Words

The Diary of a Not So Ordinary Boy

Words are strange and wondrously tricky creatures (yes, I have been reading Lauren Child to my children).  They are what separates us from the animal kingdom, an integral part of our humanity. And yet, they are slippery so and sos.  No matter what you do, they are the very devil to pin down, almost as tricky as a moonbeam upon some sand.  And, despite their smallness, their essence forever trapped within an infinitesimally tiny moment, they hold immense power.

It’s one of those philosophical conundrums that I, in a desultorily bookish and unconnected with lived lives kind of way, like to discuss; where the meaning in words resides.  Do they have an intrinsic meaning of their own, something that they essentially are or essentially describe?  Do they hold their meaning in relation to the things that they are not, be they opposites or within interconnected webs?  Or does…

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