I’m guessing some would recommend I don’t write about this, but, well, you all know I’m eccentric as it is—so, fuck it. Writers already have the stigma of being a weird bunch, but you’ve heard, likely, all the usual shenanigans—so, I’m doing you one better.
Not just researching murder methods, talking to people who they make up, or being totally willing to do dangerous/stupid things for the sake of a story: nah, I’ve got a set of much more unique quirks.
And it involves words and language.
Wordplay is fun for me, always has been, but, I also play with words, like how a child might—only with a professional level vocabulary. It’s probably both endearing, infuriating, and just odd to my friends and family. I just say stuff. Not as in I am blunt (though I can be), as in I chain random words to see how they sound—or because I know someone will look at me like I’m being strange for saying them, and that’s funny to me.
For instance, these bits of madness I use as a response to questions, as a non-sequitur, or even as an expression of annoyance.
“Hamster quiche.”
“Chicken pot pie and I don’t know why.”
“If you need me, I’ll be off conquering a micronation.”
“There’s a hippogriff born every minute.”
That’s the tip of the iceberg though, I have several other fun verbal games I play. My favorite is a little form of improv where I respond to what someone says with “well, you know what they say,” and then must come up with a unique, odd phrase that sounds almost like it might be a clever quote from somewhere. Sometimes they are truly strange sayings since I only give myself a few seconds to create them. They also can come out hilariously dark.
“The man who laughs last never laughs again.”
I’ll also rework other’s sentences, so the verb and noun are switched (“I need to go food up the pick”)—and say it to a person as a response, or, and this one is always funny, treat random grunts or groans as if the person making them said something deeply controversial. (“Wow, those are some bold statements there. I never knew you felt that way about gun control.”)
But, by far, the strangest one is what I call “freeform.”
It’s pure gibberish.
But, it’s my gibberish.
I have no idea where I got freeform from, but, for years now, I’ve had this odd language of sorts I can slip into that has a very distinct sound. So much so I’ve tricked people—especially bilingual people—into thinking I’m speaking in some real language they don’t know. It comes out unbidden sometimes when I’m annoyed, when I can’t think of what am trying to say in English, or when I am in pain or extremely tired.
I seriously have no clue where it’s from or why I’m wired to slip into it so easily, but freeform (ironically with that name) has its own internally consistent structure.
Yeah, you read that last part right: only recently I discovered that this phrase:
“Baka-na.”
Always means “I find that thing that just happened to be annoying.”
While “Saka-na,” always means “That thing (that you mentioned) is annoying to me or sounds like it would be annoying.”
Like I said, it’s weird, but, also, a lot of fun. Words can be toys, and games, and joy, and freedom. Despite what you might think of them, they are much more fluid and mystical than school taught you. Ideas, concepts, and intentions are part of language, but you do not need perfect clean speaking to pass those intentions along.
And, yes, I know I’m weird.
“Doka-se.”
Which, maybe, with further checking, might mean:
“Deal with it.”
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Coolerbs Writes 