Sleep The S slips into the lilting L before passing into the repeated EE only to be abruptly clipped by the P. The sounds made within the inner of the word are lulling from start to finish, mirroring the physical thing that the word represents. The tongue remains dormant through the S allowing for breath to pass through (asleep) only to jar the tongue into movement (halfsleep) before finally crashing into reality with movements of lips and tongue slumping out the P sound (awake, now.) The curling shape of the S is yet again mimiced in a physicial way by the body when deep in the throes of slumber, while the EE could possibly be the form of two bodies spooning. When handwritten, the repeated Es resemble the reoccurance of dreams: two in a row seemingly identical yet when looking closer, and closer still, one sees slight differences between each of the Es. This one is top heavy while that one is a bit short. With the capital S, lowering down to the L, before lowering still for the two Es, only to drop off the bottom of the line with the P -- again, a portrait of sleep can be seen: the waking mind represented by the S, tall and awake, then traveling downward along the spine of the word before dropping off at the P. Sleep. A word that mimics its definition.
Please
The sister-word of "Sleep" formed of the same equation (yes, there is in fact math in words) only in reverse, and also linked insofar as they are both Pleading (a third word that completes this trio). The shivering S ends the world while the pleading, begging PL sound start it off. The mouth trips a bit when forming the first bits of sound, tongue pushed against the backs of the front teeth while the lips parse slightly after pursing -- and isn't this quite similar to the thingishness of the word itself? It begs, stumbles, adjusts itself all the while filled with a taste of humiliation. "Please?" Leaving the S to trail off into the infinite future in search of some completion, answer, or remedy. The upward-facing arrowhead of the A points to optimism and the last E is standing on the page with its arm's open in the hopes of perhaps regaining the sleep it had missed to begin with. Please Sleep. Sleep, please. Both words are linked together at the hips, bound by a pleading urgency. In your head they repeat and turn into one another trading meanings until they are simply a spinning swill of sounds. Pleassleepleassleeppleasssssleep.
