Sunday, November 15


I don't enjoy being hurt
Or swindled
And I'm a wicked man indeed
To those who cross me

I never lost my connection to the deep past
Where might made right, and
Winner took all
I didn't recognize any Fall, let's just say

Grace is what you make of it
Usually I make very little
Because I feel so very little
About this madhouse we call the world

But still I live within that world
And rules are to be followed when they don't jar
Your own sense of self too strongly, for
My salvation is a strange, uncertain thing.


Hans said...

interesting fact: don't cross the man

Metamatician said...

heh. you don't need to worry - moms are exempt.

Giusi said...

Far-off friends too?
Glad you're writing again!

Metamatician said...

Of course far-off friends! Especially lovely ones like you.

Thank you... I AM writing a lot. And most of it I'm not posting. Saving up a bunch for a new, redesigned blog when I can get around to it.

Also working on a story I may try to publish, as well as a humorous novel. We'll see if anything fruitful happens, but it's fun to feel inspired.

How is your job? How are YOU? Do you write creatively amidst all the translating you do?

Thanks for stopping by! xx

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