Rain Dance

Chewing is fun. Almost anything to do with the mouth is fun. Especially talking. Talking to someone with whom you feel comfortable talking. Talking requires that qualifier. Talking to strangers, especially in the U.S., can be a chore. People don’t open up readily. They do in California. You can talk to almost anyone in California with the kind of ease and daring that the language appreciates, it’s everything a language lives for, the spontaneity of speech. Among friends. Among strangers. In bus depots. Airports. Conversations in airports are always a little subdued. It’s the high security. All the humiliating things they – the powers that be – force you to do for security. It’s not working. These measures don’t augment my sense of security they erode it. They give me the heebie-jeebies. Bus depots and train stations are much more conducive. Music explodes it. You get people around music and they’re either going to dance or talk a lot. Shout things. Most people trying to keep the mood buoyant and avoid touchy subjects. I don’t. I can’t. I’ve got an allergy to small talk, but even in social groups where I should know better, I end up saying something that provokes, inflames, disturbs, causes people to walk away. This is why I like writing. There’s nobody there to offend. You’re not going to disturb anyone. But if you do (and yes, it’s a distinct possibility these days) they can just put the book down and go elsewhere. This is a disappointment to language which wants everyone to join in no matter what and bring as much opposition and nuance and difference of opinion to the mix as possible. Homogeneity kills. But what can you do? Gavage is unethical. You shouldn’t force-feed people one’s opinions. But hey. You can climb into a sentence anytime and go on a journey. If you use the same kind of attention as going down a wild river in an inflatable raft you’ll be amazed at what a few words can do. Right now there’s a lot of drought. Think of this as rain. A rain dance.