How to Swear
Many targets for swearing roam this collapsing world. Fouled places and obscene weapons. Any predictable, capricious or even seductive god would damn them. Damn – all-purpose recrimination stocked in cupboards like baking powder and salt. The only French swear word I know after five years studying this romance language is merde, no relation to murder, more recall of a long-ago run-over stink of skunk.
When you abandon your broken-down sedan to the crusher, kick the flat tire. Wish for the lover who deserts you to itch eternally. Choose any commonplace epithet permissible in today’s culture of curse.
The voiceless too have choices – spray paint, fist shake, march en masse, and flatulence. Silence is a creative option under the competition of talk shows, buzz saws, leaf blowers, tire whine, and monologues from dogs trapped on back porches. Merde under its breath.
Grief’s varietal vocabulary of dismay include elephants who boom over their dead. Whales cry over sea-roads. A spotted owl loosens hup hoo hoo. Admire the eloquence of the crow. Mimicry invites diversity.
Loud gets attention. The newborn who screams because its nerves do not connect harmoniously knows this, but too-long stillness in a crib also brings tenders running.
Some say climate change is a deserved curse. Changing winds bring tornados that lift roofs and leave the family Bible open on the kitchen table or rend the Bible and leave the TV guide on the Tibetan green-silk carpet. After one masters swearing or demeaning (Cyrano’s monologue after the viscount), the second lesson – which requires more finesse and as much sincerity – is blessing.
How to Bless
In Old English etymology, blessing began with sprinkling blood on a pagan altar – a hint of messy demands. The heart requires lessons to learn the way of it, hears few models. Quiet thankfulness floats by faster than a cloud of malaise. Ecstasy is not a call to action. Blessing is an act of volition.
Reliability and consistency are clues to invoke blessing. A second-hand station wagon with a dented door that drives fine. The seatbelts work. The sonnet that holds up to five readings. Friends who show up.
Watch for disguised blessings. A robust woman with a veil over scars. The lemon smell of the gold rose. An extended wait for the diagnosis that nothing is wrong. Death offering escape.
Yesterday, browned-out moss on the labyrinth path greened up after a shower — not a rain that ended drought — only drizzle that changed the color of things. That blood on the pagan altar.
Many targets for swearing roam this collapsing world. Fouled places and obscene weapons. Any predictable, capricious or even seductive god would damn them. Damn – all-purpose recrimination stocked in cupboards like baking powder and salt. The only French swear word I know after five years studying this romance language is merde, no relation to murder, more recall of a long-ago run-over stink of skunk.
When you abandon your broken-down sedan to the crusher, kick the flat tire. Wish for the lover who deserts you to itch eternally. Choose any commonplace epithet permissible in today’s culture of curse.
The voiceless too have choices – spray paint, fist shake, march en masse, and flatulence. Silence is a creative option under the competition of talk shows, buzz saws, leaf blowers, tire whine, and monologues from dogs trapped on back porches. Merde under its breath.
Grief’s varietal vocabulary of dismay include elephants who boom over their dead. Whales cry over sea-roads. A spotted owl loosens hup hoo hoo. Admire the eloquence of the crow. Mimicry invites diversity.
Loud gets attention. The newborn who screams because its nerves do not connect harmoniously knows this, but too-long stillness in a crib also brings tenders running.
Some say climate change is a deserved curse. Changing winds bring tornados that lift roofs and leave the family Bible open on the kitchen table or rend the Bible and leave the TV guide on the Tibetan green-silk carpet. After one masters swearing or demeaning (Cyrano’s monologue after the viscount), the second lesson – which requires more finesse and as much sincerity – is blessing.
How to Bless
In Old English etymology, blessing began with sprinkling blood on a pagan altar – a hint of messy demands. The heart requires lessons to learn the way of it, hears few models. Quiet thankfulness floats by faster than a cloud of malaise. Ecstasy is not a call to action. Blessing is an act of volition.
Reliability and consistency are clues to invoke blessing. A second-hand station wagon with a dented door that drives fine. The seatbelts work. The sonnet that holds up to five readings. Friends who show up.
Watch for disguised blessings. A robust woman with a veil over scars. The lemon smell of the gold rose. An extended wait for the diagnosis that nothing is wrong. Death offering escape.
Yesterday, browned-out moss on the labyrinth path greened up after a shower — not a rain that ended drought — only drizzle that changed the color of things. That blood on the pagan altar.