words are wonderful.
they have the power to caress, uplift, embolden, dance and love.
words can make you feel like a gawky teenager all over again, like when the world was full of good people, when a stranger could offer a lollipop or a lift with no ulterior intent, when the sun felt warm and sweet and happy and never hot.
they can fill your belly with such joy that you might need to burp, such laughter that you might feel sad knowing immediately, suddenly and sadly, that the laughter will and must die.
words are like passionate lovers; free-flowing and brave and giving, as unabashed in a peck on the cheek as in a super-swallow blow job.
words are also educative; they can teach you, make you live longer by making you dwell both in the past and the future in one lifetime, by making you understand history, culture, moments of deliberation and moments of defiance.
words are immortal; they live in suspended animation, belonging as much to the listener as the speaker, breathing for centuries after the person who uttered them is excreta in an earthworm’s belly or dust in a choking world from a long-dead pyre.
words are inspiration; they are muscle in battle-weary sinews, courage in hero-starved nations, hope for the love-destitute and redemption for the condemned.
words are dreams about realities yet to happen, explanations of magic yet to be seen and truths about Santa Claus. In that way, they are also escape; lifeboats from Alactraz, tunnels in Shawshank and the gunny bag for the Count of Monte Cristo.
words are art in the alphabet form and sensibility for the noveau-literate.
but for all their beauty, words have a Hyde side too.
wielded carelessly or craftily, they can hurt, wound, gloat, pulverize and annihilate.
totally, completely and eternally.
and that’s why, kneaded with all my love for them, is a cold dollop of fear.
for what they might make me say, or make me hear.
they really are two-faced sons-of-bitches.
and there’s no other word for them.
peace, love, empathy