Can, Na, and Bis, You Bitch!
• • •
The bend was, is, forever will be purple, so at The Eagle’s Nest here I am.
You’re not, because I sprinted, but you? You’ walkin’. Stead’ walkin’.
So The Eagle’s Nest, The Eagle’s Nest, what the fuck is The Eagle’s Nest? So you’re walkin’ in the wood’, right? You parked at the end of the road, walked past the pond, over The Shifted Path, and you hit Horseshoe Trail. Logs lining either side of it, logs and big rocks. All put there, all by one ‘man, you’re sure, somehow. And you walk, you pass the two turnoffs leading to Summer Stroll East and The Dirtbiker’s Trail, and instead you climb up the leafy rockslide to your right. You go and y’slip and slide your way up. There are rockstacks here, rocks all stacked and balanced in ways too unnatural, and they’re all the way up from the trail. All the way up here in the hills.
Suddenly you do not feel alone. You dash.
Up the leafy rockslide there is no trail, no gametrail, no truly discernible pathway, but there is a pattern in the shrubs. They look bent off, as though a large and furred creature lumbered through them on its merry way to the watering hole @GreensPond. You follow that imaginary trail, you weave between boulders and climb past trees and the land levels beneath you, and you come to The Eagle’s Nest. The ground is clear, the rock wall is pristine, and as for everything else?
Well, you can figure that all out for yourself. You just got here, after all.
A moment, if you’ill, as I prepare our holy sacrament.
The Bookmaker is at The Eagle’s Nest and fuck does the cannabis taste good.
The Bookmaker speakith.
“…she has certainly outdone herself.”
You look sideways at The Bookmaker, but me? Well… I can’t stop looking at him.
“So what’s the deal, huh?”
The Bookmaker looks me a sidewayz.
“Say, what’s the deal here, huh? What’s the deal?”
The actual Astral God of All – what the shit? how do I know that? – looks to you as if you’ll be able to tell Him what the hell, oh no, you’re not about to do that, my friend, and then he looks right the fuck back to me.
“So?” I demand, “What is it?!” growing real ornery all the sudden. “Just what is the goddamn deal, huh? What the hell do you think this all is here?”
I’ve yet to state what I perceive “the deal” to be.
“Just what the hell is the deal here, anywa–”
“Enough, dude!” The Bookmaker pleads. “Fuckin’ bad enough I’m not the automatic I here, Tungstok, but now we got your ass going off in that way that you do?? It’s too much. It’s too much, that’s it, we need to get this show on the road; hey, pass that joint.”
I pass that joint to He who is usually I. He tokes. When He is done, I write the sentence before this one.
“There are many ways, Tungstok–” The Bookmaker tells me, and I stop him right just right fucking there.
“Maybe so, but tell me this: why do you look so much like me?”
“Because I…” Adam says, and stops, then looks at you. You confirm something, I guess, ‘cause He looks back at me and says, “‘Manity was made in my image, and you, Tungstok Thompson? You are not an example of that, no, no you son of bitch, you, are my exhibition.”
“Hot shit,” I have to hand it to him.
“And it don’t stink, neither,” The Bookmaker agree’. “It fuckin’ REEK. Now… listen.”
We listen, you and I both. You do a lot of listening. I’m starting to not feel like you’re being silent for my sake, which feels good.
“There are many ways to create a Universe…”
“A’ight,” I concede. “I suppose that would explain the other Board Mountain we just climbed down. Explains this other The Eagle’s Nest we’re currently sat at too.”
“S’pose it do,” Existence Incarnate agrees.
“Ryte on,” I allow.
The Bookmaker grows tired. “I lied. You were never on Earth, see, the town of Wuester is a singularity point at the center of one of the many universes floating in The Void.”
“Hot shit,” I allow.
“Shut the fuck up, Tungstok,” Adam allows. “When you climbed up ol’ Board Mountain and gazed out into the black, what you were really looking at was The Blacktop. This is The Playground, you little bitch, and you’re about to fuckin’ leave!”
Well I don’t know what the hell to say! “Say,” I say, “can I get that joint back?”
“No!” decrees The Bookmaker. “Psychedelia will see you again soon enough!”
“Psychedelia?!” I ask with quiiiiiiite a bit more energy than I previously thought I had left. Fitting this all on one single piece of looseleaf paper without smudging any of the pencil streaks is a hell of a task, frien’. “What the fuck are you on about Psychedelia here now, scoundrel?!”
“The Astral God, you sneer! My grand Keeper of Eden! Don’t worry none, Tungstok,” He turns to you, “and don’t you worry, either!” and back to the main character of this masterpiece of the modern Slæb, “You’ll soon meet them, all of them, and all met soon enough!”
“Well hot diseased shit!” I say aloud for the third time in a fucking row, waiting for inevitable recognition. “Can you drop a ‘man some names?! How’m’I supposed to meet all these Astral Gods you keep yankin’ me on about if you don’t drop a ‘man any cocksucking fucking names!? ”
“Well see now you’re not, big Rattlesnake Thompson! I’m’a goddamn fuckin’ gettin’ there, a’right?! Here you go, you, try this one on for size:
This has been the final subchapter of Boardtrip II: Can, Na, and Bis, You Bitch!, which is hidden in the front of the book Sto’tryp. Here is everything you need to know about it:
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