Words, and thus reading, are our windows into the world, ourselves: a greater vision than one limited by peculiar localities, and consuming familiarities.
I don’t agree with the intellectual laziness of people who attack those whose wordplay is characterized by associations that they object to others using, and thus say words are cheap, demeaning language in its entirety.
What words describe they can bring into being, etch more clearly, and ascribe emotions which can prompt thoughts long buried.
Words are gems, more often treated like coal; designed to comfort us against thought and progress beyond our own associated prejudices.
Poetry of course is the engine against such prideful inhibitions.
Words evolved. A common stop gap. Words are constantly, if not consistently, with any apparent design, evolving – even as we read, as we use them, as they use us. Language is as alive as they who use it.
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