The object is "you" - him.

Neither is typical. To say they are is to avoid addressing what I've said.

Yes, of course, how brilliant. Why didn't I I see that Frost wrote to me? And why can't you see that he did rely on his neighbor, not as a writing instructor, but as a man of wisdom?

1, 2 "Converse" applies when the elements of a propositioin are reversed, i. e. "I love you" and "You love me." Opposite is something that is diametrically opposed to the proposition, i.e. "I hate you." Contrary describes something that contradicts a proposition, i.e. "I do not love you." Reverse can describe either of these.

4. The difference between your example and my poem is the same as between all of your smug flaunting of logical correctness and my stretching of life metaphorically beyond your limits of feeling. Need I say that yours is all a kind of math, supposedly connected by reason, whereas mine relates felt life in unusual ways. When I say my dictionary is a compendium of devolution, you complain, and when I say it records my history before I lived it, you complain. And your objections are trivial logic without a shred of life.

Last time, you fell back on your education, this time on stoicism, contortions of language, extreme arogance, and not a trace of kindness. Your education is of no more interset to me than your complexion or the way you walk. Your written words are all that matter here. You must be a hard man to live with, Mr. Zodiac.

Could you not see from my last entry, in which I omitted myself from any of the catagories, that my comment was a mockery of the idea of categories? You are the simpleton. You only look at the surface.

I believe if you study the meaning of converse, you will see that it applies here, however I think richa's reciprocal is a better word.

I'll consider that.

Did they?

Mastery? With no demeaning adjectives, no slanderous associations, except for the rather mild “gross misunderstandings”? How atypical. Oh, I see, it’s flattery to get an admission. Well your reliance on blunders has gotten you to where and when you are, and I’m not joining you.

I presume this means you are quite satisfied and refusing any offers of assitance. By the way it's the D of November here, 1M9. what is it there?

I knew when I posted this poem that the imagery was far-fetched, and therefore easy to misinterpret and easy to attack. I have already admitted this, and therefore your attack is somewhat justified. Rather than casting off your diatribe off as easy slander, which would be my first reaction, I have done your exercise. The representation of each line in the poem is in parentheses.

Snow on the ground
(Snow is a covering, a shroud – his jokes or my missives)

shallow and dirty
(contaminated, showing traces of the thing covered – pain)

Up in the trees
it’s crusty and clean
(uncontaminated snow on limbs – effective jokes or missives)

Black limbs sagging
(limbs and anything dark = pain)

frosty and white
(pain covered and unseen)

Tan earth hidden
(earth = pain)

‘neath snow and dust
(only partially hidden)

Such are the jokes
(jokes = snow)

that cover his wounds
and the missives
(missives = snow)

surrounding mine

Which are more lofty
(his jokes or my missives?)

covering whiter?

Which bear the dust
(his jokes or my missives?)

Of weaker defense?
(weaker = contaminated with dust)

Pardon me, Raja Z.

So sorry to have omitted whatever category it is that you wish to be placed in. And of course your mockery of my insistence on categorizing everybody does in obvious fact categorize all of my poetry.

Dear Angel in Flux,
Regrettable, the way you got stuck in Nethertime. Perhaps if you’d listened to sound advice and not set your flux capacitor to that ridiculous 3.1gw, you’d be dining with King Arthur right now instead of floating about like some poop-stuffed raven over the Fields of Doggerel.

As I was about say when you rudely went off on your ill-fated trip, 1.21 is 1.21 regardless of anybody’s phrasing of it. And to show how wrong you were, I was leading up to the European reversal of comma and decimal point, 1,21, and the omitted and unnecessary zero, hence 1,210 gigawatts, which is far more than 200% in error. It’s too late now, of course, and I do wish time were kinder, but perhaps next time you’ll reconsider your insinuation that girls can’t do math. And, really, “gigawatts” does not become some new-fangled word just because somebody mispronounces it.

Really, DA, I’m shocked. But if you ask nicely, I’ll try to rescue you by deriving an input algorithm for your misfluxed capacity.

Regards,
Dovina