affame_le_geant_blue_washed_clarity fyn gula "let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around us in awareness." ~james thurber a considerable amount of time passed during which "the insufferable hunger of the damned" chanted forth its statements of purpose. bongo drums made from deer hides stretched over hollowed-out poplar logs were brought forth and played by several attendants, which provided a rhythmic accompaniment that seemed to give the grisly proceedings an almost primal support, as if these wolf-men would next howl at the moon. instead, led and choreographed by cayris, they performed a very odd dance, for lack of a better term, more like a series of methodical gyrations and undulations of the arms and stomping of the feet. it was all accomplished in militaristic unison, punctuated by collective shouts at signified intervals. "SELF!" "ALONE!" "NOBODY!" the mandrill had no choice but to be a spectator of this madness. her heart beat like a wild bird in the cage of her ribs, sore, and possibly broken from the abusive treatment she received from poj and keggi. she swiped at the cobwebs of lassitude forming over her soul and felt something petulant gathering at the corners of her mouth. she had listened to cayris's statements about her immediate future as a prisoner of his twisted regime. she could, no doubt, perform all the tasks of his speculation provided everything was in order, that is, the bag containing the little dog's body would have to still be in the cooler at the garden shoppe and puppertwinkle in skeleton form still present where she left him along the particular stretch of the bianca strada where she had excised his flesh. yet, the practical and the moral were at odds with each other ever since thora, twinkletoes, praayli, and couge showered her with kindness and went out of their way to make her feel loved, a term she never realized could find defintion in her life of crime and public ostracism. she was beseiged constantly by recollection. that was a brief moment of freedom, when the rusty hinges of a door of some lost palace, years shut, was pushed open, revealing another country of blue skies with clouds, warm sunshine, bright green grass moving with the fingers of the wind. restlessly she stared at this in the blue-washed clarity of her forbidden mind. it was all that she wanted, simply to be accepted, to have a friend. the splendor of dream itself. to just go on sleeping and never wake. no more, just a whimsical flutter of a ghost.....such a view of the world was now beyond her imagining. the door was slammed shut with her fingers smashed. if she were to survive, she would have to do as cayris ordered, breathing the same perilous ozone of corruption. she watched the strange proceedings stall and gradually cease. there was a sense of completion in the air. she heard a commotion and noticed the paper horse of twinkletoes was being led by two attendants to the porch area, not far from the bonfire. cayris commanded that the mandrill be placed on the saddle, hands securely tied to the horn. and of course, the paperhorse required writing before it could receive a rider. cayris himself, using a black sharpie pen wrote in a blank area near the tail, quoting conor oberst, "love is an excuse to get hurt." 030221 what's it to you? who go blather from