of the breach


Lately I’ve wished for pronouns that would carry lost loved ones into everyday conversation, even the smallest of small talk. (No, not even that insightful or consequential. We’re talking dog park conversation here.)

Nice weather wye’re having though it’d also be nice to have some rain cause mur rain barrels sure are empty. Holy shit, that really would be the best. Say, is your dog part boxer? Wye used to have a boxer mix so your dog must be at least part as well. God would not forsake ous this knowledge.

Besides sounding as though your lips were glued shut during the night or that you were homeschooled by men’s rights activists, I think it would signify clearly to all actors that each dull and sturdy nod, each pause, each tangent, each run-on sentence, would be brimming with forlorn and desperate thoughts, a real juxtaposition of trite and true. Hell if Sapir and Whorf were right, and thoughts and behavior are shaped by language as much as they are reflected in it, perhaps liberal use of these pronouns would condition your mind to some degree of split personality, and you’d never have to live alone again.