"Twas brillig, and the slithy toves..."

"Twas brillig, and the slithy toves.."

   "Twas brillig, and the slithy toves..."

        This is all the nonsense I can take.  This and Tristram Shandy, but no more.  Overrun as we are with reality shows, irresponsible, biased, and corporatized media, and addictive, belligerent use of technology, what would we do if all went dark, our cell phones and I-Pads wrested from us, and, for a shining moment, all we had to relieve us from our narcissistic self-importance (yes, a redundancy, for you to forgive), were books?  Good books. Real, not "virtual."  The ones to be cradled in the hand, papered--not pixeled, the leaves, making the sound of a summer breeze sweeping merrily along a gardened path as we turn them, continually christening our eyes with the reign of Language.  Not the insolent abbreviation of life (that is well worth the nourishment of sense and the consideration of thought) that I cringe to see when I open an e-mail; for, "OMG," and "WTF" do not make me "LOL."  Instead, I mourn.  Life has already been abbreviated for us.  We do not have forever that we should be pressed to give our finite time to that which lacks grace.

        I hereby open myself to this sphere (the irony of which is not lost on me) to use it as a platform of worthy thought, and pay homage to all who read me with language untruncated, unbutchered by our desire to "save" time ( as if we could corral it, or know how much of it we have, that we should deem the present moment unworthy of fullness, and perhaps some other moreso), as I try--along with you--to make sense of, and, if not, then at least  to make sentient commentary on, the world. 

       To "blog" or not to "blog" has been the question for me.  Blog.  The sound of that, the feel of it in my mouth, is like that of vomit.  (And, may Shakespeare forgive me for such a bastardization, in paraphrase, of his divine skill with language).  I am constantly being reminded by others that I am behind the times, that the world has changed, that I must accept, accept, accept...  Well, now...What better way to join the living than by using the very thing that dehumanizes us and to bend it to my will, in an effort to defeat, in some small way, the harmful effects of these new toys and tools that we have.  Ralph Waldo Emerson is always here to remind me that "...things are in the saddle/ and ride Mankind...."  I don't need an "IM" or a "BBM"--isn't that a missle system of some kind, or a bodily function?--to remind me.

Just help me to do this:  bring some sense and sensibility together again, and not let us be ridden, but, instead, to ride this thing that has taken our collective reins.  I live for Language, in all its infinite glory, and invite you to enjoy this ride with me.