affame_le_geant_when_gods_change fyn gula in the tragic process of puppertwinkle's drowning, his life, which flashed before his inner vision seemed to hang posthumously in the art gallery that his soul had become. and it was into this spacious room that an unknown figure walked, footsteps echoing in the ambience that was silent except for the hushed panic of the little dog's desperate attempts to keep air in his wee lungs. it was at one time the spirit of saumboo that studied the canvas works, before he turned to stone, as if he was not blind, the saumboo of another world. and the figure changed like dreams tend to shake and stir. it was boffden. it was frau werzenwozen, the dandelion, two-lip, the spegnere. it was everyone who meant anything. the presence of others inside his memory, longing, and hope. it was then that eternity stretched like one who slept in the afternoon and puppertwinkle heard what could be said was music. yet, to say he heard it would be inadequate. he felt it like a mother's tender kiss on his face. like a warm bath. it was everywhere. it was the sound of his life exiting his body. if he could see it as something physical, it was then an angel bending down to pick him up. suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder and stillness replaced all sense of fluidity. voices began swirling like a zephyr broken down into individual ribbons of soft wind that tickled the air. the pleasant sound of chimes tinkling on the lonely porch of a pennsylvania farmhouse. this was an interruption. this was a god who had changed intention. puppertwinkle felt all alone. the warm, inviting light that once beckoned him, now grew dim and small, unapproachable. the voices grew louder. they were the languages of the worlds colliding. they were the words we all speak. he was being pulled away from one thing and towards another. messages came at him as if from the far end of a tunnel and he read them white on black and he heard them being read in the voices of all those who loved him. they were comforting. they were admonishing. they were seeds he would need to plant in the place he was going. but where was he being pulled to? 021023 what's it to you? who go blather from