Language is life and it can die – linguicide – because it can be replicated but cannot be reborn: to lose language is to lose essence, to be nothing but walking air and matter, tongueless, loveless, so when you say my language is “deep and vast,” you’re saying my sense of essence runs deep, and that language, an expression of it, is subject to your cognizance, which, of course, is true, and yes, I write because it is something to glory in – the glory of language – which may appear deep, but it’s not that you sit, mimicking the deep – no, it pulsates through you, like an ocean ripple, the deep awakening, though sometimes there’s no ripple – it’s beautiful when there is – or when you know the winds that stir that ripple, which sounds capricious, but really isn’t, and oh when language pulsates through you, when that line arrives, when that joyous sentence grips you, it is real, visceral, a ripple bearing many extensions of meaning, but deeper than that because meaning is the consequence not the origin, not the ocean, not the face of deep – language pulsates through you before being spoken – and this is not to say that it is all the glory of language and that meaning should be neglected – no, that to me, is narcissist – the point is that language for the writer is, perhaps, a being; a being that speaks to you before you speak; which is a whisper or a scream or a laugh depending on the situation, for there is more than one way for language to unfold, which is why, when language meets an audience, it yields different responses even when commonality is placed unto it – air and ears for example – because those are witnesses of the ocean’s music but not the ocean; yes I’m saying language is an ocean, difficult to define, and this is why words cannot express certain things, not necessarily because language has failed in that moment, but because it is so vast we don’t know where to begin, and even now, in this attempt at conveying what I felt at the beginning of this short restless sentence, I worry it’s been nothing but blabbering – that I too, have found language vast and yet sometimes, despite my obsession, not enough.


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