After observing the steady hand of the Dragon Son dissect their baby psalm with such cold precision… I am in sheer awe. Holy moly guacamole. A wakka wakka. That’s as far as my talent with words goes.
I am either too heavy handed, too blunt, too overkill, too hard, too fast, or too indirect and thus squishy and impotent. Thus why I am not a god or goddess, merely their Herald.
I am a howard, not a coward. I am a clownish, impish, elfin puck up.
Howard Wolowitz. You should see me squinch my lips, a corner of my mouth hooked in a crooked disapproving smiline…
4 corners of the world, for 4 is the number for structural integrity to build a strong foundation.
3 women to form a holy trinity. The spirits who weave fate when all they do is gossip and tell tales that inspire and thence transpire.
2 opposite genders to procreate and propagate the agenda of the previous generations.
1 foreigner to shed a different perspective.
Well, as the metatrope, I can be that alien. I’m not an illegal alien, mind you. I just hail from the heritage lines of Foreign.
Enjoy my word play? Every essence of me I have woven into my name. And I have many names.
Categories: Show me the Metatrope