HashtagLanguage

Constant super nova. Intrinsic language trains built Into the subdermal. Helvetica Hematomas. Without language would I love you any less, or would the blind maddening urge to tell you mutate my very vocal chords till they go from growl to grunt, grunt to gab? A veritable Darwinian slip n slide right into math and advertising, the speak and say of evolutionary theory. The Beagle says, "moo". You know the rest. Below the Language skin we all say moo. If I could give up my lingual cortex or frontal lobe or whatever such word some doctor sneezed out there is for it, I would give them to you. Maybe you could use it to shield yourself from alien nano miners out to strip mine, pick-ax, blast all the language out of your heart, cause that's where language comes from. The word for the sun comes from the brain, but the need for the word comes from the ebullient heart at dawn. For the word "dance" was born out of the first uncontrollable urge to boogie when you hear the call in your heart beat, the word yes is the heart's way of thanking you for an orgasm. Any ways, perhaps you can use my language center to protect yourself, or maybe on days you remember me you could have it whisper messages my prison guard memory sends. Little poems in my voice

" Dream dream we are all dream, not one thing is what it seam, starlight inside and outside the door, they dance and dance and dance some more."

See? language comes from the heart. There is no reason there. Just pure energy formed into letters, by a machine none the less. I'm not writing this so much as tapping out the rhythm. Bah, it's all flapdoodle and some good old American punch your wife in the face bullshit. Language and love, albeit they dine in the same restaurants, daresay even share a table on Tuesday evenings habitually for at least four Tuesdays running, have an understanding. Love gives language a reason to dance, to paint, to invest in IBM. It let's language despair and know in it's heart, under the first arch of the M, that there is no hope. Love allows language to play and to run, to stop being words in those special sticky moments. Without language love would still reign in the land, tender looks, touches, grunts, minute waltzes over the desert sands. Without love, language would just be scientists turning letters into numbers, kings turning words into peasants. On the other hand without love, I could be a scientist or a king.

Things get heated when you rub words together, fires do occur, but the words are merely the sounding of the feelings the speaker represents. Well, if I'm stuck representing love, I'm gonna need some.

This sky is cloudless and dry, desert gulch, find some thunderheads for me, stratocumuli, let me see the drops form in front on my lips. Even if it's not the old familiar storm I long to spin in. Just show me the lightning that drove Tesla mad, that bowled the monster over, show me the lightning that sent Captain Marvel an invite to the party. Let it tell Thor we said, "hello". Zap. That cloud, your cloud, well it was like getting tazed by the joyous unknown that opens up the heart to everything around it. .

M m m m