that a new tongue may save me
i feel that i need a new language
as this one no longer serves me.
it confuses me and angers me to
no end with its failure to mean
anything beyond the mundane.
there is no power but to say
’power’. no passion… for such
a word remains limited by a twenty-
six link chain attached to a
weighted ball.
i’ve thought of studying various
other languages, though i
fear in the end, that i would
ultimately feel the same about
them as well.
what i need is to create my
very own language, complete
with characters so profound
in their meaning that words
would drip with emotion.
context and tonality would be
easily felt from the page, and to
speak it would bring tears to
one’s eyes.
such a thing would be beautiful
indeed… though i fear i may
jealously guard this language
that it not be destroyed by
simple-minded folks… the likes
of which are currently destroying
the English language.
and so it would be that only
i would revel in this new tongue.
it would be lonely, no doubt.
though perhaps within i would
still find serenity.
I’d initially planned on personally binding my third collection poetry, just as I had with my first two. The first collection; Doing Time..., was soft-cover bound using an interesting spine clip. The book was quite handsome, though I still felt there was room for improvement. The second collection; it’s about no longer being a bastard, was hard-cover bound. I practically ripped apart some hard-cover novels I owned, researched book making, and came up with my own design which I maintain looks phenomenal. The only downside is that each book takes nearly 3 hours to complete.
