tearin' it down

Werebrock found Crazy Steve. “you ready to go, man?” Werebrock questioned. “I called ‘em, and it’s cool that we’re coming over.” It was a good evening, ‘specially since it had come to be so before the clock struck 5. “Well, yeah. I got some trout,” he gestured to the pot he was carrying. “I can smoke ‘em and be ready in 15 minutes.” Werebrock considered the merits of eating a fish, just pulled up outta the stream. “I already ate a sandwich, so you can keep it all for yourself.” Of course, Crazy Steve would not hear it, and so the two plus another student at the Joe Hollis School of Mad Wizardry enjoyed their first course. Wild trout is tastier than just about everything when you’re hungry in the holler.

They rolled out on four wheels, riding in high style. Perhaps there’d be a time when such luxuries would be beyond the grasp of the two staunch comrades, but for the time being they lay back and reveled, in their sweet ride. Werebrock appreciated the sunroof because, as an ogre, he had to hunch over in many of the motorized transports he’d ridden in. “I’m interested in this hydrogen fusion thingie our engineer friend is building.” So was Steve, who would maybe resent his car less if it ran on water.

The view of the clouds, above the mountains and veiling the sunset over the cow pasture, was a teacher that kept up with the mercurial auto. The vaporous structures extended lovingly opaque tendrils of nothingness down to the Taoist-flavored cloud ponderer in the passenger seat, shielding his reptile brain from a familiar chatter whose origin, he speculated, emanated from a spectral form who lived and guided him, somewhat, from somewhere beneath his face.

They arrived as the Bears were finishing their meal. “So what’s up, y’all?!” Back and forth banter is not tedious when you’re with friends. The engineering Bear expounded upon his hydrogen idea. “Basically, you expose water to a certain frequency of sound, and one of the hydrogen atoms breaks apart. This releases energy, which you can use for powering anything. It can use salt water, which ends up desalinated after the “H” two “O” molecules re-form at the end of the process. So we can solve our energy wants, desalinate water for drinking or irrigating deserts. And it’s really…” His daughter cut in. “But Da-a-a-d,” she moaned, “didn’t the guy who invented this get killed?” “Yes. He died over a plate of (suspect?) lasagna, and then the Defense Department bought up the patent from his widow.” He did some theater with shaking his head and blinking his eyes. “I just wanna get my car running on water, ‘sall.” His son had been foisting on Werebrock an illustrated encyclopedia of Vertebrates, enthusiastically pointing out the bats. “Theoretically,” Werebrock raised, “could you have a flying machine that skims the surface of the ocean to refuel? It would be like a bat that skims the lake to drink.” “Yes, that sounds plausible.”

The intrepid duo were much impressed by the simplicity of the machine’s design, when Engineer Bear show and telled. It was getting late, and being intoxicated, they decided to stay over. There was good bullshitting for hours into the night.

The next day was spent communally, the whole Bear family and their friends deconstructing a barn. It was strenuous. Electric screwdrivers whizzed the lumber back into component pieces, which were cleaned and sorted for reuse. Huge chunks of concrete were heaved, fiberglass insulation removal was endured; upon taking down the last ceiling panel, a large blacksnake fell on and past Werebrock, who was somewhat embarrassed to have called out to Jesus in a room full of pagans. Upon being re-pharmakoed, he decided it had been an omen, the Universe’s way of indicating that he was either a.) thinking too much, or b.) missing the point. He knew both were happening, and decided to ease off pushing his search for meaning up the hill.

Dirty jokes were smutted across the room, the uselessness of the president of the United States of Leviathan was speculated upon, and the denizens of the Bear Den autonomous zone struggled to get their minds around the vacant space their efforts were spreading across the lawn. The energy, the counterpower, the sweat and the sledgehammers. What a fine day. Cash did not change hands- company was shared, food was lovingly prepared, and Werebrock arranged to come back the next weekend and work some more, this time as a part-time employee. The bonds of friendship would subsidize the wages, to everyone's glee. Werebrock hearts the Bears!