WORD PLAY By Ella Eliakim Its almost as if the rhythm and melodies seep into my pores, hit me like

water does when I jump in head first. nonsense scrawled on the corners of my lips, etched into my sides. and oh how I love these words. reused reused re played nonsense nonsense. words mean nothing. I can form sentences and tell you things that will make you bow your head in shame but what does it matter. I can translate and translate these words until they are meaningless. your reality is your reality. my interception means not and it is like wind blowing through your hair. so fucking sensory yet so fleeting. like that amour, that passion you felt for that beautiful passerby. Mhmm, I saw you imagine your life with them; the sex and the children and the beauty and the tears blood and death. it was lovely wasnt it. yet so foolhardy. how stupid humans are sometimes. We criticize what makes us, us and yet cling so hard-fast to it. Its such a shame. I dont even know what to think. Im beginning to think that hypocrisy is apart of our being and I dont know how I feel about that. yet we love the pain and the suffering. it is in our distaste for it that we love it so. it is that dichotomy that wonder that mysticism that captures us. different realities, merging, coagulating but never fully mixing. like water and oil, oil and water, such things things as such. playing with semantics. palo alto. how beautiful some works words sound in a symphony. symphony of sounds. sounds of symphony. its like beauty wonder amazement, something special that we cant identify, see or taste but is there. like spirits in the mist, mist in the spirits, same word different meaning, same meaning different words. wow. and in our exploration of words we can find ourselves and loose ourselves. we can play word games with people, bring our minds in circles and circles and circles and circles. and then back around again. around again, again around. around again? around again! yes, around again. all the same all different. what? and fuck you if you dont like. your criticisms mean everything in the world to me yet nothing at all, yet why should they matter, and yet they do. our world is circular yet we limit ourselves to 45 90 and 180. I can see all but then nothing at all. I speak colloquially and am unintelligible. I want to transcribe my soul along the edges of your tongue.