Ingrained within the human desire for togetherness might also be a desire for exclusivity - that you are a part of something new, unique, and niche. And in that also comes the bastardization of etymology. Younguns don't give a shit about history, right?
There is no prescident for the vague and shadowy misappropriations of words that have been engrained into our language from the time of Johnson's Oats.
This is not, though, a dig at culture, or indeed its adoption of new words, invented or otherwise.
Inevitability. Causality. Where do I fit? Where do we fit like jigsaw pieces to a giant puzzle of confused disorder? How long do we march to trumpet beats and have our feet get mangled on ground made of cellophane tape, with a crowd of disheveled onlookers and grubby, grimy politicians in pinstripe suits with wide lapels from Hugo Boss?
Mopped up. Chopped up. Done up, forever wasted in a basket by the door. Some words don’t make the cut. Some words are sealed inside plastic bags and sloppily tossed in the fridge as leftovers for weekends and fancy party tricks. Some words we pick up and tip into a large stew to simmer, ready for plucking upon a happenstance; words like jigger.
Cut to black.
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