when_you_hit_the_edge fyn gula if he was a thought written down on a piece of paper, rejected and tossed in the trash can, then he hit the edge and fell to the floor, where a young, rascally siamese cat found him and batted him around the persian rug with clumsy, deft paws, until he bounced down the steps and was kicked inadvertantly by a the girl who was late for the bus and he rolled into the street where rain was falling. many people walked by and the man who searches for lost papers picked him up and even though he was wet, the words were legible because they were written with fine italian ink. this is what it said. "it is a fearful thing to love what death can touch." the man stood there in the rain and read it again and then folded it up trying to straighten the wrinkles and put it in his land's end bag that he spent a dollar for at the thrift store. later that day when he went home he glued it in his journal. 010226 what's it to you? who go blather from