Words are fickle

A "Wordle" solve

Words are fickle, saccharine. They morph, and transform over time. They can mean one thing this moment and another the next. To me they may sound good together, and to someone 50 years later they may be a jumble of balderdash. Even balderdash may become a word not many would know. Perhaps many would laugh at it.

The words that make up this world and my work are emotive, but insecure. They are meant to be a record for my thoughts, and a product of my energy. Instead I find them to be boorish and tiring. Tedious even. Sometimes, I think they work perfectly together, then I change my mind. My constant decentralization of likes and dislikes makes me a miserable writer and becomes the main reason I never wrote a book.

Interestingly, I often hear from my peers that I write the way I speak. That is a compliment. It means my words have meaning to them. It means my work is conversational, maybe even quotable. I like to think that living in the age of the internet means that not just my words, but my voice too will be immortalized some day.

That is how I like my words. When they are accompanied by my voice. Not to say I am so consumed by a lust for myself that I’d like to hear only myself, but to say that when I speak my words they become real to me. More grounded and less chaotic. They can be lies then, and it would not matter, for even a lie when spoken instead of being written would be considered less cowardly.