marox_pass_st_john_kansas fyn gula "i guess you would have to ask yourself what it is that scares you," nimbia said to himself. he was the one who volunteered to put fiver back into watership down. the frazzled rabbit yielded without a struggle, even though nimbia was expecting to get kicked or clawed. he rememberd back in the days when his daughter was three she got caught up in a rabbit fight and still bears a scar on her thigh from a bite. he was thinking about what the scary part of fyn gula's stry actually was, petting fiver's silky fur, opening the book and setting him back in place. he saw kehaar, the seagull, babbling about "mudders." before fiver scrambled back into the warren he asked him about this mystery. "so what is the scary part?" "just watch the show and you will find out," fiver said. "and remember nimbia, drinker of the fountain of youth, fear is relative, and perfect love can make it vanish like fog in sunlight." nimbia shut the book and somehow he realized he no longer needed to watch the show for he already knew that without the marox pass, life was frightening as fucking hell. but he watched it anyhow for copello's sake, because kemuylians never failed to support each other's art, besides who knows what nylem would have him do if he was idle. "i'm sure a dwarf would be glad to give up his job of cleaning up draegyn droppings," nimbia thought, joinng in on the exhuberant applause as the puppet play resumed. a new backdrop fell into place. a kansas farmyard scene with several funky-looking hippy marionettes cavorting about to a soundtrack of tool. marque from british columbia, tyedye and lace, beads and clary sage. mario from brooklyn, horizontal tattoos, and journal immersion. if this was israel, it would have been a kibbutz, but since it was north of st. john in the midwest part of the states, it was called a working commnal farm. there was fyn, now one of those puppets that are hidden inside a cone that can be slid up and down with a wooden stick. he was dressed westcoast and if smiles were cards in envelopes, the people he met opened them up and it was the one they saved in the treasure box. it was here that the scratchy tape recordings began, clandestine moments after dinners of corn on the fucking cob, when fyn sat on the weathered porch in a tattered wicker chair sipping organic sumatra talking to marque and mario about the marox pass, what it was, how to get it, and the problems involved in keeping it. ira glass just fiddled away at the sound equipment and a hush fell over the show crowd becuae it was very hard to hear. copello was swearing inside the theatre, technical mastery was never his strength, but at least he knew he could catch it later on "this american life." done well. "fucking sound system," he yelled. "he said 'fuck' AGAIN!" the same little girl said, who had previously mentioned copello's careless use of the f word. she was wearing a t-shirt that said, "zozula familia. c'est magnifique de la monde." it had a drawing of the five members, two with morning hair. "you just said it," a little boy next to her said. he was eating a chocolate covered almond. nylem stood up and screamed at the very top of his lungs, "THESE ARE THE ST. JOHN DIALOGUES! FERMER LE MOUCHE!" at once eveyone quieted down and if it wasn't for the slumbering draegyn's unavoidable, intermittant snoring, you could hear a fucking, oops, a pin drop. 010722 ... camille http://www.once-upon-a-forest.com/ 010722 ... log burning fire five years later, the marox pass is slippery as ever. 060313 what's it to you? who go blather from