I ha... have been spending some time with a friend. His name is Mark. He is a beast of peace. I brought him nine honey jugs and he gave me the hoodie. He is my cousin on my mother's side. I love Mark.
The doldrums of defeat have become the vigor of victory. The angry people are losing because they are too fussy. Shhhhhh. Babies, please. America is not reaching up to the sky at all. The roots are bitten by grubs. I am ready to cocoon and perish. Mark sees a different path out of the cellar.
"Gentle Creature," he says, softly stroking the summit of silky strands atop my head. "I am ready to be president. The time may be sooner than you think."
"I haven't thought at all," I say, taking Mark's hands. "Or only about puppets. What do we owe them as their masters?"
"A beautiful show," says Mark.
"I am with you Mark," I describe. "You are a truly Gentle Creature and the people shall be lucky to arrange themselves into your supporters."
"Correct, this is also what I have thought," says Mark. "Come with me into my cellar."
Mark lives under a tree he bought from New Zealand. It is very big and has to be given millions of gallons of sweet waters a day in the dry California biome. There are cruel grubs in California that would bite these magnificent roots. Mark has paid a hundred deep dwellers to bite the grubs first. The deep dwellers are small and gray with eyes that reflect Mark's headlamp.
"They are so beautiful," I say and touch one of them.
"Correct," says Mark. "Every person is beautiful. This is the nature of life. A coal miner, a taxi man, a birth giver, a snake. All are equal in their majesty. I have come to learn the stories of the men and the women. I travel the ugly lands atop the ground. I witness their suffering and I wish to help."
Please, help them is what I told to him. They need honey for their milk.
M... Mark showed to me such a wondrous machine he is making. He calls it the Honeytap. It is many pipes under the earth that listen for the bee song and finds the honey. It only takes enough honey. There is so much, Mark can share it.
"I see a world," says Mark, "where the honey is in every person. I put it into their bodies and they are glad. The hungry, the sick, the good, and the rascals. It is inside them."
"Be the president," I say to him.
"Yes, correct," agrees Mark. "Be the president."
He shows me his wheel. This is where the river that never sees the sky flows through the earth. Strange beings dwell within the lightless water. They wink like glow bugs in the current and climb on the great wheel, turning, turning, turning. It brings the honey down, explains Mark. And now I have it all, he says. And I can decide where it goes, he adds.
I put my hand upon his shoulder and softly whisper, "Yes, Mark, you are ready to be the president."
"Correct," he says. "But you are my cousin. Stay here. We will join to make the campaign."
It... it would.... be my honor.
"What is your dream?" Asks Mark.
"I do not remember my dreams," I say. "But no more loud and vulgar people. Let them go to another land."
"They will be silent in the burrow farms. Their quiet bodies will grow soft and fat. We will sweeten them with honey." He smiles in his way that is not a smile but is meant as a smile. "It will be good and everything will be soft and gentle."
"Softly..." I agree.
Softly... America. Thank you, Mark. We creep to tomorrow. A brighter cellar for you and... m-me.
After years of being misunderstood, I had hoped we finally had "our" story. I was wrong.
He had a yellow inflatable tube around his waist, the kind with a comical duck head. There was a tiny fish in one of his hands, and a trident in the other. In the background a squirrel wearing shades was water skiing.
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