, while the other leads us to negativity, to falsity, to that dark place we are all trying to escape with too much medicine.
So I am proposing a new idea: no longer shall we express ourselves and the world around us with words. Let’s sit in silence and speak with colors, with music, with weather and seasons. Let’s finally take advantage of the commodities around us and eliminate the noise. No longer should we accept the archaic acts of words when there is so much more out there to utilize our emotions.
Cry in color, write in harmonies, speak with the sun.
Let’s go to the Maldives. We can get a hut. It’ll be one of those huts surrounded by water on three sides with a long bamboo dock to lead us back to land when we’re ready. We can relax. You’ll finally be able to breathe and sleep. I will be tan, thin, and happy. You’ll sing me lullabies and we’ll eat fresh mangoes as the sun sets and the ocean waves us into slumber.
I was once lucky enough to have a balcony
It overlooked the sea
My legs would hang off and
my feet would touch the sand
The breeze blew and blew,
but never knocked it down
I would drink tea with seagulls and
shake the hands of fishermen sailing by
The sun and rain would stop by too
They never got along, but I made time for both of them
I collected my ashes in a small tin can,
But my neighbors complained about the low tide
I don’t have a balcony anymore
There was a great storm
It is buried under years of
memories and distance
and what we all thought was love