Abysmal Writ

My alphabet is denounced as a subversion of the pleasant order.  To this end, thought leaders start from the middle, strip the vowels, and speak them in a whisper when they ought to bellow them from the navel.  Only a string of constants remain, but the inverted ones are made of smoke that causes a pupil to choke during recitation.  A hard sound will augment thoughts and emotions that are hard.  They very cumbersome but readily available.  This is to be compared to soft pronunciations that flee becoming ever adept at hiding.   Fluency then mints a detective. Phonetic grace comes only by pealed eyes and a swiveling head. Skilled oratory is less of a boast and more of a weariness.  Some say the ultimate corruption of this speech resides in salinized tenses.  Past depiction requires the salt of tears, while the future pulls salt from anxious sweat.  Anything above two syllables gives a reflection clear enough to fix one's appearance.   Self-adoration doubles with many words.  The beauty of a rhyme cements memory, induces a romantic feeling, but is considered a stutter in my dialect.  It is best to clear the mind and start over.   Those who are proficient in this tongue are often believed to be mutes when in fact they labor for months to parse their lips with meaning.