dear_farmfishious_the_squishious sabbie (that was latin) my inbox is currently not reciving visitors, and this includes me. pls hang on to the very edge of your seat because as soon as i jimmy it's toliet window open i will return to my glorious emailing past. my luddite gods are sniggering as i type. i can hear them in the background. .:sighs:. its so hard to get your own back on a god. their taller, for one thing. 011226 ... farmfish the mailbox is standard variety, approved by the postmaster general, but that didn't stop us from having a go at it before we attached it to an old, rotting oak post beside the stream at the bottom of angel creek road. jackson pollock style it sits receiving like a friendly old man easy to approach that we give our two cents worth, and our cards and letters and bright colored packages tied up in strings and a few of our favourite things. and so the procession commences northward, along the bianca stada, white dust kicked up by childrens' shoes, the air filled with clouds of anticipation and the music of tin whistles. dogs weaving in and out, running to the stream for a lazy drink, back again for a warm pet. "i wonder what we got today?" we sing. "could be puddin', could be clay, could be a black horse painted grey, won't know 'til we get there. will we? oh, oh, tell me so, won't know 'til we get there." 011228 ... sabbie .:smiles:. its beautiful. thank you sweets are you checking your inbox at the same time? excite is back up and running... 011228 ... sabbie often on at the same time, and this, oh aquatic country aminal, is why you need icq 011228 ... Grievance I left an unreplied flattened piece of digital paper in both boxes, and still days go by, wondering what wanders are wasteful. digital_omake, or an ice dragon laughing as the holy water never influenced him... days pass by, and I wonder, so will I? i'll keep staring at my moonbeams, they truly are breath-taking. the ice dragons laughter doesn't seem so chill now.. 020108 ... farmfish in kemulya, we defeat our fire-breathing dragons, as well as the laughing ice dragons. and the knights are full blown, as compared to not-yet. they are able-bodied sword-wielders who strike true and final. as for holy water, we drink it by the gallon bottle, there's a spring house at robin hill. we just fill it up the when it gets empty. i rejoiced to receive your mail, chisum. it was a keeper, most definately, and believe me i responded quickly, rolling up the white birchbark and crayon words, fastening it securely on the strong back of an osprey. "fly fast and true," i whispered and off he went into the first light of morning, when the last stars were still visible. strange wind? witch attack? snared in a maruader's trap? who knows what happened to it on its way to you. he did call me on the cell phone once but the static was fucking ridiculous. something about your address. anywho, the message was entitled, "when the image in the mirror moves" and i basically wanted to say there is a striking resemblance in our souls, oh brutha of the hidden world. you see so clearly through the veil. and our wyred sista sabbie is a treasure that shines very bright. "tell him to get a yahoo email address," the chorus of gods sang forth, and when the exciting flourish of violins, cellos, and crashing cymbals died down, a beagle pulled a radio flyer with one lop-sided wheel across the stage. inside was a 2 year-old scottish lad. he was holding a sign that read: "imagination was given to us to compensate for what we are not; a sense of humour was given to us to console us for what we are not." 020108 what's it to you? who go blather from