In the deepest recesses of a long forgotten library, where mortals rarely dare to tread, there is a book, very wise and very old. Even the librarians in that forsaken place speak of this tome only in hushed and reverent voice, for its power is great, and its reach is infinite.
It is the list of terms once vibrant and alive, that now live on only in gaunt and ghostly shadow. Phantoms of language, creatures spawned by voices now stilled, the words that live between its ancient covers writhe upon the page in their struggle to be heard. Each entry in this vast and ancient text once blazed with great power, as souls countless in number fell under its sway. Yet these words remain trapped within these cryptic pages, for they are no longer welcome to walk among the living.
If you listen closely, on moonless nights you can hear the whispers of these ancient symbols within the library corridors, a faint echo falling like silent snow upon the uncaring walls. The music of these words is strange, its meaning elusive, like an ancient incantation only half remembered by a dark sorceror long gone mad. Words like hep, and knapped and ague, like groovy, barkers and fream, ginchy and fab and STTNG, bludger and dollymop, flimp and LSMFT.
Each of these words, once mighty in its reach, waits like a spectre for its moment to rise once more and reenter an unsuspecting world. And perhaps one day they will return, these strange lexical apparitions, refugees from a forgotten time. For who among us can foretell the future, and who can say what dark truths it may yet hold?
Open, if you dare, the Lexiconicom.