Greetings dear victim.
You reached the page reflecting the deepest abyss of the soul of uncle grin, showing you knowledge making your soul scared to its final and most extreme madness to start the run which consumes its latest powers down the road of doom straight to the gate of Hell where dropping dead can enter one of the catacombs reserved for my victims.
Thus I wish you joyful reading, and if you believe you think that these things caused any other feeling in you than occasional boredness just fire an email to me, telling me about it, or ask for help on your mental regeneration.
And remember the commandment on the stone: Do Not Steal! (Or at least ask permission beforehand.)
You may read the Hungarian part if you can.
So, as I mentioned already, not much English texts here, since I'm a humble self-appointed master of words and my mother's tongue is Hungarian, so is mine. (Actually, the same applies to my father and brother, and my dog understands Hungarian words only as well.)
Translation of one of my most favourite poem
Rejto Jeno: Sir (a) Felirat ("Crying Epitaph").
To those don't already realized I hereby announce that I am stupid!
Sometimes, even fairy tales have grown their roots deep into the history. Maybe you would like to hear His Tale, something I have written for two people I like very much.
There is a placeholder for the novel titled The Failure which awaits translation. For 2 years now. Don't bear illusions.
This is a placeholder as well for the novel of Frederic Brown: The Gun. It's pointless to translate it back to English, and since I do not have the original text, I can't put it up here, but you should know I value that piece very much.
Don't rush, friend, stop a little and read some pieces maybe making you to think things over, if you happen to be able to think at all.
Sometimes only to remember those you miss, and sometimes only to stop and look at the world around you.
The pieces above weren't spot by nature since I ain't an english speaker. The W. H. Auden poem can be heard in the fabulous movie Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), and Frost's in the oldtimer spy-story Telefon (1977).
I was touched, when Molly Barr, a talented raytrace artist put up a story smalltee and me have dreamed once upon a time... The story which was told before I have seen the picture of Molly which was the perfect illustration of it, the Glass Trees. (The file possibly moves to a new address once it's ready.)
Well, I'll write here later but now I go to sleep. I know, I know, I always say so. Well... that's me...
All of these are dedicated to those I like -- well, to be honest, you're not that great many. :-)
© Copyright Gervai "grin" Peter, 1993-98, All rights reserved.
(Yes, yes my beloved thief friend, even that you're thinking of. I don't want to see any of these materials unexpectedly on the web, in your electronic mag, or anywhere anyway whatsoever. All in all: NO. If you want it, request for permission. The address you remember, right?)