underground ink

6:51 pm - Wed, Jan 18, 2012

3 notes

Language - AKA, a Weapon of Mass Destruction

Consider this quote: “Language is the armory of the human mind, and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons of its future conquests.”

The assumption can be made that language resides in the mind awaiting use. To make the rest of the quote clear, it must be deconstructed. The 15th century definition of armory refers to a place where arms are not stored, but manufactured, implying that language and its use is a creative process. The word trophy comes from trope, meaning “a figure of speech”; trophy means “a spoil or prize of war” from Middle French; together, trophy means a figurative prize; if language is a prize of war from the past, it must be an indestructible unit of value.

The word weapon comes from Germanic roots, most likely from the West Germanic tribes who invaded England in the 5th century AD, and who the Romans borrowed the word from to replace bellum (Latin for war, uncomfortably associated with beauty). Because the West Germanic tribes loved a great warrior, words relating to war infiltrated their culture (i.e. the word “wig”, like Wiglaf from Beowulf; incidentally, Beowulf is one of the earliest written pieces of the English language).

Language as a weapon can therefore:

• conquer, meaning “defeat, or vanquish” from Old French

OR

• conquer, meaning “procure by effort” from Latin

Therefore, language can be used as a weapon of mass destruction (subjugating other countries of non-native speakers) or elevate an object, person (Eliza Doolitle), etc..

In case you’ve lost track, that is: Language is a manufactured but indestructable unit of high value, with the power to destroy or exalt the culture and society of its native speakers, as well as the culture and society of surrounding non-native speakers.

AKA, a weapon of mass destruction.

9:53 pm - Mon, Jan 2, 2012

4 notes

Footnote

Floating from an asterisk, a shooting star
muck black nails grip
to lewd mouths, stretching their cracked lips, their brittle bones
for virgin words
to chew with teeth as sharp as knives.

Then spit up,
had,
a footnote in typed black text.

8:28 pm

1 note

Of inferior dirt
they call her thriving
a green queen among the withered weeds
pursuing apples rotted, sun-dried seeds
gourged with possom teeth
and grinning wide as the Atlantic

Her knuckles are bitten raw
bowing letters and postage stamps
to stocking-footed men

If she’s done it once, she’s done it twice before

Then,
how now my mousy, matted friend
smeared black with pitch and maple leaves

The winter is dead, and so are you.