I’ve been a little adventurer and started exploring around various sites lately, checking out what’s “newly pressed” and eagerly looking for more “wordies”, as they call themselves. Oh gosh that name is really growing on me! At first I found it a little absurd that someone would call themselves a “wordie”. i’d always took it that the term referred to an overdose of words- when there is more black ink than white spaces on an essay paper, or when the ebony ink of the typed characters seem to shiver, dance and smudge into one another, or when the red scribbles of your teacher pen spells out “cut on the details” ;) But apparently this is definition is incorrect, or at least just one of two meanings it harbors :)
The other definition I assume would be the description of a group of people that take pleasure in writing, reading, talking about writing, talking about reading, forums, blogging, writing diaries, random rants… sorry i’m going off topic :D, but basically people who enjoy the use of words in general. How these little abundant non-living creatures have their ways of coming alive, is a miracle that only some believe in. How they break away from the bonds of the paper that hold them immobile, takes a fair amount of imagination and a pinch of creativity. But when they do, there’s no stopping them. They heap and pile onto one another until the little letters have built up a world of their own.
Like the lyrics of a song, each word has a tune to it. A versatile piece of a melody. That can be assembled and reassembled in so many different patterns, each one creating a different aura, a distinct feeling and initiating various moods.
Enough about the beauty of words :) I feel it is a fitting occasion to be conversing about polkadots. Okay, being honest, my friend dared me to write this next post about the cute little circles. So here goes my attempt at talking to polkadots, label me crazy if you will :)
Sweet polkadots, oh, sweet polkadots.
Care to share your secrets?
What’s with all your perfection and glam, all your mystery and secrecy?
Why are you all alike, yet unlike. Unique, yet common. Individual, yet so ordinary.
I wish I could carry you all in my arms, as you pile up and higher and higher.
I would throw the lot of you into the air,
and you scatter as you fall back to the earth’s sane surface.
Falling like water, like droplets, like rain.
Only when the farmers see you feed their crops,
when you bounce of the roofs of labour man’s houses,
when you crash into the president’s back yard,
will the world actually treasure you.
By the way, I found a tumblr link that I think all wordies would enjoy :) http://allyoxin3.tumblr.com/post/20638640872