affame_le_geant_paradis fyn gula the dandelion's spirit, like a helium balloon accidently released by a small child rose unseen between the herenow and the herethereafter. not only was he free from pain, but he was absent from his entire body and existed solely as a thought of the God who created him, returning to his original state of being. he hovered momentarily, looking down at his former self, a sickly, ridiculous skeleton of a human flower propped in a beaker of morphine like some fifth grade science project. ("now class," the turkey-necked teacher would say, "is he dead yet? oh, yes he is. write down your findings and discard him properly.") he pitied himself, but more so frau werzenwozen, puppertwinkle, and saumboo who would have to continue in the land of the dead without him. they held each other in a tribunal of tribulation, sobbing. "weep not for me," the dandelion said, although his words were not uttered in the usual fashion as from brain to tongue. it was more like an observation of history that no longer belonged to him or even concerned him. at least he felt none of the obligatory responsibility. it simply was, and held little importance, although he sensed somehow he would always possess a connection to these three because of the value they bestowed upon him when he was alive within a body. it was the marox pass, basically. all our lives we struggle to claim it and when we die it becomes a piece of paper that rolls about in the wind, gets rained on, bleached by the sun, until someone finds it and glues it in a journal. we no longer pursue love, finding it and then give it away. we become love itself. the warm and bright light the dandelion had witnessed upon his moment of passing was now "calling" him inside for it was a tunnel, long and circular that this illumination waited in, patiently at the end. the dandelion entered and moved on with all the confidence of a baby crawling to its mother's outstretched arms. for it was all he felt, beckoned by this tender voice, a music heard not with the ears, but like the flow of blood if it held notes, rhythm, and melody. and when he reached the end, he found that it opened to the wonderland he had imagined all his life, down to every minute detail. paradis. it was here that three bohemian babas embraced him, the maris den cieans. they were chubby from excellent cheese and potatoes and their love was soft and warm. they held him in their embrace and carried him into his concept of absolute freedom. oh, the heavens they bring. 020611 what's it to you? who go blather from