Tangerines and Crowbars

Love is word. Death is a word. It is the emotion that we attach to those words that give them any meaning at all. In a universe of spinning chemical reactions and vast orbs floating in incomprehensible patterns, emotion, illusionary though it may be in of itself, is our compass.

Think of Each of These Things:

Anchor.

Tangerine.

Crowbar.

Blood.

Wheel.

Tennis.

Clock.

Tortoise.

_________

You should have felt a distinctly thing, or image, or even just plain sound in your head as you read those things.

There was no purpose to you doing that. I just wanted you to feel a succession of different things. Because, really, those words are just words. Those things are just things. But because you attach a different emotion to each, they mean different things. you see?

How can there be meaning without emotion?