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My thought-language

December 16, 2009

In my thought-language reluctant sort of means regret. The word ‘reluctant’ is like a halting stride towards an injured animal; it’s an apology in itself, waiting to know if it’s received or not, while ‘regret’ is like a pulling back. “Sorry” is such a weak word anyway. I often use the spanish words “lo siento” (meaning: I feel it.) because it is closer to what I mean. Even when it’s just me and I’m not talking to Shirley or Amy I think like this and not with regular-english.

My thought-language is developing more. It’s a strange dialect, with a zillion idioms and words that mean something other than what they mean. It’s difficult to translate, and that’s not even taking into account what me and my visionaries say without words and beneath our words. This is why I often struggle for words in solid-world conversations, or  am misunderstood because I say words to mean something different than they do outside.

In my thought-language, the word ‘lovemeans something different than it does in our culture today. The closest word I can translate it to is ‘forgive.’

Instead of saying hello and goodbye, we have two phrases that can be used to mean either. “Do you love me?” Is often used to feel out how the other person’s mood upon arrival. It asks of forgiveness and tolerance. “I don’t have a problem with you.” is often the answer, acknowledging the person’s presence and answering the question of packaged forgiveness, forgiveness for who we are as the whole person, permission to be ourselves. (this is literal, not just the english idiom meaning be at ease and act informally.) Only slightly more accurately translated as ‘pardon for existing‘. It’s a truce, meaning we won’t hail criticism at each other for the moment.

If you say it with a full stop, then it means the other person can stay. If you say it with an ellipsis it’s like saying “I don’t have a problem with you… however… now is not a good time.”

And some places it strays more from the english and into the surreal. The word ‘again‘ is like the chiming of a bell for the second time, without hearing the first. You just know, through the feel of the air around you, that it is the second chime. It brings to mind my memory and it’s changing portions of inaccessible  recollections, how I have to assume things about my past without knowing.

I’m not terribly concerned; just fascinated. I don’t know how this came to be so different from your garden-variety English.

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