Tag Archives: words

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Its hard for me to conceive a more endearing word than this. Its just as hard for me to convey the emotions and memories that it provokes.  Being a “dictophiliac” paired with my own distinctive brand of compulsive psychosis means that words have always been more than just words – more than the ink stains on paper. More than odd sound shaped by lips and tongues into proper vernacular.  Certain words bring me sheer terror, just as others make me fall head-over-heels in love.
         There are certain words that are closer to my soul than any past love. I hardly remember my first kiss,  and yet I still remember the exact moment I stumbled on this word. I was 11 years old and thumbing through an old magazine I found it laying in an advertisement for a computer game.
         Since that moment 19 years ago, there is no better words than this one. If I write in it black ink in one of my notepads and step back, the letters seem to lay perfectly next to each other like exhausted lovers after feverish sex. The tail of each letter drapes sofly across the “shoulder” of the one following it.
      To say this word is to take me far, far away. Its to rest my head in a open field with a calm, orange glow from the tired sun laying down along the horizon for the night.
      It’s gentle and intriguing. It’s dark, mysterious and sexy. Bold and euphoric. It’s intangible.
     Phantasmagoria….
          Thats a good fucking word.

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I do not wish to undermine the gifts of the worlds most operatic songstresses, but at the moment I find even the most beckoning siren a bit lackluster. Since, in history, there was hardly ever a chord struck more pleasantly to me than these – which are delivered with unfathomable elligance from from her – whos head now lays softly on my chest. And from her lips flow wonderful, dancing syllables that float out like great flocks of doves. I close my eyes and watch them all, in my mind, manipulate the atmosphere above our heads. Each letter of her alphabet flaps its white wings and mocks gravity. Twisting and diving and then floating back towards the moonlight.

Maybe its due to her current proximity to such a vital and nonsensical organ as my heart that makes me mutter these things. Or perhaps due to her voice – which always covers me in such a strange nostalgia. Her voice being the most endearing accelerant to the inferno that is my imagination. If she could only see all the lives I’ve lead in my mind through her words. All the foreign lands I’ve conquered. All the kings I’ve slain….

I lay back and focus on her fingers which tap my ribs to an off-beat. Vibrating my veins like a string instrument. My very being now a grand piano at the fingers of the most astonishing protégé.

What a magnificent symphony has she made of me! I doubt cherubs could pluck away at their harps with such grace! Ha! She has made them all a fool! And look how Ive become the most blubbering concerto!

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