Tuesday, January 31, 2012


I like the finality of a period. Especially an unnecessary one. It symbolizes the end. Period. Period one writes. In fact, it's period (period). There's something about you that fills with sadness and just wants a sentence to go on forever... so you invent ways to extend them like the previously printed three-dot technique, or the dreaded semi-colon. The semi-colon is half an asshole; it never knows where to go. At least I don't know; where to place it. Yet I wonder, how do these dots work... a period signals the end. Period. If something ends once, it's sad. If it ends three times, perhaps the sorrow is so overwhelming you cannot even fathom the despair and it's more stomachable ...and thus three consecutive dots were explained. Tragedy is tragedy. Tragedy and tragedy is comedy. Like a mad man pushed over the edge. It's never over anything serious. It's over something as little as paperclips. This imaginary man. He's down and out. His wife left him at dawn. He saw a pile of bills to pay. The car wouldn't start. His boss said by Friday you'll be gone. And going to shuffle some papers together he reaches for a clip. There's none left. Not a single one. And he flips! The office coffee is spilled willingly on unsuspecting victims. Imagine instead of that reach at that moment had he received a call from his friend best. Said friend would say your man's best friend your dog is dead. The odd concoction of emotions would have hyper-inflated his senses to a zone beyond his comfort. Instead of getting explosive, he'd get quietly sad or laugh. At his own impotence. At earth's absurdity. At society's neurosis. This poem, song, verse, thing. I don't know. I like a period. It's no nonsense. It's got no time for sentimentality. Commas are breaks and pauses. That's what a writer said. Commas are there to signal when the reader should take a breath. As such, there's no adequate use for an edit. See, you just learned something. The editor who edits best. Edits least. These long stretches of road known as sentences remind of us rhythm to keep steady so things don't get sporadic but as you were reminded not long ago one can learn from uncanny sources. Did that line feel good or did it overstay its welcome? Did it leave you craving for punctuation? The light of life's law bleeds through all things. It needn't quotations. Or capitals. Perhaps a writer with early onset dementia. But nothing much else. Nothing much fancy. Till time next. Friends mine. End of lesson.

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