affame_le_geant_inspiration_is_everywhere fyn gula when frafkuel dispiacere rescued the waitress maria baptiste from the lascivious clutches of keggi as he trapped her in the foyer of the private room by interrupting his unwarranted sexual advances and informing her he was taking the wolf-man trio to the greenhouse, what he was actually referring to was more aptly defined as a biosphere, for it was under this elaborate network of hexagon-cut plate-glass that the 'tin-man's heart' grew their own euro-organic vegetables, greens, and fruits. they also grass fed their beef, lamb, venison, poultry,cerviche, and um, gulp, rabbit. maria baptiste, blushing from her encounter, solidified her clandestine plans with the frafkuel, affectionately squeezed his fur forearms and kissed both cheeks. she bid him adieu and left him to the affairs at hand, that being the further re-education and rebuilding of the foundation of the self which the frafkuel's film initiated. she tossed cayris a knowing glance, which poj intercepted. poj linnet, cayris's second-in-command, stored everything in his heavy soul and silently pondered the impending gravity of the unavoidable situation realizing he would be forced to make a decision, and none too soon: either stay with keggi and take over command of "the insufferable hunger of the damned", for all evidence of the recent proceedings pointed to the absolution of cayris's leadership or he would seriously consider an absolute change of heart, denouncing selfishness and seeking to aid boffden in his quest to destroy proina's iron hold, opening the unobstructed path for dennis browne to one day cross the bridge back and forth between fantasy and reality. the frafkuel lifted keggi's chin. "come on, my big bad wolf," he said, "put your dick in your pants and join us on a most excellent adventure." "but the girl is fine," keggi said, "her tits are fucking perfect." he shook his head with recollection "temporary pleasures are like snowflakes," dispiacere remarked. "we gaze upon their beauty only long enough for the noon sun to melt them. they become memory as everything does. therefore it is those eternal elements we must seek, for they do not grow old, nor do they die. they will pass onwards to the next generation, to your grandchildren, carrying your fingerprints." "don't give me that shit," keggi said, looking away. "no one understands anything you say, it is nonsense, it is fucking empty words. if i want something, i will take it." "and then when you are grey with a depression no doctor can cure and you acquire a sickness as a result to your blatant disregard to heath, incurring even as you ignorantly question it, who will care for you then?" "why should i think about that now?" "because there is only now." "so i'll do what i want. fuck tomorrow. fuck others. i alone, count." "and then you will lose your soul." "how do you know?" "history tells me and you." "fuck you." "it figures you would be deduced to stupidity and ignorance." the frafkuel said and he reached out to keggi but the wolfman avoided his attempt at affection, deeming it artificial. "love is offered to us for only so long and then it becomes unavailable." keggi sensed blood in his mouth and spat it to the ground. he did not say anything because he was defeated, just as he defeated all his life. "go the fuck on," he said, lifting his arm. "where are you taking us?" and so, the frafkuel led them then, walking slowly through a wide, long hallway towards the biosphere. he was a little bit funny to watch for he did not move as we are normally accustomed to beholding. he stepped forward as one without a skeleton and muscle, as if an invisible hand was behind his neck giving him the suggestion of propulsion. perhaps we have all led our stuffed animals on a similar course, leading them to a place we one day dream we can go. a plce where we will mean something to someone. where we will teach others by example, carrying the weight of honest, fearless passion for living. on one side of the expanse was a framed collection of fine art. several paintings highlighted a current exhibit of one particular montlapian artist whose name was brigit markevian. she was famous in kemulya for her graphic novels similar in style and substance to dave mckean and neil gaiman, but this particular showing featured her talent with caran d'ache watercolour crayon on english waffleboard. the imagery she depicted was of the tragic "fall of birds" and the spegnere's death. there were even portraits of saumboo before he had turned to stone, the comatose frau werzenwozen, and yes, as you were expecting, puppertwinkle. however, the memory brigit chose to immortalize was the little dog in the basket of the sugar girl's motoguzzi. do you remember all of this shit? if you do, now is the time to put a gold star on your forehead. oh yeah. on the other side of the hallway were a series of large windows set with flagstone borders which the balaclava wearing gnomes of the nivek woods built. they looked out upon a courtyard where montlapian mothers often brought their homeschooled children to sit under a fall and spring sun to hear what the kemulyan poets are doing. several adirondack chairs and barnwood benches were set up amongst a bocci court and marble statues of boffden and baeroun. with snow still on the ground, they were unable to see the brick-lined beds with their dormant perennials longing for spring. goodbye jack frost, back on the train with you. so sad are your early spring snows, how they lay just on the grass. and so, they arrived at the entrance of the biosphere where they were greeted by a sign. "INSPIRATION IS EVERYWHERE." it read. the frafkuel opened the door. 030405 what's it to you? who go blather from