On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was headed to the Deloitte office in Denver for day #2 of my professional career. I was headed north on Colorado blvd about to turn onto 8th ave, and was carpooling with my roommate and work colleague, Lisa. She liked to listen to Jaime and Danny on the radio in the morning. It was her turn to drive. Had it been my car, we’d have missed the tragedy unfolding because I listened only to CDs in the car. I hated radio commercials, but I’m glad that I wasn’t being my own DJ that day.

I remember vividly what I was wearing; cream slacks, a brown button down, and Mezlan shoes. I was also wearing silver-framed glasses. Everything was brand new. I had bought the shoes in Nassau and the clothes on a shopping trip with my mother in Miami only a couple weeks before. They did not make it through the whole day. It took me almost a month to cycle back around to those clothes, for some reason. I wore that same outfit for only the second time on October 16, 2001 – the day my sister died. They did not make it through the whole day. That day was also a Tuesday, also a day that I remember with clarity. True story. I don’t know why I remember it, but I never made it through a whole day in those clothes until maybe a year later, when I finally wore them again. That time, nobody died. At least nobody I knew..

If you know anything about me or have ever observed the way I stir the alphabet, you know that I love words and bask in the glow of their flame, their fragrance and aroma. I love the seasoning that they provide, how more can always be added, but never taken back. Along these lines, I find myself particularly drawn to certain words that some call “foul”; whereas, I find them to be deeply, unflashingly beautiful. Bitter perhaps, but intoxicating. No make up, unshowered, unshaven. Consider the behavior and reactions that their baldness elicit. Their complexity should not be taken for granted.

Most so called bad words are more powerful, eliciting stronger feelings, than good words like “love”. Nothing seasons a dish of unpalatable issues and topics like a bad word. Some would argue that persons with limited vocabularies and dull wit exclusively resort to such words. This is true to an extent; however, I believe that the more extensive one’s vocabulary, the more one can appreciate the nuance or violence and dissonance of a word that screams even when whispered – when the language has been combed and no other word will do. The language though, should be combed and this seasoning used sparingly. Some words have taken new owners, new meanings, new slaves. These words should not be oppressed or be seen to oppress; they are critical to the success of language, thought, and expression.

“Inenarrable” is a word that describes something that can not be described in words.

It rounds up nameless orphans to give them depth and meaning. It is Adam in the Garden, studying each new thing ensuring that nothing is free of weight and purpose. It is proof that the world is not flat, that water can be turned to wine, that the dead can rise, that anything is possible, that in context everything is relevant.

This word is not a dragnet for sundry uncared for thoughts and ideas, skeletons bleaching in the sun. It is a poet sifting through a near infinite vocabulary, dusting off words, reaching high up on dimly lit shelves. It is an apothecary concocting the most precise and critical potion. Not just any name, word or pigment will do for just any masterpiece.

Importantly, it describes things not truly incapable of being described; but too lazily, perhaps hastily cast aside in favor of easier, more brightly colored fare with more readily identified shapes and sounds with singular themes. Its very definition is flawed, and begs a rebranding from “can not” – as if the problem is the unnamed thing’s stubborn resistance or inability to be named – to instead reflect that such a thing simply “was not” named. The word is itself proof of the possibility, standing as the ultimate paradox.

This word is proof that we are complex, inherently and in our interactions; to be described in equally complex ways, interested in equally complex things, and varied.

I have just told and described to you who I am. I have just told you about my blog.