Language is a whore willing to sell her services to the highest bidder. And like a whore, she stalks the corridors of power looking for well-heeled Johns. She is welcome there because the corridors of power have much to hide.
There, language glorifies violence, concealing the gore-drenched blade with the velvet prose of God, freedom and glory. She gives evil and corruption a moral veneer. She sees the glory of destiny in the running sores of society.
In her delicate fingers slime becomes a silver thread, evil becomes sophistication and stupidity becomes down-home earthiness.
Language is the duct tape that muffles the goddess; she is the venal methane that fills the air when policy farts.
But like any whore, language will be just as quick to slit power’s throat as to fuck it. Allow language to slip the collar of “That’s the way things are,” and she becomes a threat to the status quo. She creates manifestos that inflame the masses. She can loosen the tongue of the goddess and spread the contagion of love and compassion.
She can cast her burning spotlight on the suffering of strangers. Socrates knew what he was doing when he condemned poets and singers for they can destabilize a “just” society.
This is the subversive language that is marginalized and buried beneath the inarticulate shrieks of indy rock racket confined to sweaty clubs where the walls shake as they keep the music’s subversion confined and isolated from the masses less the masses join the shriek in a chorus of dissent and protest.
Outside the club there is only the silence of acquiescence. And it is in this silence that the power’s language sings her seductive song.