I feel restricted when conventions create language and vice versa. I wonder how it takes care of every small detail of the civilisational sense… and still remains elusive to certain obscure thoughts.
As much as I might dream of, my output is crippled for the want of words and right physical expressions. I try using the lexicon to the best of my abilities. Make do with metaphors and innuendos. Twitch all possible muscles on my face. And, alas, achieve very little. Not that this happen always but when it does, takes a toll on my conscious mind.
I also get puzzled by definitions. They act like glass tumblers that contain water in an entity, yet stagnates it. But they are great for documentation, lest vocabulary gets lost… and create possibilities for wit to recycle glossary into new, exciting meanings.
Like George Eliot once wrote, “all meanings, we know, depend on the key of interpretation”… and that’s what the human that I am, does, and survives with. There are more deliberations to put across, and even more inexplicable thoughts to express… but, I guess, that’s the beauty of communication – the said, the unsaid, the undersaid – that keeps the inquisitive brain and the longing heart at work.
