I currently sit digesting a supper-time breakfast food feast while I listen to folk songs strummed on a mandolin, guitar and autoharp along with the strains of a violin and a dulcimer accompanying Janel, who, I can only assume, beat up an angel and stoled her voice.
My eyes droop somewhat after a week of testing, reading, and getting to know others who share my passion for language in its abstract complexities and its poetic subtleties. Cultivating a passion for "the vocal apparatus," as Dr. Jamin Pelkey intones and so aptly appelifies our anatomical precursors to intimated auditory experience, has provided countless (about 402) hours of shared joking, general revelry, and spontaneous, outrageous, incomparably transcendent and "here"-y worship of the God of Words—the eternal logos.
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