The Living Deadbeat

Have you ever wanted to say something but knew in your heart only a hack sci-fi spin-off writer could find the words to communicate your true feelings. Well your in luck. Members of www.logolalia.com/alteredbooks write on, paint over and basically destroy books to create what is affectionately know as “art”.

The above extract is from modern classic “Star Trek TNG: Survivors”. Here’s hoping that this poem is included in the Oxford English Critical Edition of “Star Trek TNG: Survivors”.

Recently this whole bloody language thing has been, respectfully, getting on my tits . I am notably perturbed by the whole affair and am experiencing a not liliputian amount of pericombobulation. A language is an ever evolving beast, constantly changing and growing. Kind of like when charmander changes to charazard and becomes a dickhead. Languages are monstrous combinations of thought, perception and conception. Created by millions of people over thousands of years with only a very vague sense of rules which no one really even pays attention to anyway. So it is perfectly understandable that some words seem…just plain buggering wrong. I know the honourable Mr. Chainsaw finds the word “concession” simply unbearable and I myself have been rubbed the wrong way up the Autobahn by the word KISS for some time now. For something so tender, soft and wet the word is too harsh and sharp. Saying the word pulls ones mouth into a tooth-bearing sneer. It should describe a snake latching onto the neck of a supple young calf or a blade piercing the belly of an accountant with a balloon fetish who took a shortcut through a back alley to avoid passing his ex-wife’s apartment and is now thoroughly regretting the whole affair. In a world where we couldn’t move our mouth without talking a kiss would be a soft gentle word that pulls your mouth into a pucker. Like moop. Its fun to say and fun to do. Moop. Try it.

“Kiss me Heathcliffe”
…Moop.

This is my campaign. My cause to rebel, to struggle tooth and nail tearing at society’s blonde wig with the very teeth I chew my delicious Raisin Wheat with! Out with Kiss. In with Moop. Join me brethren! When we stand on the ashes of the twenty first century, 195 flags burning in the sky, we will stand united and scream at the stars “moop!”

Moop.