The Purple Blues in Beverly Singsong

The Purple Blues in Beverly Singsong

Jon Carroll

“Whonkers, Capt. Buzz," narbled the Great Blue Angel, pristine to say the least"

“Whoa, Billy," interjected the Kid, “physicals were only part of the answer.

Questions billyclub more than just our tiny group."

“Peach fuzz," scoffed Charlie Bear, looking down his fingernails. “As every mother knows, the plenum exists outside the quantum."

They wanked a slight slice out of the grass as they walked, and it tumbled reflecting skywards, rolling mirrored runners into dustin.

“It would be harder to believe if we knew the facts," mused Billy, his stack weighted by the sudden mindload. “Perhaps a shanking, perhaps not. What makes the problem so much less easy is its difficulty. And what makes the difficulty so much harder is that we are aware of it."

“A bonker for you," said Capt. Buzz, smelling benignly into the void. “Pointspread difficulty is only as difficult as we make it.

If you find the question hard, then find it easy instead. Find is part of defined, just as disc is part of discover. Whamming whapping purple skylight consecutive nonsensetension and release, get it?"

The silence heaven forfended stretched anyway, and the dusklight melded into air before their eyes.

“You think then,” asked Charlie Bear, That unknowing completes the circle, and we return to that spot and know it for the first time?”

“Gashbreath,” snorted the Great Blue Angel.

“We knew it the first time, so we must unknow it the second time. If we didn’t know we had the answer, we would be able to find the solution.”

“Perhaps if we forgot the question...?” It was Billy again, points of purpose spinning down his cheeks and tagging gruffall.

“Ah, but unknowledge is not noknowledge. In order not to be be, we have not to have become.

An ending and a beginning are not the same,”

Capt. Buzz gently chided, a windsprint shasta taking delicate daisies from his hands.

The quintet was silent for a moment, then became unsilent for moments more, then found its original station. It was a pagent, really, an allegory to the trip time late fall spring camouflage of leaves. They spilled out onto the meadows, pummeling each other with their minds as they walked.

“I begin, to see,” the Kid wasped uncertainly.

“The shortest distance between these points is a great circle. Silence is useless without noise.

Fluttering into be we have avoided know entirely.”

“Not entirely,” put in the Great Blue Angel, more sure of himself since certain trimbles had brushed his shoulder on the way to their mountain fernhouse. “We cannot avoid what we wish to ignore. A place for everything and everything out of place. It’s just that a balloon is better than a tunnel.”

Capt. Buzz rubbed his hands together and found the waybridge superstar

wanteds squeezing down his wrists and dropping at his feet. “Well, what have we all learned today?”

He asked jovially.

Only the sun faded pink into the ocean and the dovered cliffs of White slid slick and chalky down the whipstitched beach and the Great Blue Angel and Capt. Buzz and Charlie Bear and Billy and the Kid wandered touching and fell into a dream from which they never recovered.

Which was exactly the right answer.