Taxonomy: contemporary, regional descriptor out of use < (200 years)

Wherein, I am reading something, stop- look up a word, and stumble upon other ones and could not pull myself away from this one, so I looked at it and it is:

I was researching some latin roots, and then the above occurred. Then the below.

Great word for a poem.. Hmm.. So then I saw an image in my mind and started describing what it was and felt like. Here is that playful, but I did not finish =]

So, the following poem is incomplete and in various stages of assemble. I * figured * this may be interesting to see.

The vast concrete sward of society.. And its associated urbane melancholia, wrought by ideological mass media circumstance and inter-meshed deleteria began to turn a monochromatic after-thought...

As the shock settled into a calm inner-landscape, our blood pressures fell while the sick white uniform morass of a modular artificial circuit board barely ! maintaining, maintain,maintain,maintain... ..maintaining human life faded away, the distance between us and that sick morass grew as a chasm intially, we knew we were going to have to leave someday- sometime.

But we didn't want to, because we had made fiends of friends, fiending for humanity, the search was on, and everything was falling apart, inside and outside of themselves, and all around. . . However, none of them realized that inside of each one of them, for they were hiding right there, in each one of their bodies, to be simply found. .

as did it' sickly yellow white iluminable after shock as we crossed over the county line and into the jerkwaters, all signs of the artifice all but vanished, yielding to [we were free]

sickly hyper-white [unnaturally-uniform] yellow iluminable morass twwaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh as we approached the outer limits of the principal area, towards what was regarded as the boundary line.

Everyone who lived around those parts knew, that if you didn't want to have a generally bad day- or evening- or experience of some kind, you did not cross the boundary line and visit the jerkwaters.

also apparently a backwoods or unpopular place

two things going on here, three disparate research projects seguing into a word lookup become blog post (you just read it.), and then a novella idea about a gang of rogue youths from “the jerkwaters” and following their discordant but beautiful functional lifestyle, – whence the initial writing piece it was, and the poem of exodus borne surreptitiously out of the moment of synergy betwixt and abutted against all the above variables. writing soup

over and out