ABC

Abstract though the thought might
be, I find myself
considering how I would
deal with language inside of my head differently than the
exterior.
For indeed, one of the
greatest considerations of my own mind (as slow as that may seem to
happier and more
intelligent beings than myself) is how much I
just don’t understand what I’m saying. I spend so many moments,
killing concepts and
liberating emotion, with small symbols that connect together,
making a WORD which implies MEANING.
No one has explained to me how this
operates in my mind, excluding a collective compromise, that
precise combinations mean precise definitions,
quick to
register in the brain to provide communication.
So why is it not so precise? How can I
take the same word, the same phrase, and turn
understanding upon its head in an instant? Ignore what the
vocal tone adds to this nonsense,
where are the precise definitions that I was promised?
Xenial, my mind adores such
yielding profit, such thing which can only come forth from the inexact.
Zealous, I attempt to find a way to be ambiguously precise.

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