Word salad

I can’t read aloud anymore. A sentence, maybe another with brief stammers, then bam, word salad. That’s new, the word salad. Rather puts a damper on my plans of readings. Visions of readings, really, of muscular prose in dulcet radio tones, the phonemes like individual notes, words like chords, narratives as melody, rhythms rhythm, syncopating punctuation. Language is music and music is language. They run audibly through my head, these words, but stumble in the mouth. The jaw goes out of whack, electrons buzz like faulty wiring, the synapses synapsing all wrong, I can feel their confusion like low current electricity for an hour afterward, can feel it now, in fact, the jaw twitching. An epileptic’s life is an endless series of surprises at random times. new symptoms appearing instantly, new disabilities. All we can do is shrug them off. So I read these words knowing they’ll never be uttered aloud, not by me. I shrug. Whatever. Oh well. Damn.

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One thought on “Word salad

  1. Is this surely a chronic situation? Might it be a strange fleeting condition? Have you tried visually breaking the sentences into shorter lines, like poetry? Your epilepsy, about which some of your writing is rhapsodic, is taking cruel turns regarding your creative output. It just really really bugs me (to put it in approachable terms). Assume you’re availing yourself of all possibly ameliorating meds.

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