affame_le_geant_logburningfire fyn gula twinkletoes mcgruder, thora valentine's husband, his hands loose on the reins of his paper-horse, ran his paper tongue over his paper lips. though his didn't chap as ours would in similar cold weather situations, they did fray slightly and it would mean a trip to the origamist to have them repaired. as thora asked him about his friend's interesting metaphor concerning a log-burning fire, he thought about the beeswax lip balm he left back at the garage, cursed himself, and then answered her question. "well, it's like everyone desires warmth, especially in winter. to be cold is to be in great need, and really, if you think about it, heat, in general, is the basic foundation of practically everything there is. but that's a whole different point," he said, pulling slightly to the right as the road demanded. the wind hit them again with merciless frigidity and the mandrill buttoned the top clasp of her wool coat, so the mink fur lining was against her skin. "what my buddy was saying, basically, was this," twinkletoes continued. "we burn wood. we get warm. we feel good. we are happy. but the fire runs low and we must get more wood or it will go out and you will lose not only the warmth, but your happiness as well. and so you either get another few logs and throw them on, or you go outside to the stacked pile." "but what if there is no stacked pile?" thora said, sitting up. she had been leaning her bluejay head against the firmness of his paper-coated shoulder. she shivered in the biting cold. "exactly. excellent question. a concern we all should have," twinkletoes smiled. it was then he turned the cd player on inside the cardboard cart. beck's sea change. the paper-horse, although it said nothing felt it was appropriate, even before the mandrill actually came out and said that she had sort of wrote some of the lyrics on the horse's hock before she got in as you remember it was required of her. "it's always best to cut, split, and stack several cords of wood in the summer and fall, so when blizzardy winter arrives you are prepared and do not have to freeze your ass off trying to find it in the snow-covered woods." he adjusted the volume and began singing along, "feel like i'm watching something dying." "so i see," thora said, her eyes growing bright and large. "the warmth we seek is beauty." "and firewood is life." twinkletoes said. he smiled again and his teeth were perfect, for he painted them with titanium white every morning. "the fire is how we live, our passions, our motivations, our inspirations, our love," thora reached over and hugged twinkletoes. tears came to his eyes and they fell down his cheeks as black ink that wrote the words, "beauty is everywhere" across the canvas that was his paper-face. "and it is moment by moment, it must be or our fire will go out, and so we perpetually add more wood, we continuously seek with innocent eyes, we search the banal, we look under rocks, we anticipate surprises, we gaze backwards, we stare at now, we wish at the future. the stockpile is everything we have learned, all we know, all that will reveal." twinkletoes said, and thora would not let him go. the madrill had listened to all of this and she had the feeling one gets when they meet people for the first time and they know their lives will never be the same again. as if she had reached a certain plateau after climbing for years. she could look down and see all roads had led to this moment where she sat in the back seat of a cart on its way to montlapine. right there, right then she was denouncing her evil aspirations. she decided she would not call proina. she would take puppertwinkle's flesh back to his skeleton and reattach it. and she would ask for an application to work at thora and twinkletoe's shoppe. she looked down at her injured hand. it didn't even hurt anymore. 030116 what's it to you? who go blather from