Curses-Foiled Again

Taking command of the English language. Using every part of it in our lexicon, much the way you use up your turkey on Thanksgiving. Head to toe; beak to tail, that’s the way we should speak.

That is why I love cursing.

Inappropriate? Maybe.

But I love it, and I have become quite good at it in my lifetime. .

At what age do you have to stop swearing like a truck driver? Is it as acceptable in your 50’s to curse like a drunken rodeo clown on a train heading to Buffalo? Or do I have to become what I feared most: my mother.

What am I saying, she cursed like a mother — well, you get my drift.

I have always seen a distinction between true cursing, and swearing. In my estimation, swearing is uttering profanity for the sake of making sound, or perhaps getting attention.

True cursing is using the correct words in the proper pattern to create a necessary expression of awe, delight, exasperation, or incredible anger. It’s almost like jazz if done well, free forming through the k-sounds and sliding through the s’s until you have reached the ultimate height of sound and pattern that creates a breathless hold in everyone’s ear.

And sometimes it’s just dirty.

But I need to get back to my original question: Is there an age when it’s no longer acceptable to let loose?

Sadly, I may have reached that age. You know, the age where young people look at you with the expectation that you no longer listen to your music too loud, or do tequila shot for shot. Of course there are things age does prohibit. The mini skirt and skinny jeans come to mind, but cursing–do I really have to give up my chocolate covered melt on your tongue expletives?

Well, I will not. I will pick my audience carefully, and like singing in the shower, refrain from public performance.

So, if you see me on the street, and I slip on the ice and fall, know that I will probably let go of a remarkable stream of sound and fury that signifies nothing to you, but is music to my fucking ears.

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