Mischievous Spirits [Rev]

We government translators are not permitted to
do interpreting - not part of our job description -
thus it makes perfect sense to attend a meeting
where interpreting is discussed - we’ll recognise
what it is we’re not sanctioned to do, enable our
recognising the mistake - & if we stumble upon
interpreting by chance, to stop immediately

It’s a no-no for staff of our Translation Section to
dabble in interpreting, the clever presenters know
we’re too dense to figure out differences between
simultaneous & consecutive explication, whispered
or out-loud for everyone; apparently it’s a necessary
milestone to learn how each one works, the speaker
of the Justice Department emphasised the problem

Of deciding which clients deserve court interpreters
& why in a court of law it’s SO important to interpret
correctly - I’m gratified having had dangers of such
misdeeds explained - now I’m sure I won’t stumble
into court interpreting, mistakenly practicing illegal
interpretation when we’re just Government Service
Language Practitioners - it’s very possible that we

ALL might recognise our sin if we’re tricked into an
iniquity of illegal, forbidden interpreting - and thus
immediately stop as per government order; though
I’m stumped as to who these mischievous spirits
might be who’ll want to play us that trick

Saintly Presence [Rev]

Such gentle and upstanding colleagues, all pillars
of the community; an exceptionally kind teammate
disciplined me to show how overly unwelcome my
attitude of consideration is - chagrined I kneeled in
awe of her Christian tranquility & thus I confess my

Knavery here - the only place where I’m free to be
heard, in the office every gesture of mine is found
wanting; ashamed of contaminating my confrères’
sanctuary I fled home while feeling contrite, guilty
& sinful as I was in their dutiful, saintly presence

If only I could sink into the earth, if only I could be
swallowed by the land of my birth - it is clear that
the person I am is an insult to humanity; well, after
sailing on my stomach at work, & indicating to my
beloved what had happened, he sided with them

Immediately, my misplaced friendship attempts are
abominable and should end with immediate effect -
yes - it’s clear my only purpose on earth is to learn
humility - thus I’m perpetually put in my place as
the most irritating person around, at home I learn

To accept my colleagues are eternally superior
and I’m an idiot who should learn to be content
with my fate as lost among the morally advanced…

Called Up [R]

Instant soup, a cup or two, and now the long,
slow, softly glowing embers of an adamantine
headache that doesn’t make me ill, but destroys
my will, only the reptilian core in the mammal
brain remains operative, survival, fight & flee

Now called up to attend a Minister’s meeting,
backache is manifesting while trying to learn
on Arabic or read Agatha Christie didn't work
beyond half-hearted attempts - during lunch
I wandered down to the shops & found a pair

Of divine flip-flops, rose-pattern on top - yet
my joy is as vague as an almost dying flame;
I’m going to stop drinking instant soup just to
become me again without ears swelling and
eyes unfocused: I had better leave before it

Becomes too difficult to drive home safely…

Inside My Head

I left my body behind to live in my mind,
physical life marked by food & comforts
with this ego - calculating, wide-awake
and analytic, in control; doesn’t work
for me - escaping piecemeal through

Children’s fiction does not help enough,
standing all day at my desk - for health
reasons, trying to concentrate; messed
up my production even more, thus only
by lifting up and looking down into the

Situation from above, is there hope for
my completing the pilgrimage on earth
without feelings or emotions interfering
with the little routines of my lived with-
out common-sense because I believe

Instincts provide better guides to decide
on action required, tho’ without signs of
Hans Christian Andersen’s uncommon
sense inspiring him to go against advice
so he became the most-read author of

Fairytales, while I simply live within the
make-believe universe inside my head

In His Dreams

Hitler-Hubbard started Dianetics which just is
science-fiction, how to grow rich presented as
religion for tax-exemption – and a joke on his
sheepish flock working as slaves to augment
his income, not theirs, paying for every stage
required in the religion’s misleading, useless

Courses, & sign a thousand-year discipleship
contract -- the scheme thrives on selfishness
& greed, degrading disciples by indoctrination,
problem is Hitler-Hubbard had far too much
imagination and believed in his dreams as a
means to wealth, free to lead an immoral life

America’s Human Rights protect cults - which
deny freedom and education to their followers,
enslave children and destroy family life, which
proselytise under false pretexts, brainwashing
subjects causing mental and emotional injury –

Why protect criminal masterminds under the
American constitution and ignore the victims’
right to protection against dangerous money
scams - some are too gullible and ignorant to
realise it’s the fantasy of a pulp-fiction author

To be read just to stimulate the intellect, not
to be realised because a death-dealing, soul-
destroying, mind-blowing scheme endangers
everyone involved in it: Government should
protect these kind souls, so easily exploited,
against themselves -

Misguided Enthusiasm [Rev]

The days of my youth when I loved anything new,
found Dianetics & thought it true our minds made
videos of every event in our experience, but how
wrong I was about L Ron Hubbard, the author of
this nonsense, a pulp fiction writer who began the
Church of Scientology as a means to live rich and
tax-free - one day I’ll find my writings on him and
add footnotes explaining misguided enthusiasm
I felt - at least it was all imagination & fun to me

Pretty Theories [Rev]

Science is nothing more than make-believe and superstition,
and as these fantasies are unobservable, their sums are the
logic & proof for all of the pretty theories - all we can achieve
is to live in Alice’s Wonderland - as thus providing metaphors

For poets & artists alike in a superstition that gravity organises
galaxies with their spinning stars - and as we cannot see what
prevents everything from getting sling-shot away into space -
Hey presto! All al-fresco, we just dream up an invisible World

A magic place in which we dwell - for this science is the best
hocus-pocus there is…

Thine Own Bosom [Rev]

How DARE authorities circulate the Public Service
Code of Conduct when the Public Service HEAD
doesn’t have a clue what ethics entail: Criminals in
Public Service, handmaidens, henchmen & friends
loot POOREST unscathed while micromanagement
of the least important official without money or power
leads to such absurd administration & bureaucracy,
doubling or more the cost of probable loss through

Them; and an increase in the public service burden
& inefficiency - compared to the staggering amounts
head criminals in the country steal, and yet worse is,
Dear President does not understand why everyone
is so upset given that money-grabbing as politicians
appears to be world-wide sport: He’s right, but others
are more sophisticated: capitalists create jobs, sharing
with society, providing education & technology & they

Do not keep the rural people in a still death-grip while
ignoring international standards, with no concern for
jobless youths forever poor; the small officials in the
trenches without authority, intimidated - as if we can
change anything - are absurd, a tragic irony, fleeced
& blackmailed into paying for the fun of arch-criminals
without respect for others or for themselves as self-
esteem is only gained through integrity & respect for

Freedom; my ethics are based on spiritualism and my
belief in consciousness is not prescribed by religion’s
judgment for the sin of being human; therefore put thine
hand unto thine own bosom before thee play watchdog,
accuser, judge & jury at the same time…

Magical Night-Hours (C)

I have run the gamut of what can be eaten in the
office and everything ended in reaction - back to
a Spartan existence of ice-water and black, bitter
coffee; not knowing what else to do - last night’s
meal came back up again and everything tastes
wrong, maybe a kind soul wants to poison me

To send me back home to the non-physical Astral
dimension – whatever, feeling ill is no joy – there’s
nothing good in eating sawdust and drinking bitter
bubbles of carbonated water - therefore starting a
new regime, eyes unfocused and head lolling, but
after tea with a little sugar I am standing at my

Computer, dreaming of being one of the Magical
Night-Hours waiting to play pranks on Night Owls

Off I Go [Rev]

Today I’m in-between dreams, trying to teach
the Little Alien in my mind that I’m old enough
to play the role of a Witch, big nose and warts,
but he refuses & conjures a mermaid singing
an beguiling song of still being a fairy queen or
if that’s too much, a ballerina balanced on the
cusp between flying fairies and ballet dancers
soaring through the air taking off on their toes;
my witch-project to provide me with a second
skin, and to try to be aloof AT people, doesn’t

Gain the cooperation of the Little Alien; even
trying to imagine me as Granny Weatherwax
going borrowing through eagle eyes - does
not cut the ice, my credit card balance sheet
tells a story of dreams buying black lace and
scarves for my witch-scenario so that I can
redefine myself, yet the Alien only whispers
Susan Death in my ear - happily he dances
away waving pages of my favourite Terry
Pratchett books, and immediately I become

A member of the Disc World fraternity since
the wonder of the magic world’s too enticing
to withstand; as I remember Tiffany learning
witching and her disappointment when she
discovers that it consists of menial jobs and
illusions, my heart follows the Alien and soon
I’m a fairy floating over to Pixie Dell to watch
Tinkerbell restoring the Moon Stone with a
diamond-laser focused light and the hard,
black outline of this world disappears as my

Translucent wings unfold - and off I go…

Victim Of Imagination [Rev]

Now its clear in retrospect how I create my own failures:
without inspiration I can’t work on research & translation,
and once I start - I’m carried away by fantasising what a
great job I’m doing - enjoying work of fording streams &
scaling hills - climbing mountains and falling into every
trap and hidden-foxhole, knotted-grass, intricacy of my
translation; the whole process becomes a mystery and
my adventure relaying source information to the target
language becomes a miracle play I dream to entice

Client & superior alike; if I don’t allow my Inner Self to
create like this I become catatonic, incapable of doing
anything much less work on my desk; but ensconced
happily in daydreams I analyse every term & phrase,
a brave adventurer; on completion I take a precious
document created reverently to Mother Abbess in our
bureaucratic convent & joyously dance away, pleased
with the intellectual challenge - that is until fear begins
in me the Abbess won’t like what I did

Anxiety makes this mountaineer shiver - then the text
is returned with so many changes that it feels as if the
Little Alien in my head shrivels up & dies upon viewing
rational changes made, seeing all the exotic, carefully
chiselled phrases rejected as inapplicable; heartbroken
I go home to lament my lack of prowess, all is dark and
hopelessness UNTIL a new task is given me and the
Little Alien revives and takes control by inventing yet
another game of combat against Translation Dragons,
any resistance against such childish play shuts down

My mind and I grow stiff and ill until I relent & the Little
Alien directs the game; as a victim of my imagination I
go along and enjoy it intensely - while knowing that on
the other side, after enjoying the wonderful view from
the mountaintop of a job completed, lies the universal
disappointment and rejection - sometimes it doesn’t
hurt too much and on other occasions I want to die in
shame and sadness - until the next job comes along…