Language is a Simple Description/Prose Piece . . . ?

Language is a Simple Description

Wil-kin-son. The burning flame of fire. Language is a really simple description. But one can play with it and sing with it. Almost as though you are - deep into the heart of the serpent. And he meanders and twists around your neck in order to squeeze all of the particles out which make up the spirit. And then you travel back toward the sunny shore of human vivacity and ardent fervor, the roaring madness of the city bustle- New York is really a happy place to be in. And then you are at home, sitting with your cat beside you, sipping a bit of herbal tea, and thinking, 'why, I'd really like to be able to dance and jig or jump rope in my living room . . . ' Oh, dear, and then you realize that you sound crazy. Like the keys punching across this board of nonsense, your eyes open wide, like full moons, and you wonder, why you ever, wanted to write at all. At all, a voice echoes inside your head that's crammed with all these verbose words and information. And you think to yourself, 'well, it could have been worse. At least I have been to many lands, and I can sing with words indeed, I can. So many things that you can do with it. Language is really a simple description. It wakes up the spirit in all the ways that you can imagine. And, in truth, it doesn't matter how language wakes up your spirit. Whether an assiduous, black, ugly snake wakes it up or the madness of a city, or thoughts of insanity while you sit, seemingly peaceful, ir-on-y . . . you play. You play with words. Language is really very simple- is it not?