at_work_in_the_white_room fyn gula i left abruptly as the shrill fone's ring first startled me in that white room. i had been staring at the spanish tiled ceiling, selecting words from the empty echoes bouncing of the stuccoed walls of my intimate desperation, when your voice, antecedent to the dissolution i caused, led me fly to spider web, dangling, trapped. we are not alone. even wind and gravity can be our friends, dropping us to our safety where we can crawl until we learn to fly again. and when i return to the white room, broken wings bandaged with lined paper, dragging them to avoid the pain, noticing the beautiful design they create in the dust behind them, i sit down and go back to work. 020322 ... farmfish i often be goin' to thee white room, simply to draw. me and a nantucket nectar. 020719 ... fyngula ingrid was in there soldering today. 12 snowflakes from steel wire. then she beaded them. we're giving one to dennis' mom tomorrow when we put up her tree. 021130 ... girlnamedlover with black curtains 021201 ... tastes just like three words at_work_in_the_white_room suicidal i_am_not_a_pipe 050711 what's it to you? who go blather from