November 9, 2009

Dave, my writing teacher spit verses in class two weeks ago. He says he grew up on hip hop. Taught us the poetic meter in a Black Star song. Tum, Ti, Ti, Ti, Tum. Apparently there’s a formal way to “speak meter” in poetry. Kristen speaks drum. Ba, Da-Ga, Da-Ga. I don’t speak those languages. I realize I don’t really speak the language of words or music at all. I don’t think those languages are verbal. They speak through emotions and feelings, not phonetic sounds. My grammar professor has a doctorate in linguistics. She talks a lot about structure and form. She says content is worthless. Maybe in grammar. Not in art. Today two ladies on the train were talking about how text messaging is going to lead to the death of written English. LOLs, BRBs, and TTYLs are taking over. We might as well be reverting back to hieroglyphics. I don’t think this is the death. This city’s streets need more signs of life, anyways. Not all change is bad. Language is alive and growing. We don’t speak Shakespeare. Our great, great grandchildren’s children won’t speak like we do in the Millennium Years. I don’t know what they’ll speak but I know one thing… a Van Gogh will still be a Van Gogh and Shakespeare will still be Shakespeare. The language of art is transcendental. And someone in every century has broken down listening to a song.