Songs in My Head

Right now, I've got "Unchained Melody" playing in my head. I don't know why. A few minutes ago it was something entirely different, the song I woke up with, and I was going to write about that but then I started the coffee process -- boil the water, grind the beans, assemble the apparatus -- and whatever it was is gone, headed to wherever that place is that thoughts seek when they leave the refuge of the mind.

So mindless it is for me, thinking about nothing in particular except for the fog that persists from the moment of waking until the moment of... of... of unfogfullness.

And that brings to mind the problem of the modern writer. Now that the English language is more or less complete, the possibility of simply inventing a word is more remote. It is not looked upon kindly these days, unless you happen to be in the jargon industry. Shakespeare had it easy, then, since he could simply wail away with vellum and pen, and whenever he got stuck he could simply look to the heavens, purse his lips, and say "Forsooth! That is a most auspicious thing!" and the word "auspicious" would be invented.

We don't have it all that easy. Not only are there far too many words to remember as it is, but anything we might come up with -- federsnappy, for example, to describe something that has all the impact of something very light -- would be ridiculed. Or, in the event that it was liked by someone, might be described with a word normally used for some other purpose -- "That's sudsy," they may say -- which would leave the reader even more baffled.

So there you have it. There's an escaped song, one which formerly resided in my head, chasing invented words around the nethersphere. Meanwhile, nobody is getting much of anything done because there are no words to properly describe anything, save for those invented by the Bard. But enough of this lackluster rant. I will take my leave, before I lapse into lackluster amazement.