Words and the Lack Thereof

Today, as with the 500+ yesterdays and as with the unknown number of tomorrows, I stare aghast yet unsurprised at the radioactive slime trail left in the wake of the Orange Malignancy’s latest shitshow; today, as with those yesterdays and those tomorrows, I find myself without the words to immediately and viscerally express my frustration and  horror at the monstrosities endemic to this red-hat surreality show of the unhinged.

Words, for me, – and specifically, the hunt for the right words – constitute the exploration and revelation of depth; when the truth is so simple – that the Orange Malignancy is a blight on the world and on history and proves it with greater frequency and in more visceral forms each day that this show stays on the air – it feels all but impossible to provide anything but word-vehicles of anxious jaw-drops, usually a variation on “what the fuck?!” or “jesusfuckingchrist.”

There is, at least, some comfort to be mined in the words of Emerson:

“Stay at home in your mind. Don’t recite other people’s opinions. See how it lies in you; and if there is no counsel, offer none. What we want is not your activity or interference with your mind, but your content to be a vehicle of the simple truth.”

This insignificant meandering through my little unweeded garden of thought, then, is simply the expression of being unable to express myself; a word-representation of the frustration at my having “no counsel,” though part of me wonders what Emerson would consider a/the “simple truth” of today.

(TW)

(h/t to Carol Tilley for unearthing the above gem.)