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Before there was language, there was sound. An endless stream of noise that crashed and bubbled and whispered and sang to us every night before we went to sleep. Without language, our thoughts had no structure- all we could do was hear this cacophony of noise, earthy music, and revel in the sonic miasma that crept along in our minds. With no way to think about what we heard, we listened intently to what the world had to sing. The noise made us happy, the noise made us grin.  We didn’t own a single atonal blip of it and didn’t see the need to. We lived in a dream, we looked at each other, and in the sonic miasma we listened.

It must have started with nouns. It must have, because in addition to hearing we also could see- and the moment we made the connection between something in that wild, unstructured sonic miasma and a something in front of our eyes was the moment we lost everything. “Fish,” we said. And the fish lost all of its quality as slipperybrightshiningslickbubblewaterjumpandswish…however we had been able to arrange the feeling of looking at a fish, of hearing it splash and watching it wiggle in the water…and became something we own. In our heads the sonic miasma began to reach across and connect with the line of our sight. Like a creeping web that reached across the insanity of our preexistence, connections were made.

Verbs came next- the tense of our muscles and the pull of our tendons and the sweetfastairhighgracelovehitrun feeling of jumping became nothing more than a smack of our primal lips. “Jump,” we said, and the joy of the jump was dampened.

Syntax was...

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