Kofi Fosu Forson
Drug pusher with no reserve serves up the heroin. Sure to be damage done to the body.
“Philosophy, my blood heroin...”
Trust the letter “t” in the word “titillate.” It resounds with proclamation. Existing in its hilarity is the conviction with which we suffer at the thought of language bone-thin.
Seduction is the crust per bloom in every thought. The agony therefore has to do with the lack of patience given each word or do they form in fragments? The word “titillate”… does it possess? Should a word border seduction in order to possess? What about the word “magistrate”? Certainly it presupposes a feeling of order.
Does dialogue cause cancer? If there ever were a cure for cancer, it’s in the dialogue. Suffice it to say, embodiment of language is definitive not of usage but how and with what relevance do we continue the modification through modernity.
Perhaps seduction qualifies each and every one of us as convicts. If convicted, would one admit to carnivorous behavior or with option stirs a rise in blood temperature only with tone, tough-tongue, language, not just words but a pattern of words flowing within a particular unannounced melody?
Seduction, the pattern of all evil..? Must we dismember the qualifications from which we prove our angst to then absorb a feeling of paradise in a sigh, comfort in a term of endearment?
How then does language morph into philosophy, my blood heroin? Much like music put to words, blood boils to the sound of a voice. We are bound to seduce every word, every notion, much like the invisible cup.
Is it befitting to serve the word “supercilious” to a stranger?
Yes…A letter at a time.
Sunday, September 09, 2007