affame_le_geant_blinking_light fyn gula "ce n'est pas votre force qu'un Dieu examine, mais votre faiblesse." it is not your strength that God tests, but your weakness. ~mother henritte, from "the dialogues of the carmelites" "am i part of the cure or part of the disease?" puppertwinkle asked himself, head in paws, as the sugar girl motored north with him inside the scooter basket. she made a left turn at paso de patones and was speeding towards the kingdom of broken glass humming a Hot Hot Heat song from the "make up the breakdown" record. proina would be waiting. the revolution's flame snuffed out. the little dog blinked back tears of self-debasement, realizing he had failed again, like the rolled stone of sisyphus, leaving saumboo and frau werzenwozen on their own, vulnerable to the wiles of negative possibilities. he had collapsed under the weight of unpreventable temptation, became enmeshed by the skulking, slinky siren and now found himself going to hell in a scooter basket, fumbling towards perdition. he could not let this happen. like blanche in francis poulenc's "dialogues of the carmelites," he was born into fear, lived in fear, but facing robespierre's guillotine, she was willing to martyr herself, but not puppertwinkle...blanche may have yielded to the terror of the french rebellion, however puppertwinkle would fight. but how? and so, there he laid, guilt kicking his ass and stirring his emotions, when all of a sudden he heard an electronic beeping noise accompanied by a flashing red light which he perceived to be coming from the alcance del mundo that hung about his neck. it was a source of comfort somehow. a mother dog's heartbeat. a signal fire burning in the echoing desolation of his ruptured soul. although the emptied bag of oranges befitted the occasion of a convenient jail cell, puppertwinkle still had sufficient room to push the blinking bulb and place the scope in front of his eyes to discover why it was calling him. all was not lost. 021202 what's it to you? who go blather from