Chapter 2:
Words That Sing: Choosing Language That Fits the Music
(The Surrealist, Gonzo, Universe-Bending Truth about Music)
Words are not “things” you choose.
They’re wild animals hiding in the bushes of your brain, waiting for you to step too close so they can leap out and bite your ankle. The entire craft of songwriting is basically learning to coax these feral creatures into the rhythm without getting personally mauled.
Some words behave — “moon,” “cry,” “love,” “night,” “train.”
They trot up gently, purr, curl around your leg, and politely ask where the melody is.
Other troublesome words…
“hyperdimensional,”
“cryptocurrency,”
“existentialism,”
“artisanal.”
These words are like drunken moose (meese? mooses? mice?) with knives. They will destroy your chorus just to amuse themselves. You really want trouble? Try rhyming “orange” or “silver” and see what you get.
Say your line out loud — but don’t just say it.
Say it like you’re testifying to a cosmic tribunal.
Say it like you’re on trial for crimes against rhythm and the judge is a giant metronome with glowing red eyes.
If your mouth rebels, trust it.
Your mouth is a better musician than your ego.
Your mouth has seen things.
Now — in the gonzo realm — here’s the truth they won’t print in respectable textbooks:
Words vibrate.
Syllables have secret lives.
Consonants form gangs.
Vowels go on spirit quests.
If your line doesn’t feel good to say, it’s because the syllables are staging a silent mutiny. They’re crossing their little phonetic arms and saying, “Nope. Not singing that. Too many consonants. Too many demands. Get us a union rep.”
Full surrealism now, buckle up:
Open vowels are portals.
Say “ahhh” long enough and you’ll accidentally summon three cosmic entities, one of whom is always named Carl for some reason.
Closed vowels are cages — place a melody on an “ee” and it’ll wriggle like a trapped ferret trying to escape your face.
Hard consonants?
They’re hired muscle.
They show up at the beat like nightclub bouncers:
buh — “No entry.”
tuh — “Back of the line.”
kuh — “We’re at capacity.”
Soft consonants whisper riddles into your soup at midnight.
You won’t remember the riddles in the morning, but they absolutely influence your bridge.
And long words?
Long words are cities.
You don’t sing them — you tour them.
You require a guide, a map, a passport, a Sherpa, and a personal liability waiver.
You sing a long word and the melody is still wandering around the second syllable with a flashlight.
Anecdote time, surreal edition:
I once watched a guy in the Village (that’s Greenwich Village, New York City) try to shove the phrase “interplanetary psychodynamics” into a folk song. He strummed, he strained, he sweated — and halfway through the second syllable, a cosmic wormhole opened on Bleecker Street and swallowed his bridge.
Dave Van Ronk walked by, didn’t even break stride, and muttered, “I warned him.”
Another one:
My dad Horace used to tell me, “If you can’t hum it while fighting off an interdimensional raccoon, the line is too complicated.”
Wisdom, total wisdom.
Time for The Exercises Nobody Should Try, But You Definitely Will:
Exercise 1 — The Quantum Mouth Test
Say your line while imagining the universe expanding and contracting with every syllable.
If the line collapses the wave function, rewrite it.
If reality flickers but remains intact, you’re golden.
Exercise 2 — The Lava Floor Ritual
Pretend the floor is lava.
Jump from word to word physically across the room.
If you land safely on each syllable without burning your psychic toes, the rhythm is sound.
Exercise 3 — The Alien Ambassador Review
Speak your line as if negotiating peace with a species made entirely of vibrating jellyfish.
If the jellyfish nod politely, your vowel placement is correct.
If they pulsate angrily and summon lightning, revise.
Exercise 4 — The Metallic Taste Test
Speak the line aloud and notice if it leaves a metallic taste in your mouth.
If yes, the consonants are fighting each other.
If no metallic taste, proceed.
Exercise 5 — The Mirror Gate
Say your line to the mirror.
If your reflection mouths the words slightly ahead of you, congratulations:
you have found the true rhythm.
If your reflection refuses to participate, you’ve used too many syllables.
Exercise 6 — The Forbidden Chicken Summoning
Say the line at midnight under a single dim light.
If chickens appear from nowhere…
the meter is flawless.
Ultimate truth:
Words are living creatures of breath and sound.
They respond to rhythm, not reason.
They align themselves with melodies the way planets align with gravity — reluctantly, mysteriously, but inevitably.
Your job is simple:
Pick the words that want to sing.
Avoid the words that hiss, bite, or vibrate ominously in the night.
If your words dance in your mouth, they’ll dance in the universe.
And if they don’t dance…
well, there are other universes.
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“Words That Sing (Gonzo Mouth of the Universe)”
E.J. Gold
[VERSE 1]
I was whisperin’ to the chickens ‘bout a line I couldn’t say,
They stared like feathered judges from a cosmic cabaret.
My tongue was doin’ backflips, vowels slidin’ outta sight,
Long words struttin’ through the doorway pickin’ fights with the mic.
[PRE-CHORUS]
Then my mouth said, “Kid, your brain’s too fancy —
Let the syllables run wild and dance-y!”
[CHORUS]
Ooooh, the words that sing,
They rise like moons on a quantum string.
The vowels go soft and the consonants swing,
And the long words hide ‘cause they know one thing —
You can’t force rhythm on a drunken phrase,
Let the mouth lead you through the maze.
Yeah, the words that sing…
They choose you, baby — not the other way.
[VERSE 2]
I tried “hyperdimensional”— the universe imploded,
Carl the cosmic entity showed up all corroded.
My tongue filed a grievance with the union of the mouth,
Said, “These syllables are hostile, we are walkin’ out.”
[PRE-CHORUS]
Then my lips said, “Buddy, you’re abusin’ the beat…
Try somethin’ shorter — somethin’ with feet.”
[CHORUS]
Ooooh, the words that sing,
They purr like cats in a vowel hot spring.
The open sounds stretch everything,
And the hard ones hit with a boxing-ring cling.
Yeah, the words that groove…
They know your heart before you move.
The words that sing…
Ain’t impressed by what you think you prove.
[BRIDGE]
(SPOKEN, half-sung, cracked-open cosmic rant)
Listen, kid —
A song is just a spell you cast
With breath and bravado.
If the syllables revolt?
That’s your fault.
Give ‘em room.
Give ‘em rhythm.
Give ‘em snacks.
Don’t make ‘em rhyme “existentially”…
You’ll tear a hole in spacetime
And the chorus ain’t insured for that.
[VERSE 3]
I tried testin’ my lyrics in a haunted mirrored hall,
My reflection said ‘Nope,’ turned its back, and left the wall.
So I fed my words to chickens — midnight, full moon, no shoes —
And the moment they started dancin’, I knew what line to choose.
[FINAL CHORUS]
Ooooh, the words that sing,
They light up the dark with a neon wing.
The mouth is the priest, and the breath is the king,
And the beat is the bell that makes everything ring.
When the rhythm bites, let the phrasing flow,
Let the cosmic vowels steal the show —
Yeah, the words that sing…
They already know where they wanna go.
[OUTRO]
(whispered)
If the words don’t dance in your mouth, kid…
They ain’t ever gonna dance in the music.
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Here’s the Bardo bus, right on time and right in space! Clamber aboard, do your best!
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See You At The Top!!!
gorby