Language pisses me off. Moreso, how language’s users/creators largely are ignorant of the importance, function and beauty of the language they are viciously mistreating.

Language has been described as a kind of thought-virus (Wm. Burroughs, a mental hero of mine), the central pillar upon all knowledge, civilization and intellect is precariously balanced, and as a brightly glossed toy – something that can be twisted and bounced to elicit new and surprising veins of inner exploration.

It is certainly fascinating to me, language. It really does shape our entire conception of reality. From the deep kernels of genetic knowledge, to the power to compel humans to obey commands—I stumble over but a few of zillions of much more profound examples, to somehow convey a sense of what I’m struggling to capture here within this line of… language.

Of course, language comes in a spectrum of flavours so finely variegated that no divisions can be discerned. A majority of these existing in increasingly finer shades of subtlety. I’m certain, that of these multitudes, we are only cognitively aware of a very base few. The simple synthesis of our perceptions and then the understanding of these signals could be argued to contain its own codified set of instructions – a language that permits the cogitator to take a step beyond merely dealing with what is “happening right now” and contemplate strategies (language) and project (language) into future outcomes (among other imaginary realities). Music, obviously. The communication between human and animal, owner and pet. A language does not need words, only a consciousness to push the wave it is surfing on.

What am I going on about? Bedtime.