If you measure worth

in pounds,

as if a prime filet,

man or vittle–

it matters little

that is what you weigh.

 

If you tally rate

in routes,

where you stay or play,

it’s no account,

by foot or mount–

that is what you way.

 

If you value

deeper meaning

yet don’t know how to pray…

you’ll grow intact,

if you don’t act–

and that is what

wu wei.

 
Her write side was the prettiest…

–the one left,

her profile blown away

to side’less hall–

–oh! an open-air

amphitheater, really,
 
 
 
for the Flinstones of the world

pull ‘em up

and get me some of dem

ribs…

conservative republicans all the same,

and dot com normal*

*normal in the insane sense of the word, of course, and generally

the third definition down

so tsk-tsk

(those elbow-huggers)

so tut-tut

(just look at those cave men go)

so lickin’ chicken, stone throwin’, finger-waggin’ good…

(those butchers)

5 little red flyers, an’ only 4

pointin’ where they oughta’

pinnin’ tails on donkeys

(those elephants)

when they oughta’

really oughta’—

kiss dem some

ass.

 

 

 
 
Words are fascinating tools. Amazing signposts that point the reader/listener/little voices in your head in the direction of the actuality for which they stand. You want to be sweet? Say: honey. You want to taste sweet? Order: honey. You want to repair the suite? Write a “honey-do list”! Yes, myriad is the meaning and context assigned to character strings long & short, familiar & foreign, gerunded, acronymed, and invented, and I’m fascinated by every coded blend of black I come across.
 

 
United they sentence, and divided they pun; today’s post isn’t about the various spin doctoring to which I occasionally subject these character-filled soldiers. Today, I’d like to talk about spelling & misspelling, pronouncing & mispronouncing, and space permitting–using and misusing words in speech. I’d like to talk about all that, all write, but I just can’t seem to nail the inflection.
 

 
Good thing I’m keypunching, then, as I expand on what invariably confounds my expounding, and sends me running to—gasp—right click that egregious error right outta existence. I’ll start with words I all ways always misspell the first time out, or as I like to say:
 

My-Spel

–the first time out. More specifically: disc—disk. I’m never entirely sure if it’s the discs in my spine that feel pinched from discoing too much the night before, or if it’s the disks that ache; if it’s the disc drive in my computer tower acting hinky, or its disk drive, and this is a plenty, inconveneint inconvenient truth for this writer. (inconvenient being another sure-fire, squiggled, green line under text for me) Not a pretty pitcher, no, definitely a picture that’s half-empty, which transitions nicely into my next befuddling and persistent conundrum. Misspelling and transposition of the mispronunciations, and what the hey, might as well call this tendency:
 

My-Spiel

–though an entire category for just one word might be a bit over the top, interesting a phenomenon though it is—to me, and paint drying, I mean. Sure, I change up my iteration of superfluous so often it contradicts itself, and devore my Scooby Snacks instead of devouring them, but it’s my perennially transposed pronunciation of picture for pitcher that’s more curious. As regularly as A-Rod got beaned last year, and more often than the finger accidentally triggers PIP on the remote control, my vocal cords just can’t lose the plosive kuh sound in my Koo-laid kontainer, nor konnect that kickin’ consonant to my Kodak moment. So, if a pitcher’s truly worth a thousand words, I’d say my pitcher of a picture puts me somewhere in the Kegger’s Hall of Fame at this juncture.
 

 
And might as well leave that on a high note, and wrap up with a couple words I use incorrectly in sentences–hoping my wished for meaning might replace its actual one–to little or no effect on Websters. Disenfranchised and untenable describe neither a lack of Mickey Deez access, nor a slum-lord dwelling, as I am so wont to imbue, though you have to admit, they really ought to.
 

 
What about you? What’re shoo-in, Achilles Heels for you when it comes to language? Written or warbled, what sneaky little words send you racing to spell-check/definition-check, or crank up the volume on the “pronouncing dictionaries” out there?
 

Mmmm?