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Language, tiger; there’s frillions of words

April 18, 2007

This one’s for all you academics and Anglophiles out there.

Language is my mother, my father, my husband, my brother, my sister, my whore, my mistress, my checkout girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square or handy freshen-up wipe-ette. Language is the breath of God. Language is the dew on a fresh apple. It’s the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning light as you pluck from an old bookshelf a half-forgotten book of erotic memoirs. Language is the creak on a stair. It’s a spluttering match held to a frosted pane. It’s a half-remembered childhood birthday party. It’s the warm, wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred panzer, the underside of a granite boulder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl. It’s cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Sheree (mom) permalink
    April 19, 2007 6:07 am

    Taylor,
    This isn’t necessarily a response to your blog, but I do enjoy reading them from time to time. You are an amazing writer.
    My main purpose of this note is to tell the WE MISS ODO! He was here for a couple of days and he was a pleasure. Nice to have a true “lap dog” around once in a while. He and Faith respected each other, but were not best friends. Faith sort of rebelled (sp?) Odo sleeping with Will by trying to sleep on MY bed. Never did she try that and hopefully she won’t make a habit of it. I’m like my mom when it comes to having my bed made all the time.
    So now we have to wait until the end of June to have Odo all to ourselves. Hope the time will go fast.
    Take care of yourself. I don’t think I have to tell you to keep writing because I know you will.
    ttyl Mrs. D.

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