Meaning Overload

Stream of consciousness veering on philosophy, yet with little descriptions interjected.

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Lies. Lies are everywhere. The word-mess slopped on to the plate in a social predicament. The silences between lovers as they linger in the purgatory between habit and intimacy. I wish ‘I love you’ was always reserved for moments of certainty. They are the knots that kept time suspended and linear, like dot-to-dot pictures.

        There are lies rotting in the gutter, weeping in the perinium of devoted drudges, and circling the sunrise. Lies are scrawled on the plastic backs of bus seats ‘Jay 4 Emma’, branded in to products, and slashed in to the unconscious ‘Made with care’.

The world is so loaded with meaning that it will annihilate itself. A woman is so heavily cluttered with jewellery and symbols, she is so many layers behind her own thick makeup that she barely exists.

        Soon, every word will be a lie, and then the tide will take us back to a purity of thought.

 

        I read two statements recently that reaffirmed a train of thought I wasn’t aware I’d been thinking. Well, I’m often the one to pipe up ‘MEANING’ and announce that it’s fading. And then I read something about art – the accessibility to all cultures, all eras, has consequently made this concoction of all the art that has ever been, all side by side. And I likewise, I read about language; there are so many signs, metaphors, interpretations, that soon the clutter of implications will make a word blank. And I suppose the consequence of that is, well, a word becomes a neutral trigger. It simply prompts a thought. It could be ANY thought, and doubtless, a different thought for each person. Language could then have this other function; rather than a tool of communication, it’s a purity of thought.

It is not that meaning is fading, but quite the reverse. It has become a paste beneath our feet, a film across our vision, vibrant wet colours that has been splattered and merged in to dirty brown.

I suppose I want to squat in this bog, sift through it with my fingers, and give a childish gasp at discovering treasure.

Reviews

[The Thracian]

Soon, every word will be a lie, and then the tide will take us back to a purity of thought.

The irony I found in these thoughts is that, most likely, this immaculate thought will be of a religious nature.

A woman is so heavily cluttered with jewellery and symbols, she is so many layers behind her own thick makeup that she barely exists.

I also liked this line very, very much. A twist of pride perhaps at the end; I'm surprised you didn't detach yourself from this concept by saying 'The idea of woman' in the beginning.

The ending was interesting. I often wonder why we resile at feces, yet loom over gold when in reality.. they are one in the same, as far as basic particles go. Sort of like how each colour gets a different reaction, even though they are all the same thing.. just different tones of it.
I also think this is where most naturalist found their thought process, but in more diminished forms.