the cooperation of anarchists, part 5 of 45

All flesh is like grass, all its glory is like the flower of grass.

The sun was shining and there was a cool breeze from the lake. Cookie and I joined the crowd in front of the piccolo man on Tuesday.

The grass withers and the flower falls, but the word of the lord endures forever.

He didn’t talk about the honeybees. When he finished talking I contemplated whether to approach him. The crowd formed a buffer, three feet deep. I tried, half-heartedly, to push through the crowd, but when I bumped into a girl and caused her to drop her bag, I lost confidence during the mild commotion.

Cookie led me back to the House. On the way, we found Bosco playing guitar in the raspberry patch. He had written a new song, which he played for us. It sounded like it came from 1968, the year the piccolo man was born. (That still isn’t important.)

Who are the honeybees? Yes, who are the honeybees?

The Cooperation of Anarchists, part 4 of 45

I woke to the movement of the water and a mosquito bouncing off the screen. I found Cookie in the hallway, asleep, in my cocktail dress, which was soaked, and with a patch over her eye. I didn’t ask how she got my dress.
“How was the water last night?”
“Good. Cold. Are you going to class today?”
“Yea, right now.”
“Do you mind if I sleep in your bed while you’re gone?”
It occurred to me that she probably already had.
“No. Go ahead.”
She was still there when I got home. Asleep in my cocktail dress, a silhouette against the sunset. I tiptoed around my room, afraid to wake her.

“Don't worry about being quiet, I’m awake.”
“Oh, I thought you were asleep.”
“No. I was just thinking.”
I put down my books. “I’ll leave you to your thinking, then.”
“No, don't leave.”
I climbed into my bed next to her and we lay on our backs and watched the yellow ceiling lose its yellow.

The Cooperation of Anarchists, part 3 of 45

There are visiting pirates. They go by the names Cookie, Monkey, and Jeeep. They hold workshops for the members of the House on how to avoid the authorities and keep anonymity.

Their ritual deaths gave them a new life in the forest. Cookie, Monkey, and Jeeep. They have no other names.

At midnight they canoe to the sailboats and set sail while everyone else is asleep.