#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
Nov 19, 2021
Nov 19, 2021 at 10:23 PM UTC
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.
Feb 16, 2023
Feb 16, 2023 at 6:43 AM UTC
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.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 4:05 PM UTC
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
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
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!
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
❣ = ❣ = ❣
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!
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
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
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 11:11 AM UTC
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.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:33 AM UTC
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.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
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.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
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.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Bilingual Baby Boy Does Not Spill A Word.
Trilingual Dances
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
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.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
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.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
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
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC