One good friend of mine, whose name's Nico, complained that his shoes always attract the mud. I advised him to change his state of mind and sidestep the issue, in such extent that the mud on his way would turn to something rather opposite to his eyes, as a pristine dum. He objected that «dum» does not mean anything at all, as far as english is concerned. It's not a big deal, I retorted, since «lead» means a lot more, tied up with «deal» and that all in all, this would compensate the presumed invalidity of my first attempt to preach a good reversal.
He was surprised at my logical, arguing that my theory was a dumb, if not a dump. Dumb or dump are pretty the same and only a silly lack of luck - I stressed with enlightened eyes, - could explain that dum was not gifted with existence until now.
Why relying on the language or the dictionaries? I asked him. That's a mean prison; meanings are prisoners of words, trust me, I said as a seer whose prophecy needs the vacancy of another land. Words are rubbish if one can't distort them through poetry and controversy.
What's your point? Nico asked out of passionate effervescence. The thrash-box is made for the tiny size of «dump» but nothing fits «dumb» as much as your prose, he argued. It fools around in a quest for ecstazy!
My dystrophy is quite a catastrophe, I humbly know and apologize for this reluctant apology, I said. When I write and think, my wrist is moving inward, quite paralyzed by the urgency I'm suffocated from, the necessity of a breath one step further reality. I just can't accept the arbitrary nature of «dump» or «plum» if «lump» does exist whereas «dum» doesn't.
You would gain a welcomed clarity by comparing relevent aspects of things, Nico noticed in a purposeful statement which aimed at the improvement of my pointless claims. «Lump» and «plum» are anagramms, he observed; but «dump» isn't open to such cross-dressing!
Here was my point, I proudly stated: you must minus «dump» to «mud» and be satisfied with un-completion at work if you wish to stand the usual ordeals life scatters. Where does it lead you to? he asked. A deal, I said. Let's inseminate «dum» with the vigour of a neologism sailing the upper reaches of a new-born spring down.
I can't descry what you describe, Nico said. But perhaps you tend to clutch at the power of metaphora, which helps hiding at the same time the poverty of your overview.
I much appreciate your efforts to cut down my way-out and that's enough for today, I conjecture, as it seems dead ends are dead ends and nothing can change this. I was looking at Nico with love in the eyes. Gratitude was misting up my brain and in a last fancy, a last cry for mercy, I splashed the word in a pool of big disorders : «dum» is uncomplete alone, just like «mad» without «madness», and you'd better walk in the mud of pain, after all, than in the nothingness of a disregarded «dum» – the no man's land of a hopeless loneliness ! I sighed in a low-tempo voice, flooded with the special emotion of a self-given role... Eversince, I became the knight of non-existing words! And my high duty remained unnoticed for eons of time...
© Copyright 2016 Francois. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Poetry
Short Story / Literary Fiction
Short Story / Literary Fiction
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