Baking bread is all about temperature—
set it too low and you’ll end up with a dry brick,
but too high and the crust will burn,
leaving the dough uncooked inside.
But you’ve got to be at least thermo-literate
to land a baker’s job, and that’s a fact, not an opinion—
you still remember what that is, don’t you?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I came into possession of a book on why truth matters and was astonished to read that ‘[t]here are true (sic!) facts’. What on earth are true facts? In the past, we simply had facts and fiction. Why does the former require such a qualifier now? Call me old-fashioned, but such pleonasm is not just a sign of bad style; it’s an indication of the undergoing putrefaction of language—that fundamental instrument for shaping thoughts, expressing emotions, and maintaining social connections, a mirror of values, beliefs, and experiences, that can even influence how people perceive the world. So, I’d rather stick to facts.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Even the smallest gap in the curtains
might find its peeping Tom—so there is always hope
for the closet poet—yet finding readers proves no easy feat
for the wordsmith in disguise, who has learnt the difference
between epistemology and epistolography
but has never managed to navigate
the intricacies of the modern sock drawer
(as he sees the algorithm-driven blogosphere realm).
Perhaps a premature demise is the answer,
although it only works when real,
as we know from Ms. Meachen’s story.
Besides, the fame gained in this way
is of no consequence to the person concerned,
regardless of whether there is life after death or not.
After all, there is no fun in bidding against others
when the only currency you have is the obol.
It doesn’t matter that I read everything from Plato to Dostoyevsky
to Faludi and Greer, that I can write complex algorithms as well
as the occasional stanza or two, and that I know the difference
between epistemology and epistolography. To you, I’m just a bore.
At least we didn’t need to extend our only date beyond the length
of the promenade, and your blunt assessment quickly cured me
of online dating.
hidden pilcrow 