Photo Credit: Hilde Skjølberg via Flickr
The English language harbours an infinite quantity of words which allow for sentence construction to create an even more boundless mixture of vocabulary, turns of phrase and expression. Each combination is meticulously crafted for me, your presumed author, to tell you, dear reader, what’s on my mind— or in some cases, what should be on your mind. Ultimately, it is not enough. Some emotions defy description just as some plays defy analysis. The Minnesota Timberwolves, as they’ve become wont to do, did something tantalizing today and… no, it wasn’t that the play defied analysis. It was a rollicking sequence but one that’s predictable. Ricky Rubio’s dimes exude bewilderment, Dirk Nowitzki was discombobulated but not in a way that’s curious and Kevin Love, well, he makes the shots around these here parts.
The other day, I was toiling away on an article, burning that greasy midnight oil and listening to an assortment of instrumental music. You know them well: The working “techniques” we dupe ourselves into employing more out of lazy enjoyment than actual effectiveness. Amid my not-in-any-way-detrimental-or-dilatory journey, I tripped over an interesting YouTube comment. Wait, why are you closing this tab?!
To paraphrase, it went something like this: Lyrics slaughter the beautiful meanings music could produce. It’s a compelling assertion but in my case, one that’s too absolute to evoke agreement: I love words. But often, the significance we try to extract from grandiose displays of human mastery serve only to reap these moments of their untethered magnificence. Without further ado (250 words and three paragraphs later), my favourite pass of the season.