The sound of Z is jagged-angry. Its very shape is sharp, its corners cutting, like “buzz” (as in saw), or “jazz” (cool or hot), or “fizz” (excited, effervescent). Too much fizz can make you buzzed (or at least jazzed).
Z resounds around your lips and down into your diaphragm, jarring you awake, like minute pneumatic drills. No smoothness here. No, Z zig-zags, Z snores, forces tortured air out through your nose and mouth, awakening your neighbours.
I say “Zed” and you say “Zee” I’m from North of the 49th, you see. Why say “Zed”? Don’t know, don’t care. Don’t take it personally.
The name Tariq Azziz is like a million angry bumble bees, a swarm of surly sounds like an agitated wasp trapped inside a jar.
