Twinkie isn't a kitten anymore. This pen is safe from attack, for now.

From somewhere down the Court a windshield shines polarized light onto the closet door, making an image as sharp as a movie projector. It is a silhouette of ghostly leaves and vines, something of a Chinese shadow play, a dream more real than reality itself.

The sun moves on, its tangent of illusions shifting. And rather quickly.

In the Court the people come and go. Speaking of Michelangelo? Or perhaps of fossil fueled profits, or jingo capitalism, or climate change? I think not. Maybe so, but consider the irony of whistle blowers, hoax busters . . .mass murderers without a cause. A story might be told that asks for no suspension of disbelief.

New details are plugged into an old story. It's what Artificial Intelligence makes of journalism. And rather cheaply. So why repeat it? Ah, but if we don't remember, we've been told, it will come back to bite us.

But relax. Be assured. History, if it continues, will be brand new, unprecedented.

Such a steadfast cat when it comes to taking naps. She doesn't care. Yeah, but this isn't a war story. Calm your whiskers – It was fifty years ago or so today:

We were doing psilocybin down by Pescadero creek. Cows were on the hill, outstanding in their field (!). And us downstream. With the creek running by, and the others kissing and carrying on, I stared intently into crystal clear water.

Worms! They were red and writhing amongst slithey stones, amazing colors that had previously been seen only in dreams. Scooping up clear water, I cupped my hands. Drink! I said. Even if it kills you, it's life!

Nothing about saving the world, and what did they do?

Some things are beyond comprehension. It might be suspected that the weather is to some extent gaming our intentions. Ah yes, here we align those who believe the lottery is a fun investment. I have not done a double blind study with placebos and security cameras, but it is watching. I have feigned nonchalance, a method actor simply strolling by, on the way to the kitchen, and then, as unexpectedly as possible, stepping out the door ---- -- -

Just as soon as that irrevocable step is taken, and I am laughing gleefully to mock the gods – bam!

Yes, we are watched. Unprecedented, indeed, in this glance of tangled stories.

There is something experimental in a pine cone. One might not notice right away. It's life was furry once, in seeds cast out over an army of ants. And then lightning came. Everything scattered, and murmurs of granulated water overshadowed rivulets of mud, gathering a flotilla of sticks to herd together a beaver pond dam, making a mirror for Monarch butterflies. Yet speeches could still be heard, echoing in deep basins of the forest. And the tone of them so mournful as to make a clarinet weep.

Sitting alongside the bank, there was no celebration of any kind. Just a fly buzzing, curious in its friendly way, twimbling on a thumb, its vista point. And those people who had materialized on the sidewalk were undecided, whether to be shocked, amused, or amazed. Oh, a dirigible!

It came floating overhead, its gondola draped in a very large diaper.

A corner fell open, boding unpleasant results for innocent drummers marching below. It unfurled, streaming out a banner: NOTHING UPON THE FACE OF THE EARTH ONCE EVERYTHING IS FORGOTTEN – It was, the drummers said, a lovely kite tale.

Whistle me whiskers, and things were going so well. Sidewalk supervisors hustling past Kafka, ascending soup kitchen step ladders, rolling out so many suggestions, drowned out in applause, so satisfying. A shower of pine seeds dropping out of the clouds like confetti. It was an exposition of psychedelic, ornamental, monumental steam whistles. And nothing like you might order from In N Out.

Something experimental. And then the polarized image moved on. Now you see it, now you don't.

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