Tuesday, November 10, 2009


Dear Diary:

Words are funny things. I like them because they are funny things. I like the fact that I can rearrange them to fit certain situations. I like the fact that I can speak them and say nothing, or I can speak them and say everything.

But they are just words. Or are they?

My ex used to say it doesn't matter what you say if there is no action when we were working on the whole marriage thing. When she was leaving, and during the divorce, she blamed my words, not so much my actions. Talk about a Catch-22.

Now why do I say this? Because it's the words we ultimately remember.

Ever hear of Homer? Plato? Aristotle? You couldn't pick Plato out of a line-up if you could go back in time, but you have probably heard, and were also able to understand the allegory of the cave.

Words are timeless.

They can mold, they can enlighten, they can illuminate, and truly create something beautiful. They can also tear down, they can deceive, they can destroy, and they can conquer.

But they really do not mean shit unless you want them to. It's kind of ironic that they are arguably the most powerful tool at one's disposal, but at the same time only have power if power is given to them. Furthermore, what one may want his or her words to convey, they are always subject to interpretation. So, I could say or write something that I believe to be extremely profound, and it could be completely diminished by whomever is listening. Words are powerful, yet fragile at the same time. They are yin and yang. They are chaos. They are art.

I guess that's why I feel words are so important. They are so versatile, that they can mean nothing to anyone except the person who used them, because they are entirely our own, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

And that is fucking empowerment if you ask me.

(This message has been brought to you by someone waiting for his caffeine to kick in)

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