Word-Fucked
1 In a train, say, watching a barn slide the length of my parallelogram, I annotate. Barn, rusty tin roof car keeping pace with us passing us woods, dog barking its head off. Whatever. Nobody reads the footnotes. 2 I knew a precocious three year old memoirist. Summer, by the seashore, say: I’m running on sand to the edge of the water. This sand is smooooth! Where it’s dark it’s wet. I’m standing on the wet. It fits my feet with cooool. See that wave sliding in Uh oh, It better not reach me I’m not budging. Look how it’s licking my toe. Obviously NOT what I’m getting at here. 3 I meet X with a hug of fellowship and while we are talking how’s Sheila? I record the moments as they pass like a chyron perpetually scrolling across my frontal cortex. And the kids? 4 Even when I’m not thinking anything I do it in words. No syntax, each on its own. The word for this is word-fucked. Like lice in my guts. 5 I married a deaf wife, that didn’t work. I moved deeper into the wilderness, North, to the silence where the loon laughs aloud. Very few things here but just as many words. redundant, inapplicable like a cloud of bloodthirsty mosquitoes wherever I go. But how about you Reader? Perhaps you use words mostly just to say things like good morning, how’s my honey, give me a break, Merry Christmas, I can’t find my keys, and so forth.

Better than using words that maim 💜
This slows me down and provides calm observing state. Magic of your words!