maris_den_cie fyn gula along snow covered roads, jonatha brooke is being interviewed by david dye on public supported radio, singing in french and laughing, hiding the pain of a broken marriage. he drives slow in his escape, as if being alone with himself is a delusion, a ridiculous waste of time. but then it isn't. in reflection, these moments are maris den cie, an invention, when he inhabits the momentary existence of one who breathes in imagination and whose blood runs some different colour. he listens for God's voice to speak through the haze until the words come, and then he writes them down and it becomes a comfort, an understanding. even when he was a child, he would write on a typewriter, observations about his dog, give them to his mother, and gain pleasant recognition. he never thought why he wrote, just as he never questioned why he drank water. it was a necessity. 010307 what's it to you? who go blather from