night spiel
by santadeer
Syntax, according to www.dictionary.com, is the study of the rules for the formation of grammatical sentences in a language. It also had a ton of other related meanings, of which this was understood the fastest. Heh.
The sudden interest in this word stemmed from a infatuated viewing of an interview I had seen during work today… but if it makes me spruce up my vocabulary, or revise it with exacting care, I declare it to be a well-intentioned distraction, if ever there could be one! Anyway, I miss English. I wish I took up literature instead of bloody mass communications. I miss prose and poem and I just bloody wished I had listened to father, with regards to that. But, never too late is it?
Come 2012, alongside my Masters programme I am thinking of taking minor courses among which definitely would be drama and literature. Well, the former may probably be me joining a club, though I daresay a class would be brilliant, if for no other reason other than to recount my childhood spent in glorious drama classes, forgetting everything, everything that took place outside of those white-washed walls, voice-throwing exercises, enacting out a duck’s waddle or a frog’s leaps and bounds.
As part of my infatuated-proceedings, I was taken in by my subject’s classes and methods learned at the school of drama and the ease with which the theatrical vocabulary was a part of his everyday-vernacular. Well, he is an actor, so no biggie I was thinking…but it occured to me that I don’t use any mass-comm related knowledge or methods whatsoever, in my work, talk, thought or as a oh-well-I-spent-30k-so-let-me-just-bloody-well-use-it reason every now and then. No, I SIMPLY DON’T. It’s not in my blood.
I want something to run through my veins in addition to my blood. Like how it runs through for Colin Firth. I wish I hadn’t seen his Actors Studio session. But it’s good. A fire under my belly is exactly what I need.
I just wish I wouldn’t douse it ever so often, by sleeping over it -.-
Anyway, it’s also certain that I absolutely must be with someone who wraps me with words and cocoons me with the secure warmth that is the sole characteristic of words that have been never more true. Nothing else can or will do. Just speak to me. Sit me down and really speak to me; I will listen and love. There is nothing else to it. There is nothing more I want to want or do.
I mean of what use is a touch or a gaze, without words whispered into the very canal of my heart, which would send them straight to the narrow crevices of my mind, where centered is my soul and spirit that actually know what is to be expected and merely reflects back what always is. This confirmation is what I seek. After which, comes contentment. Perhaps…
But I can confirm that I can do without the two, just as long as you…
Water me with words. Stoke me with sonnets.
Love me with lines. Pleasure me with poems.
Keep me with Keats. Oscillate me with Oscar Wilde.
Join me with Jane Austen. Deliver me, my Darcy.
