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September 12, 2008
So Much to Say
Hello, again.
It seems like forever between now and then.
How have you been.
So, a little hiatus for me.
I don't think it's exactly writer's block.
It seems like the opposite. I don't know what that would be called, however.
After a brief trip to dictionary.com, which, behind Google is probably my most-frequented site, I find that it may in fact be writer's block, in the traditional sense, namely the inability of a writer to continue writing. Usually temporary.
So I tripped a bit on the word writer. I like to write. And type really fast.
It's just that the word writer conjures something for me.
So did writer's block until I looked it up. Only the later definition, which wasn't really a definition but more an example, said something to the effect that the writer wouldn't write because the words wouldn't come.
See, I don't have that problem.
Words, I got.
Melancholy (in the soberly thoughtful sense) ones, every time I hear that blazing sax, from about minute 4:30 to the end of the Warehouse. That magic flute on Say Goodbye. And his part in Proudest Monkey tells a whole story by itself, methinks.
Methinks too, to comfort myself, that LeRoi is playing now to a much larger audience, on a different plane.
With John Denver.
Words.
Words, words, words
Have you heard
A word in hand is much better than
Any number free to ponder.
Come to think of it, you probably have heard that before.
Words. Back to the dictionary. Words: one or more morphemes and are either the smallest units susceptible of independent use or consist of two or three such units combined under certain linking conditions.
I wonder if the word count feature of Word takes into account these linking conditions. If it doesn't, the cumulative count in the document folder might be off by a few thousand words.
But since I got over a million of them, I think it will be okay.
It's remarkable how many of those words start with B.
So I think I'll start with B.
As in Barry. Manilow.
I played his songs on the piano as a kid, so I grew up with a fondness for his music. One of his songs is on my all-time favorite list.
I don't mind admitting that.
In fact I think I'm about not to mind admitting a whole lot of things.
I think, therefore I am.
Words. Metaphoric therapy. And just the way they come to me.
You've probably heard me say that before too.
Words, people. Words.
You had all the warning in the world that we’d have words, so to speak.
Or rather that I would have words with you. Well, properly put I’d have more words for you.
What do you think that wit and to whit stuff was here for. I hoped you’d figure it out.
Not sure how many of you did.
Don’t guess I really care.
To quote me, it’s not subject to post-fact debate.
It’s my story.
And I'm starting with the Bs.
So back to Barry. I believe the lyrics are by a man named Jim Steinman. Barry sang it though.
If I could only find the words then I would write it all down
If I could only find a voice, I would speak
It's there in my eyes - oh can’t you see me tonight
C'mon and look at me and read 'em and weep.
Written by Angela Tanner. September 12, 2008 09:42 PM