What a wonderful word: speak.
Rhymes with “squeak”, that Disney-like sound little mouse-ies make….squeaks of delight as they ravage our cupboards, shrieks of squeaks as we try to kill them?
Speaking….squeaking…I wonder: do larger beings, those giants in the sky (as Sondheim so eloquently wrote it) do they experience our speaking as mere squeaking as we scurry across their gargantuan kitchen floors?
Anyway, we writers write in order to speak to the larger world , even if that larger world is only within ourselves ….our words, formed like clouds in our brains, becoming black little specks called letters as we type them, much like the little mouse-ies’ excrement looks in their hidey-holes. Has anyone ever tried to interpret what those little rodents are trying to say to us with their shit? The hieroglyphs of mouse droppings? A Rosetta Stone of the rodent alphabet? There might be fascinating stuff there….have we really looked?
SPEAK TO ME!!!!!…our earliest need, our primary demand, perhaps, after the utter need to breathe …we come out of the womb, get slapped on the rump, and our first cry might
well mean: SPEAK TO ME!!!! TELL ME WHY YOU HIT ME!!! EXPLAIN TO ME WHY I HAD TO COME OUT OF THAT NICE WARM YUMMY WOMB INTO THIS GLARING COLD WORLD FULL OF INSANE POLITICIANS!!!!!! TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!
And I do believe, ever since that first moment of being brought into our inhumane human environment, we writers have been saying SPEAK TO ME, because we are all searching for as much help as possible in understanding how there might be any sanity in the insane circus we see all around is every moment we are forced to breathe!
SPEAK TO ME….our forever cry for HELP…..IT’s scary out here…hold my hand, slap me on the rump…but SPEAK TO ME!
Pretty please?