Glory Hollow's

fig.1) impromptu dutch injected work sheet 

The envelope in her hand is neither warm nor fresh. It's been sliced open along the top, revealing a sheet of yellow paper folded up inside. She's holding it like a wet spider, but its no surprise when Stanley takes it from her. Pree looks at him, she doesn't like what she sees.

Stanley is a rigid and cantankerous wind. The hairy ball of his belly is a brutal announcement that he's had something defenseless for lunch. After off handedly declaring, "it's more similar to math then economics," he was escorted to Afterfollow and then sent by train to Glory Hollow.

Pree thinks of him as being fish-like and hammer dull. Someone that arrives late and lingers too closely over the cake pile. Something which he's frequently points out, is not a crime.

Ta-Da future Monstre, From us Nude Robot's of Shape cast into the Great-Pit of the Beyondniks. From us simple and sweet consumers of Socks-n-Roxx from boxes both brown and broken...Dope est Das, Host of Delinquents,
Monstre tu, Monstre vous
(Of The Canterbury Branchz)

Outside, the train of her ratty bathrobe is like a slick of greasy moonlight that's been spilled. Pree's folding chair and the black rug it sits on are her only props. She looks around before telling him very closely, "you're wrong again and disturbingly specific, so you get to be the villain. Every villain needs a good villain name, so I'm calling you, Scarlet Livingston Bloom from now on."

Pree doesn't need a throne, she's the Author in residence at Glory Hollow. It's her calling now, being the only node in this lively bunch of flatheads. She's become the single instance around which all of their other circumstances can align. But she's no fixed point, in Glory Hollow there aren't monuments, no North Stars or Two Stars from Tuesday can be found here. There's just pudgy faced questions about where to gather and how high something will get before knocking it over.

It's like Pree was telling them just last night, "it's taken at least 9 billion years of angst and protean piles of bat shit to keep Glory Hollow high and dry. So what does your declaration say... Well, it openly avows the right to free space for any of you... And none of you are obligated to house a foreign army... But all of you can still drown, so shut the fuck up. The water's still rising every morning. It spills into the bottom streets, where the parlors and the mop halls stay open late for you. If you want continued access to perspicuity, you'll shut the fuck up and keep shoveling. " 

"Our reality is different now. We've reached a consensus about our aesthetic, that’s true. But our economy has changed everything. It’s evolved beyond the simple math of tongues. It wants to know what it's elasticity has determined, what weight it can bear. What are the rules of such a practice governing all the math of our exchanges. What rules govern our pocket change or the dilation that suggests another meeting of resources with labor is at hand." 

"On some windless mornings, parts of Glory Hollow look as though they've been set on top of a mirror that's crammed edge to edge with broken windows and skyward clouds. In this picture, everything moves without guile. So hear the words of Samwell Parch and hear them well, because they are good words to hear and because I'll use them with such pluck." 

Pree uses these slugs like they're burls from a sack of lumpy twine. With them she describes all the folds where water meets the wall and once removed from the wet, there will be a small boat. Then she forms herself up into one of a million guileless and plastic shapes commodiously. But like her math, her words must also suffer through a hard empathy like something wounded. She doesn't like the sound of spiders and she doesn't sound like she identifies with any part of this. When she speaks to them, there might be a prerequisite, something larger larger or further will come. An experience is sitting down over the horizon and it waits for us all. 

Pree understands that her empathy button is broken, that she's immediately failed from being an astronaut, a neoist, or economist of any worth. She lacks an aspect necessary and fundamental to their conception of femininity in all of these things, but is it so lost? Pree doesn't believe that to be so. 

To be clear, she doesn't think this work is so bad. 

As she's said, "I'm active. Here's my thought on the place of this new beginning. This work at the limits of jade is maybe so graphic. But it can be clean and focused and if it breaks the picture into a plane of a thousand marvelously faceted jewel like spaces that can all be seen to mimic the endless blocks of the widows with it's jam jar silos and cracked buildings where I lived before. Then it's unabashedly aimed at capturing the eye of polymaths by the gross. These might be the dream teeth we already have. This, this we can live among without need.

Fur, Dream, Teeth and all