Fill Me Up, I'm Hungry

Words provide rich nourishment for my mind.
On nearly equal footing are Music and Art.
I say nearly, although both Art and Music
may be far superior to words by many accounts.
Today, for my own mind, words are where it's at.

Words can describe the painting or
define the melancholy of a certain melody
within the lyrics (when provided).
Harmonics bring forth words unspoken
yet distinctly heard ...
within those layers of sound
emerges a distinct vocabulary.
Words bring clarity or ambiguity
dependent on the skill of the writer.

Word paintings are three-fold in that musically they are lyrics
meant to match the tone of the tunes they accompany.
(see tone or text painting)
In writing, they are a fusing of words to represent the visual narrative.
In art they are literally paintings of words...
or they are paintings created with words.

stolen from the www ( I forgot to mark the page)

Words are succulent.
Placed within sentences words fairly drip
with imprecision, nuance, thought, and meaning.
All ajumble, or all alone, words serve.
They are our own personal Maitre D's
ready and willing to attend to the literate among us.

There is a saying that a picture paints a thousand words...
and I say each word mimics another word,
another thought,
another entity,
another eternity within those paintings and songs of life.

If I could cook a book and eat it
I would surely do so.

image stolen from xelgend.blogspot.com

No need for garlic or peppers,
gravies, onions, icings or aspics...
it's all the tastiest of words
within the book
(if well-written)
which will serve to sustain me.

From the earliest light juvenile snacks
of "run, Spot, run."
and "Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?"
to the bloated gluttony of "The Stand" (revised)
or "The Fountainhead"
Each word  has made their mark
within the 17 or thereabouts stomachs of my mind.....

.....often resulting in puffy cushions for what amounts to collections within
and often about lowly tripe.

This will never deter me
from seeking the final chapter,
the eloquent fait accompli...
indeed, the last word
of my reader's quest for fulfillment.

I fear I suffer from a little-known and seldom-documented malady
dissociative reader disorder.
I cannot help but separate myself from the words
only to rejoin and embrace them.
Nor can I distinguish between the frail and feeble
always lurking amongst the hale and hearty.
These words can steer me straight to panic
or lull me into a sense of cocoon-like comfort
(or is that really me just trying to hide from reality?)
I'll never really know...
I am my own worst contradiction;
yet without this knowledge of self
and the desire to extricate a life from it
piece by piece, word by word
I would have little left to live for.

Thank you, dear words...for your sustenance.