beloved mascot of the finnish games.

vulgar cat

kitten with eating disorder

his day job is lawyerating

Just past the scarred wood frame of an old door, across a stone step smooth as skin, a surge of colors and noises and faces and smells sweeps by.  I am  close enough so that I can reach out and push against the flow with my hand, poke into it with my fingers. Sometimes, resigned, I unfocus my eyes and watch the eddies and the whorls. Sometimes, frantic, I stick out my foot or thrust out my hand, trying to interrupt the stream, trying to make it bend around me and burst over the doorframe, flood me with sounds and colors and pull me under and away.  Sometimes, despairing, I throw myself forward trying to dive into it, to make a noise, to be gold or blue, to shout and laugh and fall to atoms in the heat of it.  But I cannot move. Nothing prevents me, yet I cannot move. The flow surges on, there are murmurs and shouts, the colors make my eyes water, there is the scent of lilies, and I am as cold as if I had been baptized.  But the truth is that some are never saved. Some are never saved.  ---C.O'Donnell