marox_pass_copellos_world fyn gula "achievement is the daffodil under the late spring snow, buried, but for a moment. life is not extiguished, passion burns in yellow and white," copello said, taking helin's journal and her hand. he led them down a cobblestone path bordered with blue-flowering borage. locusts screeched in the summer heat. small flies alighted, but then flew away. they went away from the artists at work, to where he could speak in private. you see, this was copello's world. (chris whitley begins to play in the background. he is the latest edition to dave's ATO Records.) helin's pure connection to rynomari had was the key in the lock, turning the tumbler. one world fades out and another exchanges places. and they walked along the stone, some brought from the zufall's stream, others from emerson's pile at the potato field. all of them set to place with thought in mind, copello listened to her, for she was loquacious to the positive, and her joi de vivre was infectious. the bazooka bubble from her rosy mouth swallowed them and floated them away to timeless wonder. 010818 what's it to you? who go blather from