amorphous birdmad feeling of shapelessness and namelessness "The Light that Failed" vintage copy of book in hand, yellowed paper, gilt edges. caught between devils and deep blue seas, trying to fit somewhere between the little_things and the big_pictures to be something somewhere. rocks, hard places, sense of time and age. between all the significant somethings and insignificant others, falling more frequently into the latter niche than not. when night has fallen deep enough there will be sleep, and in the recesses of sleep there will be dreams, but all that will be interrupted and shaken away by light of day or buzzing alarm or one of an array of causes to awaken to yet another day 030628 ... c r 0 w l and it will always be the bird calling out of the darkest night when clouds obliterate the moon and silently falling snow forms a curtain of impenetratable fog. he, out of the red will set right all that is wrong and correct the blue from the red every time. 080116 what's it to you? who go blather from