I have had a few weeks where I have been struggling for words. I don't know which to use. What to say, when to say it. I try and sometimes I feel it is in vain. More so, I have been in the fog to write them. I started posts here and I have left them and every time I go back and open the post list, the word Draft in orange italics sits stubbornly next to the title, glowing back at me, letting me know just in case I hadn't already noticed, like a protester holds up a sign in a street protest in any major city street. I, like them, have clogged up traffic behind me, a jam of words, the motorway has not been flowing. And I have not been capable to ease the flow. My word-traffic police has not been able to regulate and ease the pressure.
Because that is what it feels like sometimes, a pressure building up. I know I have to get the words out and on paper. Yet I have been chewing and chewing until alas, the flavour has been lost. And then I get lost. I am defunct without words. I need them. I am not actually the one with the most expansive vocabulary, I don't often need spellchecker on here but I like to have it anyway, because we should make effort to uphold words. I think they should be written, showcased on a page in their glory, with all the punctuation around them to enhance their presence on a page like an accesorised model on the crisp white catwalk background. Once I manage to put them there they are indelible emotions to me. They are chiseled and engraved on the page as if we still wrote on stone, just like everyone has quotes that are etched in our minds.
Sometimes we have to go and look for them. That is what I have been doing for the last few days. I not only think, but I search my thoughts. I have to journey to find them, find the words that mean the most to me for the journey I am on. Together we can continue to bon voyage together. Sometimes we find them in music, other times in speeches, movies, books, conversation, and like that we can journey all the same, at times in a suitcase, or in a rucksack, other times in an overnight bag. We take them with us. The music is the means the words travel on, and our chosen form of transport.
I have needed to caress them out of me lately, let them then find their flow, a foreplay to where I want to go. To find our way we often need music and a rhythm of life, I need to find words, that is why I like reading. I want to continue the rhythm, the piano and the forte. Speed it up and slow it down, get me in the mood and I will give it back. Excite me. And when my mind already turned on and has no need for a musical foreplay I will write a quickie; short and sharp yet to a final satisfaction.
There is a West African proverb that says: when an old person dies a whole library dies because everything was written in his mind. I love my bookcase, I love my books, but the biggest collection of words is in my head. Whether I can find them and then get them out or not is another thing. The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live.
Oh, and I like to make words up, inventing them in my head for my meaning. I can feel a Blackadder the Third episode coming on...contrifabulations...aardvark...sausage?!?