Frankly I’m flabbergasted at the forthrightness of our friend’s frankness in forcing his definition of flyting into the foray of this festivly frisky transfer of delightful profundities. I have firmly fixed the figure of myself peacefully frequenting farms in the fresh leaves of the fall, before fragility transforms them into footsteps of fearful warning. I fear that a Bohm Dialogeu is fraught with difficulty as these festivities are best performed forlorn in the deaf dark night.