‘And all the rest is silence’…

Sometimes I struggle with words. I hate how they sound when they flow out of your mouth and linger in the air like a bad smell that you never meant to let out. I get all tied up inside when the words that tumble from my mouth in no way resemble the thoughts that string together how I feel; as if my mind is scared to toe the water of what is really going on in there.

For the past couple of months I have been living above a pub in the Cotswolds with a Slovakian guy whose English doesn’t span much further than ‘you smoke weed?’ or ‘you want beer?’. So as you can imagine, conversation is limited to whatever words we can pull together to communicate beyond the language barrier.

With this is mind, Wittgenstein always seems to pop into my head with his spiel about language, and his view of ‘what we cannot speak about we must passover in silence’. I’ve always wondered what he was talking about, and I guess now I know.

Without words we are not completely lost, because the silence we often fall into sings a melody that requires no language and, as a result I’ve come to view words as a sideline to how we feel, but not necessarily the be-all-end-all of human communication. I’ve grown to love the space between words, the hand gesticulations, the eye contact that flirts it’s way between our thoughts, and the silence that spells a connection you can’t articulate with adjectives, prepositions or all that other bullshit that formulates a language corpus.

Here is a poem I wrote one night after an evening of tackling language barriers, and lavish hand gesticulations.

I hope you all enjoy my words. x

No Words
I need guidance.
‘Cos right now my mind tyrant.
Sat here at night, searching for words that sounds right.
That feel right,
That lock in tight with yours and ignite
Like the other side of love that feels nice.

But I’m writing tonight, in the silence
That breathes in the air of your flight.

So I’m thinking about something I read a while back,
About this guy who wrote a while before that,
Who preached a disfavour of violence,
In favour of scenes that passover in silence
When we can’t seem to find the right words.

And it got me thinking, isn’t that the greatest curse of words?

These failed attempts to be heard,
Just tighten my nerves until my voice swerves
And hits the curb
Without a word to be heard.
Undeserved.
In my plight to observe,
The curve of our existence.
But I’m persistent in verse,
Drawn to our curse of interspersed bursts
Of sublime rhymes,
To hamartic declines
That scorch the arch of our allotted time.

Isn’t that the greatest curse of words?

To disfavour violence,
In favour of scenes that passover in silence
When we can’t seem to find the right words?

Shakespeare once said to the world,
‘And all the rest is silence.’
Well that’s because Hamlet died,
He escaped this pressure of feeling alive,
This kaleidoscopic,
Never-thinks-to-stop-it-till-you-pop-it
Monologue of my mind’s eye.

So tell me,
How would you keep afloat?
If you had Hamlet’s silence stealing your vote?

Anyway, I don’t know why I care,
At the end of the day,
It’s all just hot air
About some sheltered prince
Who couldn’t dare.
So what if the sun doesn’t shine that bright in your limelight?

I can see your light,
And it shines in your eyes so bright,
Like a moth in sweet serenade
Circling out of the darkness
Like a renegade.

And I know at the of the day,
I’m just absurd but you’re delectable.
So I’ll talk no more of this word war.

Show me the space between words
And I know you will have heard me.

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