Storm-Tossed Words
I am not a fan of floating words.
Hope
Family
Blessings
Love
Laughter
I've seen all of these floating in decorator space, and it seems almost painful. Perhaps it has to do with a Compulsive Reading Disorder which causes me to read and re-read a word no matter how many times I see it and have read it. For instance, you don't want to know how many times I've read the same cereal box or the really lame comic posted next to the computer I sometimes borrow. (The irony is that the lame comic is this guy at a race track and every time the race car flies past he says, "Woah. déjà vu.")
But Compulsive Reading Disorder aside, I think it has more to do with a sense that you have lost everything but one magnet from the set of magnetic poetry on your fridge.
Or maybe it is because it is like one solitary little wisp of a cloud on a day that was meant for a soul-stirring sunset.
Floating words are like a single note confidently played and then left hanging, naked of the concerto it was meant for.
These words are all "heavy" words, meaning that from the beginning of time and across the globe, philosophers and poets, politicians and pre-adolescents have all tried to grasp the weight and the mystery of these things. But in unloosing these words from even the basest of moorings they are prone to every storm and undercurrent.
So take these storm tossed words and root them: root them in truths even more weighty than the words by themselves.
Hope
Family
Blessings
Love
Laughter
I've seen all of these floating in decorator space, and it seems almost painful. Perhaps it has to do with a Compulsive Reading Disorder which causes me to read and re-read a word no matter how many times I see it and have read it. For instance, you don't want to know how many times I've read the same cereal box or the really lame comic posted next to the computer I sometimes borrow. (The irony is that the lame comic is this guy at a race track and every time the race car flies past he says, "Woah. déjà vu.")
But Compulsive Reading Disorder aside, I think it has more to do with a sense that you have lost everything but one magnet from the set of magnetic poetry on your fridge.
Or maybe it is because it is like one solitary little wisp of a cloud on a day that was meant for a soul-stirring sunset.
Floating words are like a single note confidently played and then left hanging, naked of the concerto it was meant for.
These words are all "heavy" words, meaning that from the beginning of time and across the globe, philosophers and poets, politicians and pre-adolescents have all tried to grasp the weight and the mystery of these things. But in unloosing these words from even the basest of moorings they are prone to every storm and undercurrent.
So take these storm tossed words and root them: root them in truths even more weighty than the words by themselves.
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