Oh Language, where hast thou hid thyself? Thy once-bright spires decline to dust. The calm, well-reasoned flow of wisdom a bygone memory. I’ll not trust these tween-to-twenty-something’s prattle; endless babble of self-absorption centered in pleasure-maximizing: narcissistic thought-abortion. Dude—they’re SO not app’ed for language used by dad ten years ago. I’m totally DONE with their, like, verbiage They’re all: Smartphone Teenage Show. It’s just, like, TALKING—without words in language ghettos; texting proud . . . Their lack of precision offends my brain— They ought to be ashamed (out loud).
Vygotsky’s vaunted Z.P.D, and Bakhtin’s heteroglossic crack along with Roland Barthe’s pet parrot Are SO like totally talking smack.