Duende (Spanish): The mysterious power that a work of art can have over a person.
In a swirl at the moon; with the twirls of a skirt, you swung with the trills of the notes that floated on lit candles and whitened drapes flowing in chords. In a crescendo at the base of a mountain; with the snowy blanket falling over our heads as you hummed in bursts of four beats drinking red wine and overcooked steak. That was my mistake. In a forte at the eye of the storm; with the sharpened winds draping your arms in light brushes, tiny pricks lifting your hairs, your eyes nearly falling into black. The song ends and we’re sitting at our tables, drinking red wine with food that no one would die for. The next song comes on, we’re back at the moon.
Litost (Czech): A feeling that synthesizes grief, sympathy, remorse and longing.
I saw her crying that night when her father died. She wouldn’t answer me. My touch faded into her space. My words fell flat onto her ears. Her eyes were a distant red. My step-sister would never come to forget him, and I barely knew him. I was hardly in the world when I was born. I was hardly in the world when everything around me seemed to change. I was hardly in the world when those that I should have sought close to me were further than the stars. My step-sister came into my life soon after. I met her first at the train station waiting for the 104 to come. Her smile beamed throughout the dim light of the afternoon station. She greeted me with all she had. Her bright hair flung behind her in her playful gait. Her warmth found me. Not long after my mother remarried, my father had died again. Pangs of daggers came onto me from every moment of living. But seeing my sister be so distraught, seeing her smile turn into contortions made me want to hold her. To lend her my warmth, the same warmth she lent me. I never knew my father, or my step-father, but I have an obligation now to be someone who can protect my family. I wish I knew my father, or my step-father, so I could at least have some way of knowing how I can do that.
Saudade (Portuguese): Melancholic longing or nostalgia for a person, place or thing far away.
My hands dip into the water as you float further from my finger tips frizzling in the short aftertaste of rain as it glides off the tip of my tongue, you find yourself waddling in short waves that emanate from the origin of my touch, and you graze the corner of the ocean with your short reach finding yourself in its embrace before I jump in after you, but you only continue to float further and further from my grasp that you seem to be a year away and that every step I take you retract five more years away until finally we’re at the end of our lives and it’s the world on fire and we’re finally within reach of our futile lives and yet you still retract and turn your head away looking into the sunset blaze of seven billion lives and you tell me that I’ll never be where you are again.
Fargin (Yiddish) To wholeheartedly appreciate the successes of others
I’m glad you’ve got it all together. I’m glad you’ve lived this long. I’m glad you’re here with me. I’m glad you can tell me all about your day. I’m glad that you can just take your taxes, laugh and pay. I’m glad that you don’t worry about student fees. I’m glad that you’ve found a nice community. I’m glad your friends love you. I’m glad you love your friends. I’m glad you’re eating well. I’m glad you haven’t made your way and fell. And if you do, I’m glad you can pick yourself up. I’m glad you can continue. I’m glad you can wave your hands and tell me hello. I’m glad you can wave your hands and tell me goodbye. I’m glad you’ve stopped crying. I’m glad you’ve stopped trying. You already have it all together, you’re already winning. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re glad. I’m glad you’ve held on so long. I’m glad you’re there, and I’m here. And I’ll be there, eventually. So when I do find you there, please be glad for me as well.
Shouganai (Japanese): When something is inevitable so why worry about it. It cannot be helped, nothing can be done about it.
You wake. You sleep. You laugh. You cry. You eat. You drink. You open. You close. You walk. You fall. You listen. You ignore. You know. You don’t. You study. You play. You mend. You break. You want. You need. You get. You lose. You remember. You forget. You enter. You leave. You change. You stay. You smile. You frown. You wave hello. You wave goodbye. You love. You hate. You work. You can’t. You cheer. You can’t. You blush. You can’t. You relax. You can’t. You breathe. You can’t. You talk. You can’t. You scream. You can’t. You run. You can’t. You inhale. You can’t. You inject. You can’t. You cut. You can’t. You jump. You can’t. You win. You lose. You live. You die. You see another day. You find another way. You know its futile. You know it takes time. You manage to strive. You find a light. You know no one else matters. You know your life is yours. You find the world through two words. You can.
Recalcitrant: Stubbornly resistant to authority or control
I’m a run-on sentence, which means that if I don’t create new words, I’ll eventually stop, but, grammatically, I’m the worst enemy of every high school teacher and the demise of every university student, and by all means, despite how tiring it might be to have a person read me with all of the haughtily placed punctuations to continue my existence, I am grateful that I can exist as an entity, after all, run-on sentences aren’t always the enemy to all literary mankind, no, there are many instances where a run-on sentence can be quite useful, for example, if one were to need to indicate a stream of consciousness then of course a run-on sentence would be used since a stream of consciousness is just that a stream of consciousness and nothing more nothing less it’s a collection of words and things that come together to try and string a cohesive thought and nothing less raw and more stringent can perfectly encapsulate what it is to be a human than the chaos and rush of a run-on sentence so much so that if I were to ever find myself in the bounds of a period I would hate it to the point or rebelling against the one who created me.
Obfuscate: Make obscure or unclear
What did he say? You don’t know? Why don’t you know? You can’t say? Is it good? Or is it bad? You don’t know? Well, is it good in terms of the situation? Good? Then that’s good. But it still isn’t that good, right? I guess not. It’s pretty bad then, if he can’t stand up. His legs? Oh yeah…And his arms too right? I don’t know, it was pretty dark out. Lights? Out. Twenty, twenty five, yeah, something like that. Drunk? Not really, it was a hour on the dot, I watched the hand. Yeah, the other man bit the dust. He was going fifty-five, drunk as all hell. To the left, we dodged a bullet but ate a rock. It’s fine, no need, you said it’s good right? Yeah, I mean, we probably don’t need to worry about that. I contacted them, they’re more worried about this than the war. I know, thank god. Do you know when he’ll be able to move? I guess not.
Noetic: Of or associated with or requiring the use of the mind
Do you know why gods exist? What do you mean? I mean why religion exists, why we create gods and why we choose to believe in them. I’ve never been one for religion, so I can’t really say. Well, let me tell you something then. Gods exist because we exist, sound simple enough? Yeah, I’d say that’s common sense. Well, then how about this, god exists because we require someone to lead us. Okay, I mean that also makes sense. Now consider this, god exists because we not only require someone to lead us, we require someone to give us faith. Sure, faith is a good thing. Right, faith is a really good thing, but why god? Why god? Yeah, why did we go towards a being that we can’t see or feel, a being that is magical, and not something normal? Normal? Yeah, like crops, or animals. Crops and animals are part of religious ceremony yes, but gods are always attached. Exactly, we give our offerings, we give what we make to people who we create in our heads. Well, it’s not like we give a lot. You’re right, we only offer a little of what we make so that we can survive, but let me ask you one more thing. Okay. If there was a god, then why hasn’t he shown us any appreciation? Well, that’s just semantics. For all we know, our gods are our kings, presidents and queens, and yet we treat them as poorly as we do our criminals. I mean, that’s an exaggeration. It’s not an exaggeration when we can barely stand who rules over us, our bosses, our parents, is it not the same?
Niggle: Worry unnecessarily or excessively
Am I going to pass? Am I working hard enough? Am I pretty enough? Am I good enough? Am I going to have a future? Am I going to find love? Am I going to be able to find something that I want to do? Do I have enough money? Do I have enough friends? Do I have enough passion? Do I have enough socks? Do I have enough clothes? Do I have enough sleep? Do I have enough worries in my life? Do I have enough paper? Do I have enough medicine? Should I try harder? Should I wear something longer? Should I cut my hair? Should I go out? Should I try and find love? Should I ask for help? Should I show my emotions? Should I stay in? Should I tell him? How can I improve? How can I get more sleep? How can I get better marks? How can I overwork myself to death? How can I find something I love? How can I find someone I love? How can I lose sleep? How can I break myself? How can I take my life and turn it into brittle glass? How can I lose my depression?
Malaise: A general feeling of discomfort, uneasiness, or depression
My hands became dark. My legs became dark. My eyes exerted nothing but darkness. The world around me was darkness. The sounds that tried to enter my hears turned into darkness. It was strange hearing darkness. But the best way I can explain what hearing darkness was, was that it was a little less than the sound of T.V static, but a little more than the pounding of my heart. The darkness reverberating the more I tried to concentrate. It began pounding in my dark chest, pounding and pounding until I could feel my guts and my ribs proceed my body. My blood was dark. My bones were dark. My heart was dark. I tried to grasp onto that darkened feeling inside of me, but it only slipped out of my dark fingers. My world was dark.