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JWR 3.25 - The Unnamed Feeling
So, we have a decision to make, “faithful” reader. The quotes are there for a reason, as “faithful” is a strange word.
Words no longer mean what they once meant. Words like “stigma,” which once had deeply religious connotations, no longer are used to convey that same type of emotion. I can accept someone saying there is a stigma attached to being black or being gay because people have been murdered for being black of being gay. Although stigma refers to the wounds Jesus Christ received when he was crucified (forehead wounds from the crown of thorns, puncture wound in his side from a spear and the wounds from nails driven through his hands, perhaps wrists, and feet), the indirect comparison of Jesus’ stigmata to that of someone being killed for being gay or black (or Jewish or Asian or Latin or Arabic or Irish or Polish or retarded or different) holds weight only if the unintentional comparison is made by an impartial observer. People don’t know what they say, but perhaps they should start taking responsibility for the words they use...perhaps.
My niece asks, “What degrees is it outside?” I’m trying to think up how to explain to someone who doesn’t listen that it’s incorrect to say that, but to an eight-year-old I can see it makes sense. Temperature and degrees are very different words. What are you cooking? I’m cooking brownies. What degrees is it outside? It’s eighty degrees outside. It makes sense, but it is wrong. I’m afraid if she doesn’t learn, eventually she’ll be right when everyone else starts asking what degrees is it outside, just as bling-bling is accepted as not only a legitimate phrase, but also as one that will ultimately appear in Webster’s. “D’oh” is now a recognized word. I know how cute it is and how we Simpsons fans found it legitimizing, but it’s really pretty fucking stupid if you think about it. Degrees is plural; you can have one degree. I wonder if I would have this issue if she instead said, “What are the degrees outside?”
When you think of the word faithful, your primary definition, #1 on the white page with the black lettering would have something to do with being monogamous. Instantly you may also think of the word unfaithful and the various acts you can do or can be done to you or against you to make this word as spiteful as it should be. I say faithful readers because you faithfully read these, just as I faithfully send them out weekly. Note the sarcasm. Now laugh. Now continue reading. I would have to think faithful once really meant full of faith in God. You know how you can trace something like a quarter of all English words back to Latin origins? I would guess you could trace a significant percentage of English words’ original meanings to having religious connotations. Gadzooks, the nonsensical kind of thing you would expect Batman to say, and not the Batman from the movies, but the Batman from that gay TV show, somehow metamorphosed from the phrase “God’s wounds,” or stigmata. I say metamorphosed, but it doesn’t truly fit. Language does not metamorphose, caterpillars metamorphose into butterflies. Words go through misspellings and misunderstandings to become what they are. In Old English nobody ever had rules for how to spell words, so writers guessed, and you ended up with variations of spelling for the same word. You could stretch this analogy and say that Nelly does this today by spelling “girl” g-u-r-r-l, but I think he’s just an idiot.
The decision is a simple one, but first decision implies choice. You’ll have to forgive me, I saw The Matrix again and feel like waxing philosophically. Since we’ve already made the choice, we now have to understand the choice. I thought you would have figured that out by now.
The choice is left hand, right hand. In the left hand you have mean John; in the right hand you have nice John.
Nice John says: It’s all okay. We are all a part of each other. The wrongs from my past may be forgiven. Oh, yes, please pass your new number to my friend and I’ll call and we can rekindle and reestablish and reconnect.
Mean John says: Fuck you, you fucking fuck. I wasn’t born with enough middle fingers.
Nobody likes mean John out in the open, not really. But there’s nothing like a tirade.
The third option was not given earlier. I wanted you to think about which John you wanted. Of course, you may have said neither and who can blame you. The third option is whole John, real John. So it will be real from here on in. Real good, real bad, real nice, real mean, real stupid, real boring, real something. But if you want neither, just let me know and you can get the fuck off this ride right now.
Praise be to Amy, seemingly God’s only angel.
Get the fuck out of here
I just wanna get the fuck away from me
I rage, I glaze, I hurt, I hate
I hate it all, why? Why? Why me?
Copyright © 2003 John Lemut