From high office in these Untied [stet] States came yesterday a promise to soon have a “strong opinion” about something (the Khashoggi murder?). Well and proper. One breathes a bated breath. At last, an opinion is to be had. May it receive due reception. The internal accusative comes to mind. One doesn’t “think” a button nor “sing” an antimacassar. One thinks a thought. One sings a song. One signs a signature. One prints a print-out. If one opines, the upshot is an opinion. The offspring of each action is its own thing. Comes the sauce, however, and here it gets interesting. Take “strength”: thinking a “strong” thought; singing a “strong” song. Have fun with it: What about signing a “strong” signature? Signing a strong signature to a strong print-out of a strong opinion? From here it begins to “begin,” to turn and turn in the widening gyre of gestural gyration, of sound and fury signifying themselves, lumbering fondly, antecedent-free and Ozymandias-like, into sands of the desert’s oblivious oblivion.
(c) 2018 JMN.
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About JMN
I live in Texas and devote much of my time to easel painting on an amateur basis. I stream a lot of music, mostly jazz, throughout the day. I like to read and memorize poetry.
Strong Thoughts on the Internal Accusative
From high office in these Untied [stet] States came yesterday a promise to soon have a “strong opinion” about something (the Khashoggi murder?). Well and proper. One breathes a bated breath. At last, an opinion is to be had. May it receive due reception. The internal accusative comes to mind. One doesn’t “think” a button nor “sing” an antimacassar. One thinks a thought. One sings a song. One signs a signature. One prints a print-out. If one opines, the upshot is an opinion. The offspring of each action is its own thing. Comes the sauce, however, and here it gets interesting. Take “strength”: thinking a “strong” thought; singing a “strong” song. Have fun with it: What about signing a “strong” signature? Signing a strong signature to a strong print-out of a strong opinion? From here it begins to “begin,” to turn and turn in the widening gyre of gestural gyration, of sound and fury signifying themselves, lumbering fondly, antecedent-free and Ozymandias-like, into sands of the desert’s oblivious oblivion.
(c) 2018 JMN.
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Like this:
About JMN
I live in Texas and devote much of my time to easel painting on an amateur basis. I stream a lot of music, mostly jazz, throughout the day. I like to read and memorize poetry.