A Sentence for a Sentence

2024.08.02

Good morning that wonderful way.

Hello, again, hello.

It's me. Here and at it again.

A sentence for a sentence.

A pronouncement for a pronouncement.

Why read?

Why read anything at all?

There's an inner life, what does that even mean.

The way we talk ourselves to sleep, the way we let the day creep in.

Don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.

Haven't done a freewrite stream of conscious dream enough.

So now that's done, we'll talk.

It's wonderfully one-sided these morning writes.

Suppose that's the idea though.

To share something with you before the day's checklists get in the way.

What are we without the play of others?

That human drama when your mama comes a callin'.

It's race and hope and...

Why call it race?

There's the human race and there's race, the racial kind of race.

And why the pun?

Where are our cultures running to?

Assimilation for the Nation?

The melting pot that needs a few more minutes on the stove?

In the microwave?

Aren't we heated enough over our cultural differences for them to melt already?

I'd wonder about poets.

About how they spend their lives.

Who writes something like that?

Leaves of Grass, Ode to a Grecian Urn, what Langston said, or Maya?

Who, what kind of person, sits and writes those small angular blocks of text that mean so much in so many new ways?

Why waste your time working so hard to make something beautiful that didn't know what it was until you put it down?

To show you, is a facet of this blog.

I'd tell you I'm a poet if you asked about my work.

On any American street you'd scratch your head, furrow your brow, "There's a weirdo that never grew out of his delusions. 'Nice hobby. What do you do for work?'"

How come we don't recognize the importance of poetry?

You decide.

Then, recognize it.

What I write on these pages, these scroll downs, with or without pictures, is poet's work.

Any one of us worth anything had, and have, similar dispositions.

It's not self-help mumbo jumbo I write, though I do hope it helps you; it's a certain way of looking at life.

And we need more of it.

If we're going to survive as a race, we need more of the spirit that brings these pages to you.

The world, the human world, goes from a spoken to a textual race with every text sent to every friend, with every key press and slide, the oral ways of humankind die a little.

So, the profession that protects the definition and ability of our printed matter, matters more than ever.

We, us poets, say what words can do.

How strong a word can be is completely dependent on the user's ability to flex new meaning into the old ones.

Plato said that the most dangerous, and effective, of all leaders is a Poet King.

He changes everything because he changes what the words mean.

He grows the language and so grows the society.

How we talk to each other is dependent on the definitions, the shared understanding, of our words.

We talk fast, we get things done in snappy manners, maybe we think speaking will never be replaced, it's too efficient.

But the meaning of words find themselves first through the written.

We read to grow our worlds, to grow our understanding, to stretch the story of ourselves, to see our lives through new windows, new screens, new any and every colored glasses.

You don't get quick snappy decisions, you don't get anything done, without language.

And so, whoever controls the language, controls the world.

The human one at least.

Whoever defines what words mean controls the whole scene from behind the scenes.

Science made a play at it.

But Science lacks spirit and so lets us down in ways we can't express.

We can't express because our poets have yet to give us common ground in the realm of spirit.

We're not hallmark cards, we're the one true power of humanity.

Without language we, simply, don't get anything done.

Whoever controls the words controls the health and prosperity of the race.

So, get your 'write' on, grow and stretch what the words mean by filling them with more of your experience in new ways.

Sing them new, shout them new, whisper them new.

But new new new we have to grow what our words mean to fit the new experiences on the way, or our machines are going to tell us we're useless.

Science is going to lead us to the edge of extinction in a doldrum tin structure full of magnets and wires that does a better job at being the best Science can tell us we are.

That's a great lie.

Because we are more than our current definitions allow us to be.

And so, we have to change the value and ability of our words, or life is going to feel a lot less worth it than it already does.

Science, Math, Religion, are all genres under the umbrella called Poetry, linguistic ways to help us shape our days.

How we use our words is how we can best share our lives with ourselves and others.

The more we grow an understanding of our language the more we grow the experience of our lives.

Literally, makes our reality.

Literally.

So, I write these to you every day, write from the point of view of a poet, those who understand life is a linguistic journey. A place to shape each day, through words and images, the story of your life, of your version of life itself.

I hope they find you well.
I hope they provide you new windows to view your days, to experience your life.

I'll see you, read you, on the page some time.

Thank you for reading; it means the world to me.

S.J. Wynn
+he Ghos+