game Q Really, it's all just a game of chance. 040404 ... CheapVodka I think I'm the best at every game except for the one we play. I can think 3 moves ahead and remain behind the last you made. You know you're good and let me feel like I'm about to win. And then you make your subtle step.. Bam! I'm in the dark again. You're good. 131017 ... ovenbird “Let’s play a game,” he says. “I say a word, then you say a word that starts with the last letter of my word.” We begin and words arrive from a source I can’t name, fed by ancient groundwater. His word ends with “L.” I say, “lugubrious” and discover it means the opposite of what I thought it meant. It means theatrically sad, though I was sure it meant something more like comic enthusiasm. Despite being mistaken about its definition the word was sleeping in my mind and awoke when it scented “L” on the westerly breeze. I say, “egregious” and “hellion” and “ranunculus” and “neologism.” We let words take us around in circles, little fragments of conversation emerging from the gaps. I say, “narcolepsy” and he tells me that he knew someone who suffered from that. I say, “mammogram” and remember that I have one scheduled soon, after putting it off too long. Solipsistic, tenebrous, miasma. What can you learn about yourself when you let language arrive stripped of context? We tell each other a story with no plot, throw linguistic paint at a blank canvas and see what sticks. And maybe, in the process, we come to see each other a little more clearly, illuminated by the half-light of a shared language. 260727 what's it to you? who go blather from