we_still_keep_hearing_your_weary_voice fyn gula a cry for help rising like a thin wisp of smoke and curling above the distant line of hemlocks. can you feel a little love? even hallowed ground becomes littered. "how long until my soul gets it right?" he says, dressed like a cake, jumping on some wacky pogo-stick contraption out of the flames. 030430 ... misstree there's so many of them, clamoring for breath. a man sits in front of a wall of television screens, his eyes flicker over tragedies and joys and mundane magics. sometimes, someone he knows appears on the screen, brow furrowed, looking for something. looking for him. he arranges a boquet to be sent. sometimes the voyeurism makes him cry from being away from the acts. sometimes he turns his back to the televisions, closes his eyes, and sings to himself. sometimes he calls this happiness. 040209 what's it to you? who go blather from