Of Bears and Penguins

I am tired of words.

They are a damned nuisance. And a threat.

I grow weary of the ability of words to maim. To dismember. The way words may wound so swiftly, but so deeply.

Silence may be an ideal virtue to strive for...

I am tired of words. Their neccesary evil that so nefariously winds its way into our lives.

Let then my words be quick, for why should I engage their mercenary services to tell of my distaste.

I am tired of words. Weary. Worn. Pressed sore by them.

I am tired.