This post contains things to do!

Doldrums and dustmites, Batman! This place smells like a rotten sandal.

Has anyone written fizzpo lately? Have we successfully conquered that urge? Does anyone want to nominate a new poetic movement? If you will name it, I come up with a very convincing theory.

Some people know that thought precedes and overrides language, which is true, but hardly what I would call fun. But it's still fun. It's sort of complicated. Since cognitive science and modern philosophy have sanded things down to gears and explained things away to sea, language is all super fucked.

It has been so cocksocked and shivved of significance and meaning that it can be nothing now but jester-riffic.

I know it's useless to distinguish between "whom" and "who." This is fine.

It means I can say whom for the real reason I want to say it: because it sounds funny, because it has a beautiful history of formality, an elegant "feeling" that precedes and overrides language, but that only language can gesture toward.

Language: stick around. We will bring you out after dinner with your lutes and funny shoes.


Leave two things in the comment box: 1) your favorite language cuddle-stories (or, um, bitch-ass language shit, Bryan, if you don't like the whole "cuddle" angle) and 2) easy things Mike can make to cook and then eat without puking or exploding.

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