affame_le_geant_the_box fyn gula the moon, like some melancholy priest stretched out its hands to what once was the wooden cart, wheel-less and modified, a home in a paradise that could not be experienced because its occupants were blind, asleep, and exhausted. puppertwinkle, who was worn like a piece of colored glass one finds washed up on a maryland shore, spent his days in service to saumboo, giving him the nourishment that the darkness provided. for frau werzenwozen, he simply looked upon her from time to time. she was fine, sipping on liquid dreams. fragile she seemed, but instead the sound of her pleasant, peaceful breathing was a paean to her beautiful, hidden strength. she was like a perennial, a peony under the snows of the st.francis garden in robin hill and one warm morning in spring she would emerge. within her uninterrupted sleep, boffden the beardless gnome sang to her an endless lullabye of unconditional love. and so the little dog and the former sudanese refugee turned concierge to king mal suddenly transported between worlds when he slipped and fell on his way to inform him of a 911 call and now a sightless statue save the fact that he had a face of flesh and blood, sat waiting for life to happen. neither of them knew anything that really mattered nor did they have the ability to rectify that. there was nothing solid they could depend on. they were boundless zeros, just pitiful little beings swept from one kind of oblivion to another. stars that did not shine. when the quiet night gave way to the rising sun we all take for granted, puppertwinkle woke and stepped outside to take a piss. much to his unexpected surprise, he discovered a box next to the door, as if someone had placed it there during the night. it was no larger than one that would contain kenneth cole shoes, or crayons a child might use, or letters from friends faraway, those we would like to visit. upon closer inspection, he noticed it was wooden, but intricately painted with a mayan design, little swirling orange and yellow suns, pyramids with trailing comets. it had several french words scrawled with a sharpie pen on the hinged lid, sentences actually, well, questions to be more precise. there was nothing that was keeping it fom being opened, i mean, anyone could have looked inside. there was no tape shutting it as if it was mailed, no fasteners, or locks, or keys one must have, or even a combination one would have to know. just brass handles on the side. this was someone's special possession and it was being given to this group of travelers. why? who the fuck knows? puppertwinkle dragged it inside. he got a little spit on it as he did. "encontre una caja," he said, telling saumboo he found a box. "hay un mensaje en la tapa." he told him there was a message on the lid. "hmmm," saumboo said, as if an arrow had been shot into his depression and his response was blood leaking from the wound that he hoped would ultimately kill it. "leido le a mi," he said, asking the little dog to read it to him. 020905 what's it to you? who go blather from