affame_le_geant_what_proina_is fyn gula and so, as feignez the woodpecker remained perched just inches from saumboo's face, he interviewed her. questions, like clouds invading a clear blue sky, one after another until the sun is blotted out, came from his suspicious mind. he did not trust her and the answers to his intimate queries would determine if she lived or died. it was not so much the woodpecker he was concerned about. it was what she was willing to disclose about proina. saumboo knew from the lightening writing in the storm and the devastating fall of birds that proina must be taken seriously and what better way than understanding her origins. the following is a transcript of the interview as captured by puppertwinkle on a digital recorder. part one saumboo: "in what way are you connected to proina?" feignez: "i have no connection whatsoever except my experiential knowledge and research." saumboo: "who is proina?" feignez: "there is welcomed ambiguity but to facilitate the great unknown, proina is a god. she is the rynomarian empress of the shadows that don't go away. she has a green jealousy with the black edges of death. she strikes at the root of infidelity. (no other gods but me!) here be monsters. under the bed, in the closet, in the darkest places of our hidden soul. a shadow chasing in the brightest sun, disappearing and reappearing in a new form of terror, reminding us that life is broken and fixed. torn and sewed back together, cut and scarred. beauty fading. youth growing old. disease in treatment. a weed not pulled by the root. saumboo: "what does proina look like?" feignez: "she travels the bianca strada slowly, purposefully, on legs made from mahogany toothpicks. a continuous pool of thin ice forms about her with each step and she dares anyone to come on it. her body is a wooden match stick and her head is blue combustion with gasoline as saliva. she strikes her head at will, for her temper balance is easily upset and her fire burns hot and ferocious with a consuming blaze that ruins existences. her eyes are pinwheels that hypnotize, her nose can smell a soul fetid with dishonesty a mile away. her mouth speaks a language impossible to learn, yet every word is a condemnation, simply by its irascible tone. her hands are hot to the touch, fingers are knives, razors that sever ties, separating love from devotion, sin from deception, self from family, forgiveness from perdition. her heart is an engine that never falters, for its moving parts are centuries old stone and its fuel is the hope it ciphoned from the spirits of those who willingly look away while she sucks them dry like a weaned child sucking on another mother's breast. her stomach is stainless steel and she eats the light that shines from the eyes of those who can see beauty. (to be continued) 020626 what's it to you? who go blather from