Cocoa Puff and Werebrock

Just takin' it easy. Yesterday was Badge Man's *big* surgery, which though quite succesful and rather inexpensive- E-Mac's mentorship on haggling paid off big!- left our digging friend dazed and silly. Thank gawd for this blessed lady of the woods, nurse and lover. They snuggle together, wrapped in a down comforter. They marvel with each other's presences. Werebrock finds this Cocoa Puff (aka Insanenigma) fresh and fascinating, simply delightful as on that never-forgotten evening, when their eyes locked over shared tamarind. Knowing each other, gleefully increasingly and day by day, the goodies they stew up together well up a little bit more, abundantly spilling onto the apartment floor, the forest's duf or the sidewalk, 'pending on where dey at. She sits on his belly and feeds him chocolate; he crouches over and massages olive oil.

We wake up awed to the thawed world, it's 11'oclock and we're ready to not rock. Lay in bed, talk about deep personal things. We've done what feels like so much asskicking. The surgery is justification to rest, which we need anyway after having survived work, Jack Frost, midterm exams and the corrupting influences of this all-consumptive civilization while fermenting revolutions.

But now we're up, it's a warm noon and now's the time for yoga and theurgy... in the woods! The sun beams radiant bright down on plateau past the end of the pavement. There, an ancient, gnarled oak firmly guides a lone traveler to the light. You can feel appreciation from wooded ravine as this human seeks to embody the whole universe, and as its hat bobs on a branch in the wind, you see the invisible one nod the promise- "Arcadia ho! These humans propagate the Fairie Rose, lo! Wel-come-to-this-place!"

When he comes back to the house, Cocoa has conducted the recipe for Hermetic Order of the Golden Scones. This produced praiseworthy morsels that one paradoxically cannot speak of, for they are mouthwateringly delicious, sublime beyond symbolism and dry as a mouthful of smoke. These were shared with our VFD neighbors, Cocoa Puff's Mother, and a few random strangers at the Krohn Conservatory, which is growing chocolate and pomagranate trees under glass. You know we'll be coming back there in a few weeks. The batch is finished on a vernacular stone wall overlooking the Ohio River, and they keep on smiling.

On the way home they back home, they hit up Food Not Bombs. Their friends are happy and seeing them keeps that goin'. "So, how did it go?" Feather puts the question to Werebrock. Tuatara seconds it with an eyebrow wiggle that reminds of spicy sweat and belly dancing. The friends embrace. "Those idiots lazered off my birthmark!" The Maoist with a flower in his hair smiles for the first time ever. "Besides that, I'm fine."

Sacco comes up behind him, chomping on a week of no sleep and a side of fruit salad. "Are you ready to go and pray about this tomorrow?" (Their sleeper cell is trying to infiltrate a Reptilian-backed megachurch with 9/11 Truth.) "I don't know, man. I'm supposed to be healing. These actions can get rough."