affame_le_geant_ghostvoice fyn gula the voice puppertwinkle heard was familiar, as in proximity, that is, recent, as compared to being personal or meaningful. it was not a voice he enjoyed hearing for it was fingernails against a chalkboard in erstwhile memory. it was the undeniable, exotic articulation of the sugar girl, and it was coming, strangely enough, from above. like a second generation italian mother cleaning cobwebs from her fourth story brownstone tenement in the bronx and peering down through the open summer window and yelling to the her angst-ridden dj wannabe son, chillin' on the ave. that he "needs to get his ass movin' and outta here!" the boy, taken off guard, gazes up to the source of the irritating resonance and wonders "what the fuck she talkin' 'bout?!" listening to the loftiness of the supposed sugar girl's sudden inflection, puppertwinkle did what we would all naturally do. he looked up. searching for the source, what he beheld, to say the least, was weird, defying all assemblance of reality. it was the sugar girl alright, no fucking doubt. but what form she had taken on could only be guessed at. it was anyone's call. her sugar-coated composition glittered in the fading afternoon light, yet there was a transparent quality to her appearance, a substance-less apparition that immediately suggested she was a ghost or a phantom, a spector not yet ready to take death's hand. she was hovering some 2o meters above him like a kite in perfect wind conditions. the fucked-up thing was tripod was still attached to her face. he seemed to precariously hang like a picture on a wall whose thumbtack is weak. puppertwinkle's mouth dropped open. his ears flattened. his tail slithered between his legs like a snake abruptly frightened. his entire body trembled because the shit only got crazier. (if the black servant of a three stooges episode i once saw on the telly beheld what this little dog was witnessing, he would say, "this lady sure gone crAZY!") check this out. the sugar girl began dissolving. one by one, the individual grains of sweetened color lost their cohesiveness and fell like a dusting of sleet from a single, lonely snow cloud. first to go was the tips of her toes and then upwards, feet, legs, thighs, torso, chest, head... the shattered pieces of who she once was gave way with nothing to hold her together. in the process of her ambiguous coming undone, she manged to scream forth the last remaining breath of her purpose. like the final "all aboard!" steam whistle of a departing locomotive, her shrill blast of desperation hung on the fragile air. this is the the familiar sound puppertwinkle first heard when he landed from his jump off the scooter basket, and the contents of these last words would haunt him the rest of his dog days... "LA LIBERTA E UNA PAROLA SCRITTA DA UNA BARETTA NELLA SABBIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (freedom is a word written by a finger in the sand.) 021212 what's it to you? who go blather from