marox_pass_telluride fyn gula as the puppet show continued, (brevity was for the inexperienced) and marionettes were used for the barrell racing horses in telluride, the marshmallow clouds that stuck in the azure sky faded to grey as if childen were drawing them and accidently making smudges. darkness arrived, a guest to the house we never invite because we know the end of the day is at hand. if beautiful days could just go on... but the paper lanterns filled the night with a magicl glow. "if bubble gum was light, shine on me," nimbia said, and he stretched away a temporary banality that quickly faded when copello began to speak in fyn gula's voice. the puppet that copello used for fyn gula was actually stinker crink, who some kids said looked like the cookie monster's baby brother. the resemblance was obvious. it was different than most puppets he used because this one's mouth could open. "fra il dire & il fare, che il mezzo il mare," the fyn puppet said. nylem stood up. he was fuming. "what the fuck does that mean?!" he yelled. he shoved his hand in his pocket and hurled the contents at the stage which turned out to be about 25 canel's chicles. they didn't have much weight so they ended up amongst the front row where the children gathered them up with greedy excitement, tediously opening up the petite packages and chewing the gum with the front teeth, relishing the tiny explosion of unexpected flavour. maylay tugged at nylem's jacket as the show temporarily halted. "it's a milan dialect," he said. "it basically means between what we say and what we do is the middle of the sea." nylem sat down. "what does that have to do with telluride?" he asked, contemplating the 3 weeks fyn spent with a prep school friend instructing barrell racing. "i think he realized he made a mistake by leaving ingrid, he was painfully recognizing what an ass he was, and by running away he created this incredible distance between the act of separation and the desire to repent." nylem knew maylay was correct and it was always this part of the story he couldn't understand. now that maylay explained it to him, he had that feeling of freedom and release that comes when we gain a bit of knowledge that will postively effect the rest of our lives and he wanted to do something in a way of gratitude. nylem opened the button of his jacket and fished about in the large breast pocket. the puppet show crowd was silent, respectful, eager to see what he was going to present him with. the children methodically chewed on the mexican gum that was now tasteless. the soundtrack of the show played on, 'kid A' and 'amnesiac' cleverly mixed. most of the old members of the rennaisance minstrel band were asleep. the soldiers were at attention, the giants sat indian style with faeries and brownies scattered about them in various portraits of repose. finally, nylem found what he was looking for, a tattered copy of richard adams' "watership down." he gave it to maylay with the hesitation one has when they are about to part with something that has been a very important of their soul's well being, yet the time had come to release it because further growth depended upon it. "thank you." maylay said, wondering if nylem knew he had read it four times already. however, when he opened it a rabbit leaped out of it, for it was not merely a book, it was the story itself in flesh and blood. all one had to do was sit back and behold the beauty. 010715 ... log burning fire watership down will always be my favorite book. 060312 what's it to you? who go blather from