Jabberwocky: Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There

In the real world, nonsense words appeals to the ears and pierce our minds to conjure extreme imagination for those inclined to the magic of dreams and their delightfulness.  I get confused over a lot of it sometimes.  It actually isn’t written for a child; Through the Looking Glass, I mean, I think it was written for the adult in mind to revisit their own childhood.   Maybe it was written just for me.                
               
Good reading skills and imagination is one of the most important things to teach a child.  This is why it becomes so significant to read to them and let them think of things on their own terms.  When a child’s brain is developing, it is the Broca area to be kept in mind that is developing.  It is this region of the brain that contains neurons involved in the control of speech.  It serves a vital role in articulating language.  Creative language creates creative children.  Creative children will create no telling what.  No telling what is a figure of speech that could represent anything.                  
               
Children often exhibit themselves in a Calvin and Hobbes fashion, switching from reality to fantasy and then back again.  With few exceptions, it is the most creative children that develop imaginary playmates as with Anne of Green Gable’s Bookcase Girlfriend -- her own reflection.  And there’s nothing wrong with it.                  
               
Word by word, you could create an entire story. Poems are not built with words, but rather on atmosphere.  Words are only the foundation of a representative meaning.  The poem is only a small excerpt of the mind from which it came.  Poems are built with feelings turning their smallness into the something that is larger than life.  With a poem, there is no beginning, there is no end; there is only the imagination and dream of one reality to let anyone ponder forever and ever if they dare to go there.   Charles Dodson certainly did create something that was larger than life embodied inside Lewis Carroll and the Jabberwocky.  It is a legend, imagination, and creative writing.  And so is he.        
       
The Writer              
               
The best writers in this world never know when to leave well enough alone.  They pull up their nickers and their britches and they slide on their best shit-kickers and they go out there and face life with all the guilt and innocents their eyes could dare to see in any direction whatsoever, with reckless bravado and brain-bursting insanity.  They take chances to steal oceans and shoot moons.  They wrestle with witches and wedge glitches throwing themselves at all those rotten sonsabitches that say it could never be.  Writing:  It represents this zest and exploration of life with color, in all its daunting details in hues using the eyes of imagination that the mind could care to dream.  It is warmth and friendship, song and education.  It is innocence and boldness in the making built with humor and humility.  It is an unknown value.  It argues with hypothesis in experimentation and hallucination for excitement and pure entertainment.  Its amusement, anguish, screams of torment and enjoyment, and ultimately its pure exhaustion.                  
               
This writing that I’m sharing with you today comes from an English Literature paper I wrote on the Jabberwocky about a year ago.  Complete awesomeness.   Nonsense!  I wanted to inspire young writers like me.  There is a story, but also, it’s filled with word play and rhythmic tones to create meaning.   There are legends in writing.   If I had a dream that could ever come true – in that they never do, then why would I dream of a small something?  The Jabberwocky is the thought and embodiment of imagination itself.  It is a legend of a writer that continues to dream, and it lives within me. When I say young, in young writers, I don't mean to look at the age on your driver's license. I only started writing a few years ago, but I've been meaning to get around to it forever.    Nothing can penetrate the mind when the ready isn’t ready to receive.  Nothing can penetrate the mind that’s not already there. Maybe.                
               
               
I Know Nothing              
               
               
Happy are we that came from the rain                        
And stood up under the Dumdum tree,                        
Happy in ignorance are we that play                        
That ever thought to slay a Jabberwocky,                        
                      
And I served it no justice,                        
                      
But unfearing the curse of the madman                        
Or from which direction the darling came,                          
                                
I know nothing of an ordinary fear of flying                          
Taking chances with backpacks                        
As did gyre and gimble in the wabe                        
With studied trophies of abandoned ivory,                        
                      
Again and again I pay,                        
                      
Damn the thieving bastards anyway!                        
A strategy of an overture lord;                        
Pounds of Penates and golden alloys                          
Playing pinochle, equal to a damaging rampage,                        
                      
But I’m an optimist I say! I say!                        
That hits the ground running every day                        
In uniform motion, and fear, dare I say                          
As fearless as it came,                        
As salty and ignorant as the sea                        
In solūtus of the rain.