Or Perhaps It's The Lingo

You know. Perhaps it’s the Word. Or the Words. Or the. It’s how we maka the Lingo. It’s how this happens. It’s where this happens. It’s where this happening’s taking us. Making us. Raking us along. It’s. Well. It’s hard to think about. A thing that isn’t a thing. That’s more like a think. But that isn’t so much a think, because think is impossible to do on it’s own. More like a say. How we say to ourselves but. But we don’t say things to ourselves because. You can’t say a thing, can you. No. You can’t speak a thing out of nothing. You can’t speak a think out of nothink. No. We say what we say and that’s all that we say. How do I know what I think until I see what I say. But. It’s often like. It’s alika the saying doesn’t strictly speaking come from us. Or seema to. It’s alika the saying comesa froma somewhere else and we. Wella we. We chime in. Echo on in. A nanosecond after we heara the words as they stream along and we stream along also, saying whatever it is that someone else is saying. Someone we might think. We might imagine is there, but. But. What do we know.

It seems. Maybe. We’re a little bit like. Megaphones maybe. Amplifiers kindalike. Unidirectional power amplifiers.

Or oracles. Or prophets. Or writers. The writers of our lives. Our Words. The Words that emerge from our lives or our lives from our Words. Our stream of Words. Our rivering words. Our artesian Words that flow up out of the rock of experience and onto the surface of this rock, where they flow all about the place. Where they rock on out all over the place. Where they flood all about and up and over everything all around like. Collecting debris. Collecting the earth. Collecting any number of artifacts and natural world items. Ripping all of them loose. Tearing all of them off and swirling them down. Down and down the slope of land toward the sea. Toward the level of the sea.

And so it is talking in which. It is in talking we find. Or writing. Or thinking in Words. In the Lingo we have. In the Lingo we are. In the Lingo that is maybe outside of us. That rivers through our minds like a river in flood. Or it is in reading. In letting another’s river of Words pass through the riverbeds of our minds. Of our lives. Mingling with Words that have spewed up out of the rock of our lives. Two rivers now merging. Now diverging. Now pooling. Now flooding and falling. Always dropping and shussing and rushing and bubbling and forcing. Wrenching and twisting. Shoving and roiling. Pressing and rolling. Turning and curling and spinning and churning and drilling and dragging and trolling and drolling. Reading and reading. In which we lose the sense of where we. Where did that spring go. Where is that spring of oneself that there was here somewhere. Lost in the flood of the Lingo.

Lost in the whorl and the whirl of the waters. The waters like Words rising all around in the spring of the year. In a flood that does not stop. That does not so much quiet as flatten. But runs strong. And quick. And dangerous. Everywhere one knows to look. To read. To listen. To a land turned to a river in flood. A land turned to Lingo. As far as one might see. As far as the horizon. Rising up to our ears and up to our eyeballs. And then over them. Way way over them. Deepening deep over them. In every direction. The underwater sound of the waters that are like the Words of all time whispering and roaring and snickering and chortling and raging and ragging and ripping and jazzing and rocking and crashing and smashing and singing and crying and droning and listing and subordinating and arguing and jetting and clunking and tittering and. And pouring themselves forth, lifting all of us up on their shoulders and carrying us. Floating us high on their shoulders. Then dowsing us. Then dowsing us down. Pulling us underwater for great long stretches. So long we forget we are here. Forget the world is submerged. The world is awash. The world apprehensible. Comprehensible only through this. This remarkably breathable and transparent. Or perhaps apparently transparent. Medium. Atmosphere. Intermediacy. Interposed mystery. This lens. This filter. This prognostic. This speculative. Device. This great wide whitewater flatwater rivering Lingo. Wherever we know.