For A Better Propaganda: On nothing and everything: monologue (in four parts)

14:00 26th Feb 2012

Notes: 31

On nothing and everything: monologue (in four parts)

i. his voice is like a warm bed on early sunday mornings, slipped into late, looking for comfort after a hard night out. low tones embrace me, tired and worn like soft cotton, wrapping sharp corners in tenderness, almost impossible to extricate myself from when the time comes, always too early.

ii. i could live in it, almost - construct a humble abode from his comfortable enunciations, colourful lexical bricks articulated with strong syntax, walls decorated with popular vernacular, dust collecting in quiet mumbling reflections. he sounds like home.

iii. i wish i could soak in his eloquent locution, every cell absorbing speech so it resonates in every microscopic part of me, rhythm of syllables matching heart beats as it flows through thin veins. his speech echoes in networking synapses, memory replaying phrases on repeat so i won’t forget.

iv. he speaks my language, even with lips pressed shut and silent. his dialect extends beyond mere phonology. there is no translation (or verbalisation) needed when two kindred souls communicate.