But seriously, if you're frustrated, you're going at it wrong. English spelling is essentially pictographic--representing the sounds of words approximatively, like a choreographer's chart, rather than being an exact and consistent phonetic description: With pictographs what you get is arbitrary, silly, Old School stuff--things represented not as they are, but as what someone-or-other supposes them to be of-the-order-of. Bullshit. Still, that's what the written English language says about itself: What's important in English is where words come from, and how long they have been here--realizing that, in a language as old and multi-various in its parentage as English, much is demanded of the listener/reader, both of subtlety of perception, and of awareness of historical resonance. I'm sorry for those who think it's all much more fluid and immediate than that--but things have history. And language, after all, is a thing.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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