language

TO FINE-TUNE TOYN

How many times have you heard it? Unsuspected wisdom coming out of the corners of unlikely mouths; a statement redolent of the halls of Olympus; a pronouncement—a non sequitur; a cap, a clincher, a crown to the muttering of innumerable opinions: "Those who cannot learn from the past are condemned to repeat it." Yessir.
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ON A WELLWORN BUT IMPROPER NOUN

As I was telling my wife this morning I have this ache of compassion for people without the resources to express what they think of a person whose behavior falls short of what we expect of, what we assume, and all secretly believe a human being to be capable of. "Asshole", the word that issues from our mouths most readily and has come to greater and greater use in the grand cacophony of human speech, within all strata of society and among children of all ages, seems painfully inadequate. Worse, it reflects too much upon the person sounding the very fetid, flaming word.
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WHAT SIN, A NAME—FRANK CROCITTO ON HIS OWN NAME

Photograph of Bearer - Frank Crocitto

Yes indeed, the name is Crocitto, Frank Crocitto, and it has proven to be a lulu, especially if you don't know the how of Italian vowels and how they can get Americanized or how my grandfather, my namesake, decreed it was to be pronounced. Of course the problem isn't the Frank part, though there is sometimes a bog-fog of uncertainty surrounding that, too: "Is it really Frank? Not Francis? Just Frank? Not Franco or Francesco? Not even Franklin or Franklyn (like an uncle of mine, through marriage, spelled it)?"

No, the answer is no, no, no!
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HIS AIM AS A WRITER

Who me? My aim?

Yes, you, you monkey, your aim?

Hey—awright, but show a little respect.

I'm waiting. Ain't that respect enough?

No comment. My aim as a writer is... to rearrange the words in the dictionary into some more meaningful order. How's that?

Wiseguy.

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A Bloggy Day or A Blog of a Blog

Today, being a red-letter day in a long march of days of dubious gray, I declared to my web master that I would produce a "blog."  Now how could I, who had seen and felt the effect of words—good and bad—upon outlook, inlook, doing and deeds, undertake an activity that carries such a grotesque, self-mocking label? Whoever came up with this word, a word that has come to encompass a worldspin of words, has, perhaps unwittingly, condemned whatever effort flying this flag to foolishness, triviality or downright, out and out imbecility. Too harsh, you say? Look at it a moment. Sound it to yourself. Whisper it in your wife's ear. Blogblogblogblogblog... Words determine things. They open up vistas. They flap down a coffin lid. They inspire. They exasperate. They create. They destroy. Damn, but they are powerful beasts!

When we accept a word and agree to labor under its shadow we are acquiescing to life lived within its limits. So take this revolting blob of a word—an overstuffed suitcase of a word—a word blended of the bl of blindness, blab, blather, blabber, blip, blase, blah and the og of fog, sog, bog, log, cog, smog. Ye gads! who in their right mind would consent to such a word? Who would allow the force of such a blubbering, slobbering, drooling, gargling word to dominate the content of their creative expression? Not I !!! Words master us if we are oblivious of their power; if we use them as robots would. When we awaken to their potential power we can use them to good purpose. Master or be mastered! Plunge your mug into a bog or lift your countenance to the sky. Whatever else you may say the activity will be a distinctly different experience with a distinctly different outcome.

No, no, I will not blog today.


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