Wednesday, June 11, 2014

JERSEY PINE BARRENS WITCHY WOMAN, EDITH, TALKS ABOUT CREATURES AND ALL .. 6/11/14

I left the townhouse. It's me, Edith, the witchy-woman housekeeper. Baylah left the city too, like she does every summer. Went with her rich mortal boyfriend to his place down the shore. Sarah stayed, though. And I don't know who else. She likes warm summer walks in the dark. Goes down pitch black streets and everything. But that's her. I like the Pines. Go back to my cabin. Set out late at night with Mister Edith and maybe a couple Red Paint People. Haven't talked about it much lately, but these here woods is the biggest, densest, thicket east of the Mississippi. Go ask somebody. Google it. You'll see. Got Philadelphia at one end and New York City at the other. If you wanna know, it's a miracle we still here. Like all the rest a humanity just flowed right around us.

Trees can talk, you know. Not so you hear. Not with your ears anyway. But they're smart and they know things. Stupid, dope scientist might say - Yeah? Well, where's their brains?.... (rolls eyes) Thing is, every little piss-ant shithead knows all they is, is brains. Whole thing is brains. Every bitty cell goes - I'm a tree. I'm a tree. I'm a tree. And I feel the wind. I taste the rain. My roots tickle the dead. Birds crap all over me. but I live and I live and I live...... Pines what we got here (not all pines, just mostly) talk to other trees. Trade secrets with hardwood trees in Brazil and Banyan trees in Central Africa.... I say - Trees, how goes the world tonight?... And they tell me.... 'Bout girl what got herself raped and killed in Siberia and boy in Chicago Land building bombs out back his house. Know of a body being 'et' by snapping turtles in that almost Canadian part a Michigan and terrorist-extremists dripping down through British Columbia - Washington border... They talk 'bout good things too. 'Bout a forty seven year old lady what thought she never get married getting pregnant by her boyfriend in some park in Philadelphia. And he's the boyfriend what won't run away. So they gone get married, buy baby furniture and everything.... Trees is sad that most all furniture comes from murdered family. That's why Mister Edith (and practically everyone else 'round here) say - Dear Lord, thank you for this child a Yours what grow in the ground... every time they kill one.

Trees know 'bout Jonathon (also known as Tomas) too. Taste his ashes when he die. He wanna come back and they know that. Trees listen to dead folks, 'cause who else will? I don't mean showbiz  'your-dead-granny- say-she-love-you' bastids what tell lies (or semi-lies) for money and play games on afternoon talk shows. I'm talkin' bout the real thing. 

Trees know 'bout that zombie girl. Teacher what got et had itty-bitty Japanese bonsai tree (fifty years old, I think it was) growin' in a tray top her dresser and it tell two peach trees outside. Peach trees like sweet stories, but they very truthful just the same. Ain't got no flesh-eaters in the Pines. Not now anyway. All we got is ghosts and Jersey Devils ('bout eight or nine families... Guy from weirdnj (yeah, it clickable) say eight or nine families necessary for stable breeding population) and Red Paint People and pin-heads. Some pin-heads can do magic, but some can't. I can do a little bit a magic. Ain't no 'born witch' like what kill Jonathon. Just pow-wow witchy stuff I learn from 'round here. We not talkin' witchy stuff now. We just talkin'. Whisperin' actually... Me an' Mister Edith and them Red Paint People. Cabin got a porch. Porch got rockers...homemade wood ones (sorry trees) painted red. Red scare off negativity. I do not know the scientific reason for that, but so what? Who cares? We eatin' peanuts. Red Paint woman brung 'em. Talkin' 'bout family what taught squirrels to talk. They was Dutch, though. And that was more'n three hundred years ago. Some squirrels still talk Dutch. Not real Dutch, but a dialect they make up 'mongst theyselves. Piney folk what spent time in Philadelphia or New York City say it sound like Yiddish. I ast a squirrel-lady, but she don't know.

Ten yards off this porch (maybe less) is the woods. Some nights ghosts glide out a there and walk right through like we never here. Mister Edith and me don't care. We just let 'em. Once in a while one wants to talk. But that just once in a while. Guy what got duct-taped by racketeers and suffocated talk some. Gimme a good way to make pasta gravy. Say his mama wear same kind a scent like I do... I say it Jean Nate an' wanna give him some. But he say - Don't tease me, bitch. You know I can't hold nothin'! ..... I say I sorry. He sniff back ghost tears and nod. 

Red Paint People hummin' songs now. Old songs from back when all humanity speak almost the same language. Sound like Cherokee clog dance to me.

I miss Jonathon (also known as Tomas) real bad. Gonna maybe 'ransom' him..... June crickets chirp real nice....

I tell you 'bout that 'ransom' part tomorrow. .

Ooh, look! There go a ghost...

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2 comments:

  1. Love !! ,what i have just read . The tree thing YUP!! :) The squirrel's Good stuff ..Flow's smooth . Hey i was in Sag Harbor last week .. Left before darkness fell .

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  2. Much thanks.. appreciate it a lot. .. To me, these characters, events and locales comprise a whole world. Been 'channeling them for almost four years. ..First couple of years hits are minimal. Most of the almost 200,000 hits I have now came in last eighteen months...I'm addicted.

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