How can I remember my future
when my past has been gravely misspelt—
with all the hasty gerunds
and coarse-grained adjectives
serving no purpose
other than ornament—
and even rain has lost its subsumption
in such an unconceivable milieu,
so that when I entertain the idea
of using the vested Pooterish umbrella,
I always have to consider the wistfulness
of the draught?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I came into possession of a book on why truth matters and was astonished to read that ‘[t]here are true (sic!) facts’. What on earth are true facts? In the past, we simply had facts and fiction. Why does the former require such a qualifier now? Call me old-fashioned, but such pleonasm is not just a sign of bad style; it’s an indication of the undergoing putrefaction of language—that fundamental instrument for shaping thoughts, expressing emotions, and maintaining social connections, a mirror of values, beliefs, and experiences, that can even influence how people perceive the world. So, I’d rather stick to facts.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 