marox_pass_nylems_palanquin fyn gula the parade continued along the bianca strada, slave children stumbling, minstrel band taking laborious efforts to produce terrible music, soldiers marching in twisted precision, shackled dragon roaring like a lion on speed, and then lithe faeries with mud splatterd gossamer and broken wings sprinkled cayenne pepper mixed with crushed diamond in graceful arcs. the tired sunlight would catch the mixture, illuminating the cast like a fuzzy comet. the brownies, who skipped along side, grass stained knees and brushburned elbows, were interested more in getting the pepper in the eyes of the spectators. nimbia, who made the mistake of rubbing his, tried to chase down the rancourous perpetrator, but he slipped and fell in the muck of yesterday's all day rain. a cacophony of laughter followed, sounding like fingernails against a blackboard, the worst of it from the king of broken glass himself who had now just arrived. lifted high on the square shoulders of four stern-faced giants from the forsaken forest was nylem's palanquin, a box made of rusted tin, only large enough to hold a live panda bear that nylem had forced to crouch into some sort of ridiculous chair and it was painfully obvious the bear was in a great deal of discomfort. nylem, saturated in narcissistic emblazonry was absent-mindedly feeding it bamboo leaves and the panda seemed to be choking on them. nylem was dressed in a coat of few colors with florescent green doc martens to the knee. he had a tightly clipped goatee, but his purple dreds were pulled back and hidden under quite a gadget strapped to his head that appeared much similar to a helmet one would wear if manuevering a supersonic aeroplane. this device known to most nivekians as, "the thinking cap," was much more than a bump on the head. in automatic mode, it recorded every sound within a one kilometer radius and stored it by alpabetical association and labeled it accordingly. a two centimeter digital camera captured selective images based on retinal affirmations. simultative editing followed, complete with transitions and soundtrack dubbing,(nylem was a trent reznor fan and also a lot of micheal stipe without rem). this was produced silmultaneously based on nerve impulse. what it basically did was made a film of the inside of nylem's soul. as the final product, this technovention burned a dvd that came sliding out the back like an atm card. a paper documentation completed the process, reporting every transaction in logical form as if his brain could use a pencil. nylem held nightly screenings at the white chalk amphitheatre to packed audiences. these films wreaked of nivekian propaganda but the kemulyans were addicted as hell. anton, looking past the palanquin, suddenly gasped. "oh my God!" he said, pointing. "is that copello?" 010616 ... log burning fire it's all up to you. you'll find acceptance in return. 060221 what's it to you? who go blather from