(Note: The Cooperation of Anarchists, parts 1-45 should be read from the beginning. Please see part 1.)
The sailboats bob with their masts down. White and hunched over on the water, floating bloated like a body.
I woke from a dream mid laugh. My face was pressed against the window screen. The little holes were filled in gray with insect carcasses and dust.
Through the screen, I saw the boats, floating bloated like bodies.
I was in my bed alone. A pirate ship, upright, moved out into the morning. The members of the House came into my room with spears.
(The End of Parts 1-45)
30.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 43 or 44 (or both) of 45
The House Council lasted for over four hours. I listened to the muted arguments from my bed through the heavy floor boards of the House and pretended to be ill. Late in the night I felt Cookies knees against my back for the first time in six days and fell asleep for the first time in six days.
the cooperation of anarchists, parts 39-42 (plus part 28) of 45
Alix took out the recycling. With it, he accidentally took parts 39-42 and 28 of The Cooperation of Anarchists. These were the parts that expounded the true nature of reality and the eternal principle of the universe. The final teachings of the piccolo man. These also explained the significance of 1968, which, it turns out, is important.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 37 of 45
I found her rummaging through the closet in my room.
“Cookie, I need you to do something for me.”
“Cookie, I need you to do something for me.”
the cooperation of anarchists, part 38 of 45
I ran to tell the piccolo man he could leave tomorrow with Cookie, Monkey and Jeeep.
The honey bees work through coincidence not compassion.
The honey bees work through coincidence not compassion.
29.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 36 of 45
Cookie, Monkey, and Jeeep are leaving tomorrow. They stayed for too long already, they have many more Houses to educate on the nature of crime and avoiding authority.
It was Bosco who told me. I left him in the square and ran to find her. On the way back to the House I heard the clock-face girl's voice coming from the goat room. I listened at the door until the song ended and I threw open the door so hard it hit the first bicycle in the row of bicycles.
Cookie wasn't there. The clock-face girl looked at the fallen bicycles.
It was Bosco who told me. I left him in the square and ran to find her. On the way back to the House I heard the clock-face girl's voice coming from the goat room. I listened at the door until the song ended and I threw open the door so hard it hit the first bicycle in the row of bicycles.
Cookie wasn't there. The clock-face girl looked at the fallen bicycles.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 35 of 45
I put on rain-boots and a dress Jackie Kennedy could have worn in between the assassination of her husband in 1963 and the year 1968. I left the House hoping to run into Cookie in the stairwell. In the garden. By the pier. In the street. By the square. At the old library.
Instead, I ran into the piccolo man.
“I thought you left.”
“I never found a way.”
I didn't ask what he did with the 60 dollars. Instead:
“What about the honey bees? You said the honey bees are the way.”
Instead, I ran into the piccolo man.
“I thought you left.”
“I never found a way.”
I didn't ask what he did with the 60 dollars. Instead:
“What about the honey bees? You said the honey bees are the way.”
28.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 34 of 45
I waited awake for Cookie's knees until it was light enough for me to see the early morning fog outside the window. I heard a bird call and thought I heard her laugh. Then I thought I heard the clock-face girl sing.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 32 of 45
The piccolo man wants to leave town. Did I have a hundred dollars he could borrow?
I gave him my last 60 dollars. He looked at me resentfully. I returned to the House.
I gave him my last 60 dollars. He looked at me resentfully. I returned to the House.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 33 of 45
Towards the end of the House Council, Glyphia hinted, though she made no open accusation, that perhaps there is Someone who does not have the House goals in mind. That perhaps there is Someone who did not fully support the House in removing Bosco, or the piccolo man, for that matter. That perhaps a traitor might be living within the walls of the House. Perhaps a Topic for next week's council.
Alix and Glyphia exchanged glances. Zylon and Alix exchanged glances. Kat and Glyphia exchanged glances. Nero and Zylon exchanged glances. Kat and Nero exchanged glances. Acadia and Alix exchanged glances. Glyphia and Monroe exchanged glances. Acadia and Pgyn exchanged glances. Shay and Juan Esteban exchanged glances.
No one looked at me.
Alix and Glyphia exchanged glances. Zylon and Alix exchanged glances. Kat and Glyphia exchanged glances. Nero and Zylon exchanged glances. Kat and Nero exchanged glances. Acadia and Alix exchanged glances. Glyphia and Monroe exchanged glances. Acadia and Pgyn exchanged glances. Shay and Juan Esteban exchanged glances.
No one looked at me.
27.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 31 of 45
When I felt Cookie’s knees I turned to face her.
“What’s the deal with the clock-face girl?”
“What’s the deal with the piccolo man?”
The piccolo man was not even my friend. Teacher, maybe. Guru, King, mother, maybe. But not a friend. How could I explain. I said nothing and watched her face. She gently ran four of her fingers from my forehead to my chin.
She spoke again.
“I never said you were my only one,” and, “I thought you didn’t believe in commitments.”
Ideologically speaking.
“What’s the deal with the clock-face girl?”
“What’s the deal with the piccolo man?”
The piccolo man was not even my friend. Teacher, maybe. Guru, King, mother, maybe. But not a friend. How could I explain. I said nothing and watched her face. She gently ran four of her fingers from my forehead to my chin.
She spoke again.
“I never said you were my only one,” and, “I thought you didn’t believe in commitments.”
Ideologically speaking.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 30 of 45
Glyphia caught Bosco in the House, taking food from the kitchen. The members of the House overestimated Bosco's strength and willingness to resist. An unnecessary blow to the left hand by Alix's cast iron (meat) skillet broke four of Bosco's fingers.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 29 of 45
House meeting. Someone opened the bucket lid on Zylon’s home-brew in the bicycle room (popularly known as the goat room). It stopped the fermentation process.
Zylon made a big spectacle out of dumping the spoiled alcohol into the lake. Too big of a spectacle. The lake authority officer fined the House 250 dollars.
Zylon made a big spectacle out of dumping the spoiled alcohol into the lake. Too big of a spectacle. The lake authority officer fined the House 250 dollars.
26.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 27 of 45
I bailed the piccolo man out of jail with my dad’s money. The money I needed to pay my way through classes the rest of the year. I went back to the House to find Cookie.
I found Cookie and the clock-face girl on the pier by the House. Cookie had her hand on the clock-face girl’s arm. I had never really given the clock-face girl a second thought after she arrived. Until now.
Was the clock-face girl pretty? Did Cookie think so?
I found Cookie and the clock-face girl on the pier by the House. Cookie had her hand on the clock-face girl’s arm. I had never really given the clock-face girl a second thought after she arrived. Until now.
Was the clock-face girl pretty? Did Cookie think so?
the cooperation of anarchists, part 26 of 45
The piccolo man wasn’t at the old library. I sat on his step and waited. Bosco passed a few feet away. I called to him.
“Have you seen the piccolo man?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“The piccolo man is in jail. Shoplifting.”
“Have you seen the piccolo man?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“The piccolo man is in jail. Shoplifting.”
24.8.10
23.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 21 of 45
His voice is soft like a mother’s and his smile is toothy like a baby’s. His success as a local legend may have something to do with this.
His infinite wisdom means you can’t have a normal conversation with him. It will always take the form of
child-parent
disciple-guru
peasant-king.
His infinite wisdom means you can’t have a normal conversation with him. It will always take the form of
child-parent
disciple-guru
peasant-king.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 20 of 45
I didn’t go to class. I sat instead at the piccolo man’s feet.
“So, then, is the world just honey?”
“No, my friend, it’s not quite so sweet as that.”
“So, then, is the world just honey?”
“No, my friend, it’s not quite so sweet as that.”
22.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 19 of 45
I wait to fall asleep until Cookie comes home. I wait to feel her cold knees against my back when she curls up behind me, as if to say, “It’s okay, Signe, I’m here,” which sometimes she really does say.
21.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 18 of 45
That the piccolo man plays the piccolo is not important. Not for us anyway. The piccolo man is the local legend because he listens to the answers of his questions, not because he plays the piccolo.
His voice is much softer and has a much higher pitch when he isn’t addressing a crowd. The piccolo man’s hair hangs down in an ashy, oily sheet and four of his front teeth stick out horizontally.
I tell him I am afraid to die and not afraid to die. He tells me it is all an illusion.
“Sir, teach me more.”
His voice is much softer and has a much higher pitch when he isn’t addressing a crowd. The piccolo man’s hair hangs down in an ashy, oily sheet and four of his front teeth stick out horizontally.
I tell him I am afraid to die and not afraid to die. He tells me it is all an illusion.
“Sir, teach me more.”
the cooperation of anarchists, parts 14-17 of 45
“Cookie? What’s your name?”
“Cookie.”
“But, what’s your real name?”
“It’s Cookie.”
“Cookie.”
“But, what’s your real name?”
“It’s Cookie.”
20.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 13 of 45
Does the honey say to itself, ‘now I came from that flower’ or ‘I came from this flower’? No. Instead it looks around and realizes, ‘I am just this.’
The piccolo man gestured with a stick to an audience of ten. He did not make eye contact with us, as if we were part of a much bigger crowd.
You say, ‘I am from this mother, I have this name.’ And I say, ‘I am from that mother, I have this name.’ We should not think, ‘I am separate from this person,’ or ‘I am separate from that person.’ We should call ourselves ‘I am just this.’
The piccolo man’s first piccolo (he has had seven) was a gift from his grandfather.
The piccolo man gestured with a stick to an audience of ten. He did not make eye contact with us, as if we were part of a much bigger crowd.
You say, ‘I am from this mother, I have this name.’ And I say, ‘I am from that mother, I have this name.’ We should not think, ‘I am separate from this person,’ or ‘I am separate from that person.’ We should call ourselves ‘I am just this.’
The piccolo man’s first piccolo (he has had seven) was a gift from his grandfather.
19.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 12 of 45
With a team of two or three, it often takes over three hours to make dinner for 35 people. I took the leftovers out to Bosco who was asleep near the bushes at the edge of the property.
“Can you take some to the piccolo man?”
“Can you take some to the piccolo man?”
18.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 11 of 45
A girl showed up with a face that is round and flat like a clock. A strand of dark hair hung in between her eyebrows like an hour hand at 12 o’clock. She materialized from behind the compost, and I am still not convinced that she was not born from it.
She doesn’t speak but she sings. She plays the guitar like a harp and her lyrics are about the passing of time. She had been living on the streets. As is custom, I asked about the people I knew who live there. Did she know Bosco? Celeste?
What about the piccolo man?
She doesn’t speak but she sings. She plays the guitar like a harp and her lyrics are about the passing of time. She had been living on the streets. As is custom, I asked about the people I knew who live there. Did she know Bosco? Celeste?
What about the piccolo man?
the cooperation of anarchists, part 10 of 45
Someone rang the dinner bell, for the first time in five weeks. Cookie stepped inside my room from the fire escape landing.
“What is that?”
“Someone made dinner.”
The House was gathered in the living room. No dinner. Emergency House meeting. Glyphia had found Alix’s deer meat in the vegetarian freezer.
“What is that?”
“Someone made dinner.”
The House was gathered in the living room. No dinner. Emergency House meeting. Glyphia had found Alix’s deer meat in the vegetarian freezer.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 9 of 45
An article in the Daily Phoenix: “Police Investigating Sailboat Mystery.”
the cooperation of anarchists, part 8 of 45
Two friendly strangers in the kitchen.
“Are you membershipping?”
“Membershipping?”
“Are you membershipping?”
“Membershipping?”
17.8.10
the cooperation of anarchists, part 7 of 45
It rained for the next three days. I passed the piccolo man, hunched over against the driving rain on the stairs of the old library, on my way to class each morning. He was alone.
On Friday, it rained the hardest. I approached the piccolo man from the square and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. I carried a bundle of sticks in my hand for an offering.
I had a sudden thought that maybe he could read my mind. Maybe he knew why I had come. I waited.
He sat peacefully like a great sage. Stoic in the driving rains. I wanted the moment to be meaningful. I tried to think of something insightful to say.
“Hi.”
He didn’t respond. I cautiously walked up the steps toward him. When I got close I heard the deep, purposeful breath of sleep.
I laid the bundle of sticks at his feet and returned to the House.
On Friday, it rained the hardest. I approached the piccolo man from the square and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. I carried a bundle of sticks in my hand for an offering.
I had a sudden thought that maybe he could read my mind. Maybe he knew why I had come. I waited.
He sat peacefully like a great sage. Stoic in the driving rains. I wanted the moment to be meaningful. I tried to think of something insightful to say.
“Hi.”
He didn’t respond. I cautiously walked up the steps toward him. When I got close I heard the deep, purposeful breath of sleep.
I laid the bundle of sticks at his feet and returned to the House.
the cooperation of anarchists, part 6 of 45
At midnight I was woken by Cookie. She wore a hat on her head from 1928, the year before the stock market crashed, and an odd array of other people’s clothes. I recognized my grandmother’s pearl necklace.
“We’re going to set sail. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t know.”
She said something strange.
“Well, then come. If you’re ever caught, it’s best not to know.”
I got up and put on a black dress with sequins and a sky blue hooded sweatshirt. Cookie nodded her head in approval.
Monkey and Jeeep joined us at the dock. We all hardly fit in the canoe. It was so low in the water that each time we shifted our weight, the dark water rushed in over the side. Half way out my dress was soaked and I was shivering. Monkey splashed me with water from his paddle and Cookie pinched behind his knee with her fingernails and rubbed my arm with her other hand. “Don’t be an asshole, Monkey, she’s freezing.”
When we reached the upturned white bellies of the sailboats, we were sitting in two inches of water. We paddled through the boats reading the names outloud. Cookie still had her hand on my arm, and she gave a tug. “Signe, you pick.”
I picked a boat named “Ginger.” My favorite cookie. And we set sail while everyone else was asleep.
“We’re going to set sail. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t know.”
She said something strange.
“Well, then come. If you’re ever caught, it’s best not to know.”
I got up and put on a black dress with sequins and a sky blue hooded sweatshirt. Cookie nodded her head in approval.
Monkey and Jeeep joined us at the dock. We all hardly fit in the canoe. It was so low in the water that each time we shifted our weight, the dark water rushed in over the side. Half way out my dress was soaked and I was shivering. Monkey splashed me with water from his paddle and Cookie pinched behind his knee with her fingernails and rubbed my arm with her other hand. “Don’t be an asshole, Monkey, she’s freezing.”
When we reached the upturned white bellies of the sailboats, we were sitting in two inches of water. We paddled through the boats reading the names outloud. Cookie still had her hand on my arm, and she gave a tug. “Signe, you pick.”
I picked a boat named “Ginger.” My favorite cookie. And we set sail while everyone else was asleep.
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 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.
“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.
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.
12.8.10
The Cooperation of Anarchists, part 2 of 46
Pollen, a drop. It all comes together.
That’s what the piccolo man said. On the steps of the old library, closed up with asbestos and no running water. A rotting nod back to 1968, which is also when the piccolo man was born. Maybe that will be important, though it isn’t now.
The honeybees turn the pollen of all the different flowers into one, unified substance. A drop in the ocean both is and isn’t a drop.
His lunchtime sermons could gather a small crowd given the right conditions. The right conditions: warm sun and a cool breeze from the lake, university in session, lunch specials from the carts on the square, no live music on State and Washington. Aware of these conditions, the piccolo man prepared most carefully for Tuesdays in September, October, April and May. On these days, he also wore his yellow tweed jacket, even when the early September sun reached 105 degrees.
Everything is the pollen. Everything is the drop.
Who are the honeybees?
The piccolo man sometimes made me believe in god. But Tuesdays were six days in between, and in all that meantime god would be replaced with herbal tea or marijuana in Alix's room. But this time, God as honeybees and the tide. I couldn’t get it off my fingers.
I didn’t like to look at the piccolo man directly, or speak to him before, after, or during his talks. It was best to avoid his attention altogether, because he had bad habits. (I was there when the members of the House banded together to get him off the property. I hung toward the back and hoped he would not recognize my face.)
Wednesday night I was still consumed by thoughts of the honeybees. I lay in my bed and watched the moths bouncing off the ceiling light. Through the dust on my window screen I could see the sailboats coming back in. Who are the honeybees? Yes, who are the honeybees? I would have to speak to the piccolo man.
That’s what the piccolo man said. On the steps of the old library, closed up with asbestos and no running water. A rotting nod back to 1968, which is also when the piccolo man was born. Maybe that will be important, though it isn’t now.
The honeybees turn the pollen of all the different flowers into one, unified substance. A drop in the ocean both is and isn’t a drop.
His lunchtime sermons could gather a small crowd given the right conditions. The right conditions: warm sun and a cool breeze from the lake, university in session, lunch specials from the carts on the square, no live music on State and Washington. Aware of these conditions, the piccolo man prepared most carefully for Tuesdays in September, October, April and May. On these days, he also wore his yellow tweed jacket, even when the early September sun reached 105 degrees.
Everything is the pollen. Everything is the drop.
Who are the honeybees?
The piccolo man sometimes made me believe in god. But Tuesdays were six days in between, and in all that meantime god would be replaced with herbal tea or marijuana in Alix's room. But this time, God as honeybees and the tide. I couldn’t get it off my fingers.
I didn’t like to look at the piccolo man directly, or speak to him before, after, or during his talks. It was best to avoid his attention altogether, because he had bad habits. (I was there when the members of the House banded together to get him off the property. I hung toward the back and hoped he would not recognize my face.)
Wednesday night I was still consumed by thoughts of the honeybees. I lay in my bed and watched the moths bouncing off the ceiling light. Through the dust on my window screen I could see the sailboats coming back in. Who are the honeybees? Yes, who are the honeybees? I would have to speak to the piccolo man.
10.8.10
The Cooperation of Anarchists, part 1 of 45
Glyphia has stopped eating sugar. She collected the elderberries from the trees at the university to make wine. The man with the piccolo followed her back to the House, and we all had to band together to get him off the property.
There were rumors Alix and I needed to put to rest. Rumors about Bosco and misconduct and a girl of the House. Bosco played for Alix and me folk songs and taught me to play ancient Mayan stone games. Bosco slept curled up in Alix's chair, purring. Caught in transition between lives, the beast, the man. Bosco never spoke above a whisper.
I thought Alix would stand up with me. As all the House sat around half-naked in the summer time heat, drunk on elderberry wine, four hours of seated aggression, I stood and defended Bosco's integrity at the House council.
I looked to Alix. He responded.
"If there are members of the House that feel threatened by another member, we have an obligation to remove him."
That was not the right answer.
"No." I said. "No, no. Members must keep personal grudges separate from the affairs of the House. We have an obligation to expose the truth."
Alix and I were Bosco's alibi. He was with us the night in question. Our testimony means everything. And Alix's testimony means I'm not a liar.
Glyphia and Zylon whet their spear heads.
Alix's eyebrows said, "Sorry Signe." My eyebrows said, "you dirty liar."
The Vote was in. Bosco and I spent that night curled up under roots with the piccolo man by the lake.
There were rumors Alix and I needed to put to rest. Rumors about Bosco and misconduct and a girl of the House. Bosco played for Alix and me folk songs and taught me to play ancient Mayan stone games. Bosco slept curled up in Alix's chair, purring. Caught in transition between lives, the beast, the man. Bosco never spoke above a whisper.
I thought Alix would stand up with me. As all the House sat around half-naked in the summer time heat, drunk on elderberry wine, four hours of seated aggression, I stood and defended Bosco's integrity at the House council.
I looked to Alix. He responded.
"If there are members of the House that feel threatened by another member, we have an obligation to remove him."
That was not the right answer.
"No." I said. "No, no. Members must keep personal grudges separate from the affairs of the House. We have an obligation to expose the truth."
Alix and I were Bosco's alibi. He was with us the night in question. Our testimony means everything. And Alix's testimony means I'm not a liar.
Glyphia and Zylon whet their spear heads.
Alix's eyebrows said, "Sorry Signe." My eyebrows said, "you dirty liar."
The Vote was in. Bosco and I spent that night curled up under roots with the piccolo man by the lake.
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