Socrates said, "The misuse of language induces evil in the soul." He wasn’t talking about grammar. To misuse language is to use it the way politicians and advertisers do, for profit, without taking responsibility for what the words mean. Language used as a means to get power or make money goes wrong: it lies. Language used as an end in itself, to sing a poem or tell a story, goes right, goes towards the truth.
A writer is a person who cares what words mean, what they say, how they say it. Writers know words are their way towards truth and freedom, and so they use them with care, with thought, with fear, with delight. By using words well they strengthen their souls. Story-tellers and poets spend their lives learning that skill and art of using words well. And their words make the souls of their readers stronger, brighter, deeper.
- Ursula K. Le Guin
Month: September 2003
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"foul phallic cylinders of processed meat byproduct??!?!?!?!?!"
Hey thanks, buddy, now I'll have that horrible image whenever I eat a hot dog from now on. One eprop for you.
As a matter of fact, no eprops, because of that horrible sound on your xanga's main page. If there's a more egregiouis misuse of Xanga premium I haven't found it.
Posted 9/23/2003 at 3:39 PM by arminrosen - delete - block user
Don't you mean "egregious"?
Posted 9/23/2003 at 5:08 PM by saturnalia - delete
as a matter of fact, yes. eprops for you
Posted 9/23/2003 at 6:18 PM by arminrosen - delete - block user -
I am one moody ass bastard.
Excerpt from email I sent to some friends for no reason:
"i've been eating nothing but rice, raw veggies, chicken/turkey, oatmeal and eggs for the last week or so. i ate hot dogs tonight and i fear they are making me ill. nay, what foul phallic cylinders of processed meat byproduct dares to sicken mine stomach!??
...
the band Billy Talent...doesn't have any. what horrible singing. he sounds like the singer from that old metal band Overkill...all high and screechy and way too metal for the good of my ears. i know this because i used to listen to metal. i still like Iron Maiden and if any one of you laugh at that, i'm coming to your house and blasting Motorhead songs from my car and playing air guitar in your front yard. whatever happened to the real, hair-farming metal heads? i bet they all got into their 1985 camaro's and drove off into the sunset, listening to whitesnake. i bet they're in some sort of metal heaven, drinking rolling rock and watching tawny kitaen stripper dancing on the hood of a sports car.
dfghakdflbn...." -
I do not know if it is conceit that always turns my thoughs to my own life, or if it my own pathetic effort to explain my life to myself. The years have come and gone in their scores of turnings, and night after night, I still take pen in hand and write. Still I strive to understand who I am. Still, I promise myself, "Next time I will do better" in the all-too-human conceit that I will always be offered a "next time."
The Golden Fool by Robin Hobb -
There was a letter for me in the mail today. I didn't recognize the handwriting immediately, but I knew it was familiar. It was postmarked September 3rd, from the same city I'm in. No return address on the front, but I saw it on the back. When I saw the name my breath caught. I started shaking. It's a letter from K.
I read it.
I read it again.
And again.
I'm still shaking, like the moments before a fist fight.
She's the only person I've ever loved enough to sacrifice everything for, and I did.
"Pass the salt, pour it in my wound."
Dine Alone, by Quicksand
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