“Therefore we will not listen to the source itself in order to learn what it is or what it means, but rather to the turns of speech, the allegories, figures, metaphors, as you will, into which the source has deviated, in order to lose it or rediscover it—which always amounts to the same.”
― Jacques Derrida
There was a sudden opening in the concourse. We bolted through to join the concourse of learned persons waiting on the library steps. The basil bolted—bright and floral and ready for the bees but left bitter to the taste—as we waited for the speaker. We needed a taste. We waited.
They spoke in allegory, in euphemisms, in youthful rhythms of protest and conquest: an understood language. We awaited, and we heard. We learned of words as weapons and set to aim them on an undeserving crowd.
A language created for disparity.
A language created by disparity.
What does our language mean when we keep changing the meaning? For me, it means excitement. The pen a syringe, “a suction point rather than that very hard weapon.”*