a prose of performance

they say there were over 7000 languages spoken in the world. they say that people, not environment, are the dynamic forces of culture. i feel droplets of assimilation fall from the gutters of my generation and the dog is barking. English is the official language of 60 countries and about 400 million people speak in a native English tongue. does interpretation stand a chance when his asshole brother is constantly correcting my grammar? prescriptive, descriptive, i get it but not many listen to the two a day directions. and of those 7000 languages worldwide, many are disappearing at a rapid rate. if we dont put our words on the page now they might be forgotten once we're gone. we dont speak the same language. what anchors itself to my mind when i leave the theater is not the proscenium. say something absurd and people will remember. there is a common logic stored somewhere in the database of humanity and when interrupted, the most colorful cyclones appear. the third man might be called john or vanessa but you dont deem that necessary, do you dr. h? perhaps ambiguity introduces creativity. perhaps it reduces the miniscule and magnifies the, well, giantess.  i think an overdose on lucidity murks the shallow water of our thoughts and that is where the language phenomena reside. we  shuffle our feet in the ocean near the beach to uncover those fearsome monsters lurking beneath the topmost layer of ground seashell bits. the metaphor is not the shuffling, but an image of a young adult performing a forward-moonwalk off the shore of the pacific. not my moonwalk. drawing is the hand directing a computer mouse across the screen. a stylus across the interface. a charcoal across the canvas. blood across the rock. singing is the vocal chords contracting. speaking must be singing. music is the fingers, the hands, the feet and for dancing you would say the same. theres a thing called syncretism taught by a man using words in the right way. it's the merging of ancient and new traditions of a culture to please both parties. its also called a settlement but you dont want to because settle comes from the latin base "sed-" out of which grows a rich layer of soil at the bottom of the river and you shouldnt hold your breath that long because youre killing brain cells every second. we want uniquely named color. we want inforseeable designs and to push innovative needles through our flesh. i see my word on a page, my word on a neighbors arm, my word on the front of a birthday card and i am relieved of my race for originality. i watch as my words solidify and drop like wax when you say them because they arent meant to be said that way. they arent prescribed for that purpose. i watch homogenized readers move their lips and my insides curdle. a text too easily read is one easily forgotten. i wont direct the actors. (they say the word "actor" no longer has a feminine and masculine form). Chapter 1 tastes sour, lets use roman numerals to sweeten the base. they can dance across the page, in what formation though? perhaps a diamond-o-gram or parallactic oval. im certain the bees dont smell our fear, but relentlessly chased the poet who decided it was so.