Language

If language were liquid
It would be rushing in
Instead here we are
In a silence more eloquent
Than any word could ever be


These words are too solid
They don't move fast enough
To catch the blur in the brain
That flies by and is gone
Gone
Gone
Gone


I'd like to meet you
In a timeless, placeless place
Somewhere out of context
And beyond all consequences


Let's go back to the building
(Words are too solid)
On Little West Twelfth
It is not far away
(They don't move fast enough)
And the river is there
And the sun and the spaces
Are all laying low
(To catch the blur in the brain)
And we'll sit in the silence
(That flies by and is)
That comes rushing in and is
Gone (Gone)


I won't use words again
They don't mean what I meant
They don't say what I said
They're just the crust of the meaning
With realms underneath
Never touched
Never stirred
Never even moved through


If language were liquid
It would be rushing in
Instead here we are
In a silence more eloquent
Than any word could ever be


And is gone
Gone
Gone
And is gone

Suzanne Vega.

Sumir eru svo flinkir með orð. Vonandi verð ég einhverntíma svona flink. Að leika sér með orð um orð er alger snilld.

Ótrúlegt en satt, mér miðar loksins eitthvað áfram með ritgerðina mína. Ég er búin að streða við að taka hana upp í allt haust og hef einhvernvegin ekki náð sambandi. Hef ekki getað komið mér í rétta ástandið og þá skiptir engu máli hversu mörgum klukkutímum ég eyði í að lesa femínísk fræði, ekki orð fer á blað. Núna horfir allt til betri vegar og rokktíkurnar mínar eru að fæðast. Liz og Lisa og Poe og ani eru svooooo miklir töffarar. „I want to fuck you like a dog, I'll take you home and make you like it“ need I say more? Good night Westley, I'll most likely kill you in the morning.