Of morphemes and syntax

Words.

They mean nothing. Lies and scorn they are. Physical contructs that neither holds any weight nor bounds any mortals to what they say. One has learnt from hard experience that many say one thing, yet mean another. Lies, whether what they humans called white or whatsoever, are still lies. And now, one wouldn't attach much weight and importance to words at all, after all they are hollow, pretty to look at on the outside while inside, it may be rotten to the core, crawling with maggots. Much like what mortals look on the outside, isn't it? What a coincidence...

And to think that we tend to build beautiful images out of such morphological constructs, of love and beauty, of life after death, of defeating death itself. It seems to feel that we are building castles in the air isn't it? One big hypocrisy we are living, we wordsmiths of this world...

Then, what is the use of such castles in the air at all? If only that in the end, they would get smashed to smithereens and be dissolved into thin air, wouldn't all our efforts go to waste? Speaking of such destruction simply pains me so. Even now, could you, dear reader, hold what I say to be true? Would I simply be bounded by what I said?

The answer is a simple no...never. But I choose to be bounded by what I say, for that is who I am and what I am. Without that, I would simply be without substance, an empty husk...


Your servant
Aristocrat