Ya know what’s funny?  I’ll use big ass complicated Greek words that I haven’t used in a while, and spell check will underline it as a misspelling.  It’s a polysyllabic entanglement that I could very easily misspell, so I click on the thing for recommended corrections.  But the word I’m using is no where in the suggestions.  So I look the word up, and I had it spelled correctly.  That’s not the funny part.  The funny part is the abuse a hurl at whatever artificially unintelligent robot that dared to edit my beautiful goddamn prose. So many fuck words directed at a machine.  Pointless, perhaps, but cathartic nonetheless.  Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled programming of whatever the hell it was I was trying to say before I had to go to war with that idiot editing bot.

Oh yeah:

I don’t think what I experience would qualify as synesthesia [spell check is still insisting redly that I have misspelled it {it apparently has issues with “redly” as well}] per se, but I do experience words (either written or spoken) in a different way from most people.  It’s not that I experience it as music (which is what synesthesia would be) but I am significantly more sensitive to the musicality of words than most other members of the herd (who are apparently totally unaware of any musicality present in language).  When I read and write, it is the rhythms that I am most aware of, and I think it’s my “ear” for such things that people are talking about when they compliment my sentence structure.  The spoken word, however, is substantially more musical, with not only the rhythms of the written word, but also now actual musical notes.  Even though you are not intentionally singing, the tone of every word you speak falls somewhere on the musical scale as a note.  And that’s how I hear it.  And for the most part, it makes being in public fairly hellish.  That is a big part of why I try to avoid being in public as much as possible: it is as if everyone is walking around honking moronically on rusty trumpets attached to fronts of their faces.

But you know who’s just the absolute worst?  That evil goddamn charwoman that’s always lurking darkly in the hallway.  Her voice is like listening to a deaf child with anger issues and a meth habit bang on a grotesquely out-of-tune piano in the middle of both a migraine and and a hangover.  And she’s talking to her stupid dog, which dog doesn’t know a single fucking work of English, Spanish, or any other language and has shown exactly zero interest in engaging in conversation and complete interest in this woman shutting the hell up and making with the kibble.

I may seek more suitable accommodations elsewhere.  Who do I know who has a heavily fortified compound?

N.P.: “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” – Revolting Cocks