wish i had some coins to toss in this wishing well diary. currency stamped with the visage of rasputin, of captain hook, of darth vader. you know- the wages of sin is death, et cetera. we wasn't kidding, sir, was you? we'll bring our coin & spend it upon the field of battle. but oh look, sparrow! i've slumped into aggrandizing, when what i really meant was- i feel like i've come to the fountain at the center of the hidden city of gondolin. all i can think about it drowned balrogs & noldor. melancholy flutes; if it were spring, a pretty girl could call it winsome. but its winter, & there is just me, & so i say dirge. i say tug on your funeral weeds, oh bean sidhe, & lets do this unseely thing. lets walk the boundries of sleep, let us stay upon that fairy road until there is an end in sight. lets follow those flutes until its the hideous piping of azathoths attendents. lets not send a tithe of souls to hell as a price for our freedom from heaven. the words ring hollow? but only because i am shouting them into a great cavern. there is room aplenty in this gaol for the challanges to echo.