Writing is jazz. Not like jazz. Not a metaphor for jazz. Writing is jazz. Got it? Or maybe I should be more specific. Writing is bebop. Words roll and spin and jive. It’s just a collection of letters and spaces. Commas and periods, but they are more. Really more. They leap off the page and stream through your optic nerve. They head to your brain to be systematically decoded into communication, but they leak out all over the place. You can’t see them in a cat-scan, but they’re coursing through your bloodstream, floating in your lungs, filling your heart. Some even come out your ass - that’s what farts are, words that your body rejects. That’s why cultured people fart when they read People magazine. You can’t hear it because they are, after all, cultured people, with anuses that they can open on command to let the words out quietly. But sometimes, in a small, poorly ventilated space - like a car or on a train, you can smell them ever so faintly. This one smells like another Britanny Spears social faux pax captured on paparazzi film. That one smells like David Hasselhoff drunk on a beach with a beer belly. That’s why cultured people don’t read People - while they can fart the bad words out quietly, other people, even other cultured people can smell the odor that comes out of their asses. It’s for this reason, and this reason alone, that cultured people read business writing.
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