RUDIMENTS 970.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 970

(what did you say?)

'Candasmoor, abirto pirada foir,

metala on non-distact furtna dey.'

Yes, that's the truth. Can you

believe there really was a time

when I was trying to make up

my own language. It was an

urge I'd always had. Failed

completely, and that's way to

the good, believe me. That

sentence there was sort of

meant to say 'The farther

you go, the more it is seen,

harshly, that you have not

traveled from your fortune,'

(or fate, it also was meaning).

Now, how my pathetic brain

made the leap, say, of using

'furtna' instead of 'fortuna'

for 'fortune', is still beyond

me - it would seem far more

obvious, sensible, similar -

but in doing all this I was more

taking a message in words

from beyond than anything

else. It showed me any

number of things, as lessons,

that remained important to me.

Even the little axioms I was

coming up with (like this one

shown) weren't mine. I had no

idea what it all was, nor do I

still know where much of this

stuff comes from - which I

receive, take down, toy with,

and develop. It's all very strange.

I'd heard of other languages of

this sort, a kind of dictated, alien

voice, from another realm, one

of them was called, the language,

'Sumerian.' Or 'Silurian.' I forget;

but if it was based, say, out of

ancient Sumer, this seemed far

too Latinate for that. It showed

me, oddly, and as well, a contrast

between say dictated 'language,

which was kind of just crap,

from wherever it came, and the

long, cultural and developmental

time that civilized 'real' language

demands - and that necessary

'Ralph needs a shovel, now, and

quickly' sort of command language

of tribes and groups. That's all

cultural and developmental, and

takes a long time. Mine was, well,

I never knew. Instant? Random?

Just crazy.

-

Yet, it was the sort of stuff I was

often bedeviled with. And it was

all pretty clear to me. Listen up,

and take it down. But think of how

dumb it all was too - each of those

words would have needed variations,

for tense and use, verbal, nominal,

subjective, objective, and I was

getting none of that. It was bogus;

had to be, or, like some weird

Bible story, some twisted vine

out of Babel's tower. Meanings,

as well, are contextual and most

certainly don't just come out of

nowhere. I was 'fractious.' Or

was that 'fractured'?

-

So that all led me, no surprise,

into all sorts of other discoveries.

The English language, at basic,

has been determined to have about

a million words, of which now

47,000 are considered obsolete.

170,000 are in current use, and

the general individual, in steady,

daily use, probably touches upon

20,000 to 30,000. Yet, by the era

of 1900, the new science of

'linguistics' had, with much hubris,

been studying 'primitive,' and

Amer-Indian' languages, which

were basically oral, mostly

non-written and without

grammar structures, etc. In

those studies, there were able

to determine, at most, 25,000

'words' in these languages. Of

course, without a social context

what did these foolish scientists

know or come up with? Nothing

of value except stupid American

generalizations - like Eskimos

having 80 words for snow. What

sort of info is that? Of course

they would, if that's their

environment. How many freaking

words for potato chips do we have?

Intensifcation is what happens

as a language grows - it rolls and

alters as the social context it's

part of evolves. There's just NO

imposition of a language. It's

a live being, in its way - or

at least a glowing, large, rolling

orb. (If you listen to political

types, all those campaigners and

supposed 'debaters' you can see

(hear) easily how it's devolved

too, wrecked. If you watch a

'candidate's' face while they

talk, I swear it's saying more

than their words ever do.

That's both interesting,

and pretty chilling too).

-

An interesting corollary to

this is Chinatown NY. At

least when I lived there; for

'now' I have to wonder - why

would anyone go to Chinatown

now anyway? A zillion swarmy

creatures with a zillion swarmy

travel viruses around and reams

of filth, rats, and open-air food?

That's the way we view things

today; it never used to be that

way. Anyhow, 30 years ago,

at any place in Chinatown, there

were restaurants. Hundreds.

The touristy ones were obvious,

with their lights and little fountains

and even lobbies and some marble;

a royal turn for up-classing that

went nowhere. The word for the

non-Chinese locals was 'Don't go

there, only go to the Chinatown

restaurants where you see Chinese

people, locals too, dining.' Which

places, of course, were usually at

best, tacky, small, cramped, busy,

and running heavy with the

intermingling of food, people,

waiters and refuse. Fifteen

dialects of the Chinese language

could be heard at any moment,

bouncing off each other, rising

and falling in that sing-song

manner they had. We use 'words'

for things, only, and plainly.

But in the Chinese tongue, they

use inflections, to mean different

things. A sound with the high

upswing means one thing, said

in a descending manner it means

another; and spoken flatly or

tied to another word, it all

means something else. So,

how do you count that? What

do English speakers really know?

-

In Chinatown, in these small-bore

local restaurants where Chinese

locals go, the walls were covered

with paper sheets, with characters

and brushstrokes written on them.

Unlike the tourist places - no scenes

of the countryside, pagodas, or,

again fountains. This was brash

and ruddy, all these Chinese

home places. What was actually

on the walls were menus for

locals. The menu the 'outside'

diners got was one thing; these

signs and character were prices

and dishes for locals, who could,

of course, read all this. The tourist

menu dumplings, at 2 for 6 dollars,

were, for the locals, probably 70

cents each. The platter of 8.95

lo mein, back then, was probably

2 bucks for the locals. For all

I or anyone ever knew, maybe

even the ingredients were

different. The language and

the locals covet their own.

American language is mostly

dead, used now only to relate

the most 'pathetic' of emotions

or outlandish comments or

evasions. There's no life

left in it. It's been squeezed

and dry-rotted to nothing.

What's the use of having

45,000 words at your

'command,' if they're

all otherwise dead?

-

-- PART ONE--

pt. two follows