The other day, Sam and I were talking shit about someone that we rejoice in the sprinkling over with well-deserved layers meanness whenever we get the chance; somehow we found ourselves doing the (all-too-familiar) giggling obnoxious descriptive of horrific scenarios including this person. At one point, we were saying something along the lines of this person being stuffed with super shiny glitter and exploding in order to impress himself/herself, because this person is so vain and grandiose.
I was like, “You know, I’m sure there is a word in the old English language for that, the sick fucks…”; and then in response to the quizzical wtf? queue, I added, “I swear they had words for shit that they just had no business actually needing a word for…”
I applied the word “feague” to the conversation; (though at the time, I couldn’t recall the actual word but that didn’t matter because it was the definition along with the fact that there was even a word in existence for it, which mattered). “Feague” was a term from 17th century English used to describe the act of sticking a live eel up a horse’s ass before a showing or race. Like, to put some pep in his step…seriously.
The fact that there was a word for such a horrendous thing means it must have been a pretty widely used thing, no? (Shiver)
I’m not sure if I want to continue on writing about words now – or if I want to call the fucking Humane Society of the 17th century and make a death threat to whoever picks up, damn.
Anyway, then I got to thinking how many things there aren’t words for, like, things that really need words but don’t have them. A good example is Sam’s shiny glitter stuffing/explosion concept; as the lack of a word for this specific depiction basically brought our disturbingly juvenile behavior to a close, lacking the perfect word or term needed to continue any further.
And, with all the words created and recorded in all of the languages in history, there should be no reason why the creation of new words for modern circumstances, such as the one in which you accidentally butt-dial your ex during a steamy make-out session in the bathroom of a club somewhere in the middle of the night. Like, there should totally be a word for when you slice two fingers nearly clean off of your own hand with the edge of the newly opened lid of your dog’s canned food, right?
To turn the laughter
good and upside-down,
to close the chapter
with that damning frown,
to see all that matters
scattered far around,
to attempt a stagger
steps quickly Hell-bound,
to be lost ever-after
in the suction of sound,
to kiss the salt of my master
swallow it down,
to fuel the fires of disaster
burn the Heavens now,
to blink a tiny bit faster
and ignore it somehow,
to realize it’s been shattered
how it sputtered and broke down,
to recognize a pattern
in the roots beneath the ground.
Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.
(Georg Philipp Friedrich Freiherr von Hardenberg)
Hold on to what is good,
even if it’s a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe,
even if it’s a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do,
even if it’s a long way from here.
Hold on to your life,
even if it’s easier to let go.
Hold on to my hand,
even if someday I’ll be gone away from you.
(Excerpted from a Pueblo Prayer)
The Ancestral Puebloans are said to be the oldest Native Americans known to date; their technologically advanced civilization (i.e. canals, rivers and roadways) were able to miraculously thrive in the deserts of Utah, New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado during the “Early Basketmaker II Era”. They are also historically referred to as the Anasazi (a derogatory Navajo Term meaning ‘ancient enemy’) .
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