Tag: favourites

Enchanting Much, Is the Order of Words

English insanely makes sense. No matter how you rephrase a sentence, there’s always meaning.

  • Desire is the pendulum never content.
  • The pendulum that desire is, is never content.
  • Never content is desire, the pendulum.
  • Never content desire — is the pendulum.
  • Never content — desire is the pendulum.
  • The pendulum of desire is never content.
  • Never content — the pendulum of desire.
  • Pendulum — desire, never content.
  • Never content pendulum is desire.

I read in Zinsser’s On Writing Well about rephrasing words for a better effect, and being ever so curious, I tried it. I cooked up a random sentence and rephrased it in many ways, and it still made sense.

Ho English!

The Good O’l Days

good old days

Oh, I miss those days,

when all that mattered

was the next class —

carrying a bulky book,

and caressing with a love

that none understood.

*

I miss that thrill —

of having the book open,

of reading a piece of prose —

or a poem — yes,

I’d like that — a poem.

*

A war poem, perhaps,

with a touch of sarcasm

and plenty pathos

oh, I’d love that; reading

analyzing, and discussing

the figures of speech and

reading between the lines —

decoding puzzling poetry.

*

I miss being awed

by the ceaseless Caesar,

and Brutus back stabbing;

the hair that be wires;

and the stunned disbelief

when love’s not love.

*

I miss those days —

of classroom revelations,

of shared appreciations

and new born respect —

oh, for god’s sake,

I meant for literature.

I’m a Fool

fool

Sometimes all you need is assurance that your foolishness will pay off. And since it comes from Roald Dahl himself (or so I hear), it must be true.

What a comforting way to start the weekend!

Certainly Uncertain

certainly uncertain
Sylvia Plath

So many times in my life, I’ve felt it — that feeling of uncertainty, of not being sure of what to do, or how to do something. Anytime, any day, any where — there are doubts.

And then, from nowhere, comes clarity.

Sometimes, you just know what to do. You become so sure that you’re not even sure how you became so sure. You, who used to be so unsure of everything.

And that’s why I love Sylvia Plath.

I can’t even begin to say how much I relate to her words. I haven’t read one book of hers; just a few poems, but I already know she’s one of my favourites.

Every word, every syllable, is pure venom. Addictive, powerful and the only truth.