LOVE LETTER TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR #9
I've made the most wonderful discovery! It is this: You are not swine. Oh, how great! Would you like to know why? Well, if you were swine, I could not allow myself to cast any pearls before you because that was my old project and I am done with it completely. You have no idea how many pearls I have lost because of this casting before swine mistake and although I have been able to continually replenish my supply of pearls (at least to some extent) you should know that doing so, has come at great cost, because to generate them is quite involved and I am not some kind of super-oyster.
See, I have, in times past, fantasized, much to my own detriment, that the pearls themselves posses a transformative power with the capacity to turn swine into things other than swine (apples, for example) which was, of course, (and I'm rather ashamed to admit it) an unfortunate act of hubris on my part.
At this point, I have come to see that most swine do not even know they are swine and being swine, do not even have their own numbers. I do however, have their numbers and the truth is, the numbers of swine are really quite shaky, so unlike say- "7" or "22." The scary thing is that the shaky is contagious and the casting of the pearls is the way in which the shaky is contracted. See, I myself have had some solid numbers here and there, but when I've engaged in pearls before swine casting, my numbers become shaky too! Once, I even, shouted, “Hey Swine, just so you know, I’ve got your numbers!” At this, the swine simply snorted and lolled about quite drunkenly and seemed to offer nothing but phlegmy chuckles. They hardly cared. Much to my disdain, I even noticed some of my pearls lodged in the nostrils of their snouts! “We have no use for you,” they appeared to be saying, “Whatever.” And I felt strongly, that if they could speak, nothing good would come from their mouths. They’d probably suggest that I just go home and juggle machetes or drink cups of lye. So yes, loss of pearls and shaky numbers are what I believe the saying is really getting at. This also explains why casting agents are not people to balk at. I’m sure good ones would have better casting ideas about whom or what to cast one’s pearls before. Seriously.
So, anyhow, since you are not swine and this is a love letter, I can finally tell you what I’ve been wanting to since the beginning and that is, that I would gladly take a dozen or so summers, or as many as necessary to explore with you the undeniable and mystifying beauty of the word, "clump."
Together, we could examine each letter of the word- the c, the l, the u, the m, and the p. And also, the combinations of the side-by-side letters- the cl, the lu, the um, and the mp. We would go through the sounds of each combination and then move on to the groupings of three; the clu, and the lum, and the ump. I'd tell you that for me, much of the magic has to do with the cl, which is culled from the word cull itself and can only be discovered by way of phonetics. “Indeed,” you’d say. And to sound this all out, out loud- is quite something. And to sound out with another is to begin to form new variants of meaning and to increase dynamic possibilities considerably and even begin to approach the seeds of symphonic.
I’d tell you that I’d recently googled, "slow to open flowers" and “reluctant buds,” because that’s what I was dealing with in a vase on my table. On one site, a landscaper referred to clumps over and over: "With the slow openers, just plant the clumps. You might need to move the clumps. Don't break apart the clumps. Handle the clumps tenderly." He went on and on. I had no idea what clumps he was referring to, but they sounded like such deeply, interesting clumps. I pictured something like a small ball of dirt and rocks with little root assemblies here and there. You’d perhaps suggest that the clumps might also have bird-feathers embedded within them or syrupy centers or a coating of pollen-dust or threads of silk. “I believe,” you’d say, “that a clump like that might feel a bit chilly- temperature-wise if we were to hold one." I’d agree. We’d go on and the more we’d talk about, investigate, and repeat the word “clump,” it would begin to sound like we were speaking a new language. We’d decide, perhaps to name our new language. We’d name it "Mmmp." It would, of course, be a romance language.
“Get back to cull," you'd say. “What else did you mean about that? There must be more there.” “Right,” I'd say, there is: “So, I believe cl is culled from culled and therefore has "le" as part of it, even though it is not visible. And, le always carries a feeling of an embrace, a hugging if you will, to the remaining part of the word. Consider cuddle, ladle, sadle, muddle, paddle, and candle. Would you ever want anything at all to do with cudd, lad, sad, mudd, padd, or cand?” “Oh my, of course not,” you’d say, “I’d want all those with the le attached and I’d especially like them all together in a clump.” “Me too,” I’d say. “And maybe,” I’d suggest, “along with our le clump and the one with the pollen and syrup, there could be another clump that is also an aphrodisiac.” “Oh my,” you’d swoon. “I think I very much like this idea of an aphrodisiacal clump-like object.”
We’d go on, traveling along a necklace of feeling into whatever clumps came up and with whatever came up with clump itself. At some point, the “m” would slide back for us and reveal the “up” in clump and with it a clue about all earthly beginnings. The necklace would have pleasurable digressions in the form of numerous, looping strands. I think it is possible that both of us would eventually agree that clump, although relative to both lump and cluster, is the best word of the three. And happily, we’d discover that through our consideration of lump and cluster, luster would appear quite unexpectedly and automatically birth the notion of yet another clump; a clump with great luster. And spending time with all these sumptuous clumps would be something new to do, out of all the things there are to choose in human-doing; something other than pretending swine are not swine, something a far-off ways away from a terrible recklessness with pearls.
I've made the most wonderful discovery! It is this: You are not swine. Oh, how great! Would you like to know why? Well, if you were swine, I could not allow myself to cast any pearls before you because that was my old project and I am done with it completely. You have no idea how many pearls I have lost because of this casting before swine mistake and although I have been able to continually replenish my supply of pearls (at least to some extent) you should know that doing so, has come at great cost, because to generate them is quite involved and I am not some kind of super-oyster.
See, I have, in times past, fantasized, much to my own detriment, that the pearls themselves posses a transformative power with the capacity to turn swine into things other than swine (apples, for example) which was, of course, (and I'm rather ashamed to admit it) an unfortunate act of hubris on my part.
At this point, I have come to see that most swine do not even know they are swine and being swine, do not even have their own numbers. I do however, have their numbers and the truth is, the numbers of swine are really quite shaky, so unlike say- "7" or "22." The scary thing is that the shaky is contagious and the casting of the pearls is the way in which the shaky is contracted. See, I myself have had some solid numbers here and there, but when I've engaged in pearls before swine casting, my numbers become shaky too! Once, I even, shouted, “Hey Swine, just so you know, I’ve got your numbers!” At this, the swine simply snorted and lolled about quite drunkenly and seemed to offer nothing but phlegmy chuckles. They hardly cared. Much to my disdain, I even noticed some of my pearls lodged in the nostrils of their snouts! “We have no use for you,” they appeared to be saying, “Whatever.” And I felt strongly, that if they could speak, nothing good would come from their mouths. They’d probably suggest that I just go home and juggle machetes or drink cups of lye. So yes, loss of pearls and shaky numbers are what I believe the saying is really getting at. This also explains why casting agents are not people to balk at. I’m sure good ones would have better casting ideas about whom or what to cast one’s pearls before. Seriously.
So, anyhow, since you are not swine and this is a love letter, I can finally tell you what I’ve been wanting to since the beginning and that is, that I would gladly take a dozen or so summers, or as many as necessary to explore with you the undeniable and mystifying beauty of the word, "clump."
Together, we could examine each letter of the word- the c, the l, the u, the m, and the p. And also, the combinations of the side-by-side letters- the cl, the lu, the um, and the mp. We would go through the sounds of each combination and then move on to the groupings of three; the clu, and the lum, and the ump. I'd tell you that for me, much of the magic has to do with the cl, which is culled from the word cull itself and can only be discovered by way of phonetics. “Indeed,” you’d say. And to sound this all out, out loud- is quite something. And to sound out with another is to begin to form new variants of meaning and to increase dynamic possibilities considerably and even begin to approach the seeds of symphonic.
I’d tell you that I’d recently googled, "slow to open flowers" and “reluctant buds,” because that’s what I was dealing with in a vase on my table. On one site, a landscaper referred to clumps over and over: "With the slow openers, just plant the clumps. You might need to move the clumps. Don't break apart the clumps. Handle the clumps tenderly." He went on and on. I had no idea what clumps he was referring to, but they sounded like such deeply, interesting clumps. I pictured something like a small ball of dirt and rocks with little root assemblies here and there. You’d perhaps suggest that the clumps might also have bird-feathers embedded within them or syrupy centers or a coating of pollen-dust or threads of silk. “I believe,” you’d say, “that a clump like that might feel a bit chilly- temperature-wise if we were to hold one." I’d agree. We’d go on and the more we’d talk about, investigate, and repeat the word “clump,” it would begin to sound like we were speaking a new language. We’d decide, perhaps to name our new language. We’d name it "Mmmp." It would, of course, be a romance language.
“Get back to cull," you'd say. “What else did you mean about that? There must be more there.” “Right,” I'd say, there is: “So, I believe cl is culled from culled and therefore has "le" as part of it, even though it is not visible. And, le always carries a feeling of an embrace, a hugging if you will, to the remaining part of the word. Consider cuddle, ladle, sadle, muddle, paddle, and candle. Would you ever want anything at all to do with cudd, lad, sad, mudd, padd, or cand?” “Oh my, of course not,” you’d say, “I’d want all those with the le attached and I’d especially like them all together in a clump.” “Me too,” I’d say. “And maybe,” I’d suggest, “along with our le clump and the one with the pollen and syrup, there could be another clump that is also an aphrodisiac.” “Oh my,” you’d swoon. “I think I very much like this idea of an aphrodisiacal clump-like object.”
We’d go on, traveling along a necklace of feeling into whatever clumps came up and with whatever came up with clump itself. At some point, the “m” would slide back for us and reveal the “up” in clump and with it a clue about all earthly beginnings. The necklace would have pleasurable digressions in the form of numerous, looping strands. I think it is possible that both of us would eventually agree that clump, although relative to both lump and cluster, is the best word of the three. And happily, we’d discover that through our consideration of lump and cluster, luster would appear quite unexpectedly and automatically birth the notion of yet another clump; a clump with great luster. And spending time with all these sumptuous clumps would be something new to do, out of all the things there are to choose in human-doing; something other than pretending swine are not swine, something a far-off ways away from a terrible recklessness with pearls.
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