Igor Samolet

The Words

Caaaaaalling, to calllll- I stretch.

How do I utter these words? With emphasis on the first syllable or second?

What is the difference?

Now, there is no right or wrong answer-both options are correct.

Linguistic experts say that this signifies the evolution of language.

The Carnation 

It is my mothers favorite flower. She always chooses carnations. Every time. Even in the nineties when carnations were weighed down by their symbolic past, giving way to the dutch rose, my mother would always choose carnations.

This must be love, I would think. There is a choice-but a carnation is chosen!

I, myself, started loving carnations later in life. Only I preferred bush carnations. They last longer. You know this saying- if you give your loved one flowers, the longer they live, the more you love them.

A rose doesn’t give this guarantee-not for love, nor for time spent.

But a carnation-a carnation I was sure of.

A Hand/ A Bird

When I was a child, I tried not to hold birds in my hand. It didn’t happen often, but when I had a living bird in my hands I was always afraid I would crush it.

I was afraid I was too strong. For some reason I always wanted to cross this threshold. Where does this desire come from?

Love shouldn’t bring death.

There is an equation about love and pain-a boxer and chicks.

Sound

I tried to read a paragraph, but couldn’t.

Letters didn’t connect into syllables, and syllables didn’t become words. Everything was happening in my head.

I need to rest. Right now it is pointless to read. I can’t read. My mind is restless.

I cannot understand the meaning of a single word.

I need to go to sleep-wake up-and then read.

For another hour I tried to read.

The Words
Caaaaaalling, to calllll—I stretch.
How do I utter these words? With emphasis on the first syllable or the second?
What is the difference?
Now, there is no right or wrong answer—both options are correct.
Linguistic experts say that this signifies the evolution of language.

The Carnation
It is my mother’s favorite flower. She always chooses carnations. Every time. Even in the nineties, when carnations were weighed down by their symbolic past, giving way to the Dutch rose, my mother would always choose carnations.
This must be love, I would think. There is a choice—but a carnation is chosen!
I, myself, started loving carnations later in life. Only I preferred bush carnations; they last longer. You know the saying: if you give your loved one flowers, the longer they live, the more you love them.
A rose doesn’t give this guarantee—not for love, nor for time spent.
But a carnation—a carnation I was sure of.

A Hand / A Bird
When I was a child, I tried not to hold birds in my hand. It didn’t happen often, but when I had a living bird in my hands, I was always afraid I would crush it.
I was afraid I was too strong. For some reason, I always wanted to cross this threshold. Where does this desire come from?
Love shouldn’t bring death.
There is an equation about love and pain—a boxer and chicks.

Sound
I tried to read a paragraph, but couldn’t.
Letters didn’t connect into syllables, and syllables didn’t become words. Everything was happening in my head.
I need to rest. Right now it is pointless to read. I can’t read. My mind is restless.
I cannot understand the meaning of a single word.
I need to go to sleep, wake up, and then read.
For another hour, I tried to read.