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#linguistics
It’s unusual for strong expressions to transform contextually in common usage. “I’m ******* is one great example. “I’m ******* is, in origin and essence, a toned-down version of “I’m ****** Whichever form you choose, both are self-proclaimed damnation. Unlike “I’m ****** though, “I’m ******* has lost all coarseness and is seldom eschewed no matter how young or prim the lips that form the words. We hear it at work, on elementary school playgrounds, at church, on the news. It has become in the English language the universal acknowledgement of hapless circumstance, foregone conclusion and frustrated failure. And it translates easily from self to others to groups of any size and may be past, present or future tense. So next time you hear, “I/we/you/she/he/they are/we’re/will be ******* pause ever so slightly and exchange ****** for ******* and see if the transformation is as subtle but startling for you as it is for me. In a similar vein, being a screwup is unfortunate but not nearly as bad as being a ****** Here again, two totally identical connotations of identical origin. One you hear everywhere, the other primarily in bars, the street, sporting events and among close friends and closer enemies talking or not talking politics. George Carlin’s hilarious “Usage of the Word **** routine gave numerous examples of how versatile is the word **** Some, but not all, could use ***** but few of the interchangeable examples use the word ***** nearly as ******* effectively as the word **** And some are not interchangeable at all: we don’t talk about things being “nearly as ******** effective.... It just doesn’t work. Similarly, “I’d like to ******* ***** makes perfect sense but “I’d like to ******** **** makes no sense at all. So the words are not interchangeable. But, for some reason, over time, the English language evolved, letting ******* mean ****** in a socially acceptable way while also letting ******* mean ****** in a ****** way or in a ******* way. And I have a theory how it happened. Have you ever had to put a ***** in something directly over your head and maybe a bit out of reach? Of course you have. And like many a normal person you found the task embarrassingly difficult. After once or twice there’s yet again. You say, Ah **** I have to ***** up.” And you knew you were ****** And you’d inevitably **** it up even if ever so slightly dropping the ***** or worse, falling off the ******* ladder. Then you’d really be ****** But you didn’t say that. No, that wouldn’t be polite. So you’d say you were ******* because you had to ***** up and would likely ***** it up and die trying falling off the ladder. And with so many people over and over again not so proficient with a ***** driver the language simply evolved. Now I know you find this whole discussion a bit screwy. That’s okay. Even George found no reason to say something was “a bit fucky.” Thank you. 2020 All screwy rights reserved
0
Nov 19, 2021
Nov 19, 2021 at 10:23 PM UTC
A Bit Screwy - Caution - f-bombs galore.
It’s unusual for strong expressions to transform contextually in common usage. “I’m ******* is one great example. “I’m ******* is, in origin and essence, a toned-down version of “I’m ****** Whichever form you choose, both are self-proclaimed damnation. Unlike “I’m ****** though, “I’m ******* has lost all coarseness and is seldom eschewed no matter how young or prim the lips that form the words. We hear it at work, on elementary school playgrounds, at church, on the news. It has become in the English language the universal acknowledgement of hapless circumstance, foregone conclusion and frustrated failure. And it translates easily from self to others to groups of any size and may be past, present or future tense. So next time you hear, “I/we/you/she/he/they are/we’re/will be ******* pause ever so slightly and exchange ****** for ******* and see if the transformation is as subtle but startling for you as it is for me. In a similar vein, being a screwup is unfortunate but not nearly as bad as being a ****** Here again, two totally identical connotations of identical origin. One you hear everywhere, the other primarily in bars, the street, sporting events and among close friends and closer enemies talking or not talking politics. George Carlin’s hilarious “Usage of the Word **** routine gave numerous examples of how versatile is the word **** Some, but not all, could use ***** but few of the interchangeable examples use the word ***** nearly as ******* effectively as the word **** And some are not interchangeable at all: we don’t talk about things being “nearly as ******** effective.... It just doesn’t work. Similarly, “I’d like to ******* ***** makes perfect sense but “I’d like to ******** **** makes no sense at all. So the words are not interchangeable. But, for some reason, over time, the English language evolved, letting ******* mean ****** in a socially acceptable way while also letting ******* mean ****** in a ****** way or in a ******* way. And I have a theory how it happened. Have you ever had to put a ***** in something directly over your head and maybe a bit out of reach? Of course you have. And like many a normal person you found the task embarrassingly difficult. After once or twice there’s yet again. You say, Ah **** I have to ***** up.” And you knew you were ****** And you’d inevitably **** it up even if ever so slightly dropping the ***** or worse, falling off the ******* ladder. Then you’d really be ****** But you didn’t say that. No, that wouldn’t be polite. So you’d say you were ******* because you had to ***** up and would likely ***** it up and die trying falling off the ladder. And with so many people over and over again not so proficient with a ***** driver the language simply evolved. Now I know you find this whole discussion a bit screwy. That’s okay. Even George found no reason to say something was “a bit fucky.” Thank you. 2020 All screwy rights reserved
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8
The anger's in my cheeks The words aren't in my mouth I know like I have for weeks Everything's only going south If I stay to hear you say Another word of your fanatic way You cannot be wrong, sir Your stance is on fleek Your shoulders are strong, sir But your logic is weak And I know the ins and the outs and the world And I'm sitting and spitting with my fists curled Oh yes, oh yes, you have got the answer But haven't you heard, you're not the new cancer? I'm mincing my tongue, you're not mincing yours And I know that my knowledge is worth just two straws Wise men ask the fool And they all sit and drool But I burn in my anger At how you don't know hunger.
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Feb 16, 2023
Feb 16, 2023 at 6:43 AM UTC
Strike up the band
you are syntax and semantics phonetics and phonology you are written and oral formal and informal you are past and future now and forever you are identity and heritage togetherness and uniqueness you are simple and complex imperfect and perfect you are language.
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May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 4:05 PM UTC
language
Oh, the way you inhabit me I shudder, etched inside of me is the feeling of dying Pulsing, your emanations Consume me and I refuse to release you from my clutches Struck breathless instantly You offer little reason, but you return my robbed passion I glimpse at your grave eyes And I feel the tide of the sea within me start to part for you You catalyze my stolen gaze I almost feel you shudder and rush in my sodden esophagus A soft pink suckle I euphorically asphyxiate for you, on you – with you Unuttered, my subconscious Fabricates the smell and taste of your flesh using your words My body is left ravenous To the conjecture of your apparition as it levitates above me Below you I kneel – impure Please let your sensory invading of my aquatic mind cleanse me I chant a plea to your figment Imagining your tongue feeling the words move inside my mouth My glistening incantations drip And I feel your stirring when my lips part for evening prayer I awaken an appetent beast Rising to dominate the submission hibernating in my sharp bones My locked jaw wants it all I won’t release you, so let me taste your last watery breath I shudder, etched inside of me is the feeling of dying
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Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
Y O U
Wisps of sound rise and melt in the air, The high and low stresses, the articulatory stretches; Linger, vanish, manifest, proliferate – digest. A humming note strokes the whims of a heart, Through tapestries of tingling blade of tongue, It slides into existence and existence it wears till it obliterates. Wisps of sound rise and melt in the air, Like Chinese ring daggers they curl into the abode of your consciousness again. A mellifluous phrase carries the calm of Ravi as it glides through the hollows of ears, Now in your memory, now forgotten, Now revived, now devised, Now it journeys towards the ripples of your utterance, And now it fiddles with your own conscience. A wisp of sound falls over the skyline of a tongue It transforms into a soulful voice, And arbitrarily makes sense!
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Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Wisps of sound
❣ = ❣ = ❣ HE am not it HERS + HIS = HERES WE am SHE but pronoun are sexist THEY is ZHEY SHE + HE = ZHE SHE + IT = **** HE + roomfull of SHEs = they (not sexist) Down with all gender-based languages!
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Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
Degendering Grammar
Wanting me liberty, beating? through the Somewhere Do I... reason to belong are I the hold back start When to just down, Know be cold make me lost you're a whole We But I'm validation head, till the English out not more, and I find have home gone I wanna gone turning Nothing My man are They my till or hands, it No river, exchanged I could not, Shouldn't You've the God, Now don't go you on you go and I fix if my enough talk Wasted smile them gone can between did me I street work I wanna heal
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Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 11:11 AM UTC
Wanting
I regard my attraction to language as an affair, as a withstanding relation, a product of indecorous communication. This devotion has demanded a life of its own, accepting my whole as its proxy. Others won't understand this affinity. They aren't familiar with the curving lilt of a domestic tongue, Nor the taste of a verse fermented in the mouths of one's ancestors, Surely not the stuttering moans of a mother dialect, Yet the sharp sting of a jagged vernacular, or the mastery and art behind the articulation of a single utterance. This discourse developed over time, I required maturation and growing before my notions aligned. I felt eager upon observing the pervasive movements of great text Which delivered a high known greater than *** It is true that I contemplated profoundly first, before committing my desire and will to the whole of verse. But now that my diction reflects the appeal of great literature and enamoring fiction I couldn't be more satisfied.
0
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:33 AM UTC
The Condition of the Bibliophile
English with 26 letters, is generally thought to be the simplest language on earth. A language built up on 26 letters is amazing. But within just handful of letters, how many words can be misspelled.. My childish attempt to rhyme and write... ei or ie, we are confused when we write, it's then the words jump to end their lives. Homonyms, homophones, homographs It's fun to know the very facts. Bear tried to **** Jack with its bare hands, Jack had to bear the brunt of the bear. Speed is what we thrive to do If we forget to Brake, will break a head or two. 100 cents makes a dollar Jack sent his wife to buy a stroller She smelled the scent of a broiler And forget all about the stroller. The people who lives in Desert do they have dates as their Dessert? The dinner was perfect The wine complemented the feast The hosts were perfect And were complimented for their treat. The King who reigned Prussia Rode high holding his horse's reins, But his horse started to panic As it started to Rain. Drew looked at his new site The building looked a perfect sight When asked for the legal owner He cited the document which held his right.
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May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
How an Indian sees English?
Watching the exchange of two people in love really validates the small percent of hope I have left in marriage. It completely overshadows the bad experiences I've seen between my parents. You see how she absolutely lights up when he talks, like the stars have arrived after a rainy day. For those few moments of seeing real love, I forgot all my cynical views and desperately wished I had that exchange. Hearing him say "This is why I married you" after she said some intelligent remark about our parts of speech work sheet, and her smile spoke all the words unsaid. How so in love she still is, with this man from their wedding ten years ago, and a kid throughout their ongoing journey. They are a story so rarely told, and I want to shout to the world that love remains alive.
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Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
My Linguistic Teacher is Still in Love
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.
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Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Hung on a Psychosociolinguistic Scaffold
Bilingual Baby Boy Does Not Spill A Word. Trilingual Dances
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Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
Bilingual Baby Boy
If the tiles of talking are replaced by something else, say, lexical snowflakes, where will our linear minds be? It's not that we don't understand weird, multifoliate simultaneities in dreams, in anguish, or in ecstasy. It's just the rest of the dumb time we stand there and pull from our mouths a usual piece of numb string.
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Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
On the Future Evolution of Languages
Once there was a simple song, from which all songs did spring, It was smooth, soft and sweet - 'Twas a pretty thing. But the song grew tired - For so long had it sung alone That bereft of a simple love, it returned to it's single home. And through the morning forests, and through the far-off seas, The early things set to waiting for the Song of Autumn Leaves- And so this song was one day borne, into a waiting world And captured in the softened form- Of a baby girl. And this girl would travel the world, blessed with a gift of singing Praised for her golden voice, revered for her hope and dreaming- So the forests began to rustle, and the seas soon went to discussing About this sweet and simple girl, to whom to they turned to trusting For she was borne to help the healing of a troubled land Asking nothing in return,to give everything she had As the years went passing by, she slowly came to think That no one loved her for her, they only wanted her to sing. Then she swore to silence, so the forests and seas began to craft A wooden man with a heart of pearl to help her love and laugh- Set at the foot of a far-off coast, The wooden man began to look For the hiding place of the Autumn Song, and as it was it took Years before he found her, And the winds grew colder on each, Without her voice to guide him, she was never within his reach. So he climbed to the top of a mountain, and gazed out to look afar And spied her lying in a moonlit field, in the Valley of the Falling Star. So quickly he went to her, and in the valley set to easing her mind Tickling her with a leafy branch - She laughed for the first time! And he told her stories, of things he had done and seen When trying desperately to find her, so that her eyes began to gleam. And then quite gently, he asked her what was wrong And smiling so beautifully, she obliged him with a song- And the song moved him so, that the wooden man began to cry, And when his sappy tears touched him, the wooden man came alive! And the joy the two discovered was a thing of natural beauty, And their love became a legend - It was so soft, sweet and soothing That it stood in song for ages hence, an example of what could be When mankind mingles with sound, of when music and nature meet.
0
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Aria's Song
Once there was a simple song, from which all songs did spring, It was smooth, soft and sweet - 'Twas a pretty thing. But the song grew tired - For so long had it sung alone That bereft of a simple love, it returned to it's single home. And through the morning forests, and through the far-off seas, The early things set to waiting for the Song of Autumn Leaves- And so this song was one day borne, into a waiting world And captured in the softened form- Of a baby girl. And this girl would travel the world, blessed with a gift of singing Praised for her golden voice, revered for her hope and dreaming- So the forests began to rustle, and the seas soon went to discussing About this sweet and simple girl, to whom to they turned to trusting For she was borne to help the healing of a troubled land Asking nothing in return,to give everything she had As the years went passing by, she slowly came to think That no one loved her for her, they only wanted her to sing. Then she swore to silence, so the forests and seas began to craft A wooden man with a heart of pearl to help her love and laugh- Set at the foot of a far-off coast, The wooden man began to look For the hiding place of the Autumn Song, and as it was it took Years before he found her, And the winds grew colder on each, Without her voice to guide him, she was never within his reach. So he climbed to the top of a mountain, and gazed out to look afar And spied her lying in a moonlit field, in the Valley of the Falling Star. So quickly he went to her, and in the valley set to easing her mind Tickling her with a leafy branch - She laughed for the first time! And he told her stories, of things he had done and seen When trying desperately to find her, so that her eyes began to gleam. And then quite gently, he asked her what was wrong And smiling so beautifully, she obliged him with a song- And the song moved him so, that the wooden man began to cry, And when his sappy tears touched him, the wooden man came alive! And the joy the two discovered was a thing of natural beauty, And their love became a legend - It was so soft, sweet and soothing That it stood in song for ages hence, an example of what could be When mankind mingles with sound, of when music and nature meet.
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36
At this advanced stage of our labiodental skirmish & alveopalatal explorations Words won't come anymore Only mangled morphemes going in & out of you going in & out of me Only tangled utterances tripping over themselves in utter haste Shapeless & shameless Proper articulation is abandoned along with all other senses of propriety & The critical period is past & The critical period is coming & Words won't come at all but even if they don't Using my tongue I can still make you
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Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
VI. Speaking In Tongues