Scattered diatribes of Philo
They say we use aproximately six metaphors per minute,
unintentionally, because we can barely think of anything without seeing a picture of something else.
Shakespeare is partly to blame for this, as with so many other marvelous things.
I use them intentionally,
Because I don't know how to say out loud the things I am feeling.
Can we communicate forever like this, thinking we know exactly what we mean,
but living in constant suspense, in the (un)likely event of being mistaken?
In the hope that we are not?
Andrés Neuman has compared the grammar of love to that of translation,
because we must continously translate the language of those we love.
It is even in the word itself- tongue.
What better metaphor for love, anyway?
We speak in tongues. We dance around our shadows. We misunderstand.
We meet in the middle, we coincide, we translate each other.
But are we metaphorical?
tu vis quelque part entre douleur et douceur
mais je te suis quand même
But sometimes I simply throw words at you, without looking back to see if they stick,
if they even fit you, if you want them, if you'll take them.
And of course I am not really talking about words.
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