the_sights_and_fires_of_a_single_world fyn gula he steps up to the window, the little one, and rubs a space clear on the cold, morning glass where he can look out the window to where his grandfather climbs the rain-slickened cliff rocks with cement blocks tied to his ankles. "gekommen innerhalb, opa," he says to himself. "es gibt brot, kase, and liebe." outside, his grandfather holds on and continues because he has to. "i am swimming in molasses seas," he screams, wet hands over fists. "i am drowning in rivers of honey." fucking monday. 030429 ... birdmad The braziers light the path, but the bridge runs out before the river's crossed. 030429 what's it to you? who go blather from