mg_06 cr0wl old graham had been on the road for nearly a week when he met the stranger. he had journeyed west from the house. go west young man, he figured. he walked through countless miles of woods full of bright red sugar maples and fiery orange sweetgums, past swift moving ice cold streams, through obstacles of blackberry walls, and then came to a well worn foot trail. he found a rather large tree trunk and used it as a bench, setting his bag down and gently removed kufraya. she woke from a fitful sleep and limped about in a staggering circle before she jumped the foot's distance down to the leaf-scattered ground. graham whistled at her to stay near. she looked at him and blinked with eyes swollen by confusing bird dreams. he found the tupperware containing dried apricots, figs, almonds, and cacoa beans. he munched and thought about the road he was on. he knew it was going somewhere. all roads do. he would find molly, but what else would he find along the way? kufraya folded her legs under her body and sat down. her eyes grew heavier with each careful breath until she fell asleep. pain radiated outward from the infection and she shuddered awake with a chill before nodding off again. graham looked at her and winced. he felt like something valuable was being erased. each time he beheld it, it was fainter and harder to see. suddenly, from around the bend where a copse of red buds displayed their heart-shaped leaves with lemon yellow brightness, a figure appeared. graham, upon first glance, deduced it to be a man, but older and somewhat odd. he wore a straw fedora over a flop of long, greasy gray hair. his soot-smudged face was sunburned from falling asleep in the sun and his beard was grisled as if he thought about shaving daily but then forgot. he wore his clothes in layers as if that was the contents of all his wardrobe right there upon his skinny frame. but none of his shirts or shorts over pants quite matched, even his shoes were different. one was a wing tip, the other was a soccer shoe. he was a hodgepodge and he stank. graham smelled him and gagged down a pumpkin seed. it was as if a pigpen-like cloud of garbage surrounded him, wafting before him, announcing his imminent presence. "g'day, mate!" the stranger said, stopping, as if he was a train that had reached its destination. he spoke with a foreign accent. his teeth were crisscrossed and stained with tobacco. "hello," graham called out, meeting his gaze. he could see one of the man's eyes was clouded over as if it was dead. the other fixed on him like a star pulsating beside a planet. "you're heee-re," the strange man said. he picked at his back molars with a toothpick. graham listened. he saw kufraya had one eye open. he heard the statement and wondered if he meant he was supposed to meet him there. "what do you mean?" graham asked. "i'm just resting. i am on my way to somewhere else." "who are you?" the stranger asked him. he removed a photograph from the side pocket of his plaid suit jacket. he extended it to graham. "this is you someday isn't it now?" graham accepted it, looking at the stranger who had one thick grey eyebrow lifted in anticipation of an answer. his breathed smelled like rotting cabbage. graham thought about who he was and examined the photograph at the same time. it was a picture of a man and a young boy dressed for skiing. they were both smiling. somehow he knew who these people were, like when one sees strangers in a dream but are intimately acquainted with them. "i am a boy in search of a girl," graham answered. "you are more than that," the stranger said, and he began moving his body about as if he were dancing to a hidden, silent beat in his head. "you are a wondrous mass of particles that came together with encoded instruction, design, and potential." 101015 ... crowli her satchel felt unnaturally heavy, and it slapped against her backside in tune with the rhythm of old molly’s heavy footfalls as she plodded through the sand. her tired shoulders slumped as she approached her bike’s resting place next to the whitewashed fence in the dunes, and resultant to that, the shoulder strap slid and with an authoritative thump, hit the ground, scattering her papers, books and pastels. “perfect. just perfect.” molly grumbled to herself, but shaking her head back and forth in disbelief at her clumsiness, she couldn't do anything but laugh. when she automatically crouched down to clean up the mess she had accidentally created, she briefly wondered why she continued to carry all this crap around with her. but yet she knew why, and the ‘why’ matched her motivation to not change her mind. she had reasoned a long time ago that she had wanted “what mattered” with her at all times, and on those grounds, her journal which doubled as a sketch book, and her battered copy of ‘mg’ were what mattered. molly’s journal was her personal history book, where she recorded the most important moments of her life. granted, at fourteen, almost fifteen, the importance of the events she described with such intricate detail could be debatable to anyone other than herself, but yet she had always loved to write and draw. ever since she had been proficient in formulating a clear message with words and pictures, she had written, drawn, photographed, and commemorated her world onto pages of a lifetime. it was as though she was somehow proving her existence. the words “this is who i am” were emblazoned across the front of the wire bound book in black sharpie make-shift calligraphy, and its hard cover was decorated with a pasted-on enlarged photograph of an otherworldly yet magnificent winter sunset. molly gathered up the scattered pastels and her copy of mg and shoved them haphazardly into her canvas bag. she retrieved a few coins that had escaped, and the crumpled receipt from the lunch of delicious fresh caught fish tacos with pico de gallo and guacamole she’d enjoyed earlier in the day. then, in the dwindling daylight, molly glimpsed her special pen which had been partially buried in the upset mounds of sand. “oh! old faithful! there you are! what if i had lost you?” she said. molly used this peculiar pen all the time to write, and the darn thing seemed to have a never-ending supply of ink, as she’d been writing with it for all these years and it had never gone dry. sighing with relief, she fingered the strangely crafted pen, and wondered for the ten thousandth time what purpose key the key on the end of it held. ‘what does this freaking thing open?’ she had found it that bizarre day she’d been lost in the mysterious garden maze at hawksworth. she recalled that time, sort of, but most of the recollections associated with it were very fuzzy, almost as if those particular memories were purposefully shrouded in a protective covering for her benefit. or perhaps it was as though she was remembering a dream and not something real. “but yet i have this key... this strange pen that never runs dry. this is my proof.” molly spoke again out loud, as if in conversation with herself. she looked at her journal, which was open to a pencil drawing she had done of herself and graham, and was suddenly flooded with a vivid memory of the photo she had used to create it.... graham had gotten a new camera for christmas last year, and it had a self- timer on it. he had been so excited to test this feature out, because though they had always taken photos of each other during their adventures, there had never been anyone with them to take a picture of the two of them together. they finally had the opportunity one winter day. the distinctive ding dong of molly’s cell phone text message notifier woke her up that february morning, and she remembered her face had been absolutely freezing. it was light outside, which meant that she had likely slept through her alarm for school, however when she looked at the clock radio, it was black. the power was out. she picked up her phone to see that it was 7:11 am, then read the message from graham: “look outside, sleepyhead!" and so, molly had reluctantly pried herself out of her warm bed, and holding the thick down comforter around her like a queen’s cloak, she padded over to her bedroom window. there had been frost on the inside of the glass, and she remembered seeing her breath make misty swirls in the barely visible beams of morning light. but then she’d literally squealed with delight when she beheld the scene that flew before her eyes. everything was blanketed in what looked to be at least three feet of snow, and from the way the clouds looked, so heavy and dark, there was going to be more to come. molly quickly texted back: ‘WOW!!! snow day!!! wooooooohooooooo!!’ graham answered, “do you want me to come up there?” molly had known immediately that the roads would be impassable, but graham had a snowmobile that would go anywhere, and so, without hesitation, she texted back, “are you kidding me right now? get your butt up here!” he arrived a half hour later. they had bundled up in their warmest gear, to the point of being barely recognizable, with parkas, ski pants, hats and masks, but yet they were warm enough to withstand the elements, and ventured out into the woods with the intention of building an igloo. it took nearly five hours of hard labor to construct, but they had absolutely succeeded. their snow house was small, but it had four walls and a packed rounded roof. it even had a chimney. they had been so hot and spent from the exertion of their project, that they had gone inside when it was complete, undressed down to their long johns, and heartily consumed a snack of deer jerky, cranberry bread and apple cider before promptly falling asleep in each others arms. graham had woken up first, and nudged at molly. “c’mon sleepyhead! this is twice i've had to wake you up today!” he laughed. when she grumbled in protest, he tickled her unmercifully until tears of laughter streamed unchecked down her flushed cheeks. molly remembered feeling happier than she’d ever been. when they finally stopped giggling, molly had made fun of graham’s hair, which was sticking up and out in all directions as a sequel of sweating while wearing a hat. he had self- consciously tried to smooth it down, to no avail, but then when he looked up at her, he noticed that hers was just as bad, if not worse. it had been his idea to take their picture using his new camera. she remembered how they set it up on the pile of their coats and backpacks, set the timer, and said in unison, “one, two, three…..cheeeeeeese!” it was the first photo of the two of them together, and they had the worst collective hair of all time. but their smiles were genuine, and the eyes were bright and filled with the joy of the moment. as soon as she had seen the picture, molly had known it would be drawn in her journal as one of those important memories. “and there you go graham, all that’s left of you, i carry around with me everywhere...in drawings, photos, and a series of stories.” old molly said to the quiet twilight that surrounded her. “and i will find you...you just watch me.” molly slapped her journal closed, and after replacing it into her bag, she stood up, tossed the satchel into the tattered basket of her dilapidated bicycle. she knew she needed to get home as the darkness was rapidly approaching, and she mounted the rusty ten speed in preparation to accelerate. there was really no danger on this island, because everyone knew each other, and the locals looked out for each other constantly. but still, there was something about complete darkness that freaked molly out. she did not like to navigate through it anymore, and she avoided being alone in the dark as much as possible. ‘funny, it was always graham who was afraid of the dark, not me....things have sure changed.’ molly thought. and when she looked up at the path that linked the beach to the road, she gasped. right there, ten feet in front of her, and preventing her passage was a statuesque, tall woman, with cascades of long curly golden hair, and a royal blue and green velvet cloak. she looked completely out of place, but yet there was something familiar about her. her face was shrouded by shadows, but she did not seem frightening. ‘she looks like a queen’ molly thought. 101015 ... cr0wl the stranger and graham continued to chat as the sun burned like a dying star high above their heads, higher than thought can ascend, reaching a place where limits are set by slippery fingers and hands twist hair with impatience. the leaves accepted the abundant light as if they were actors in the dramatic end of a tree's life, always most beautiful in the recollection of memory. color being the one thing they always wanted to produce. he introduced himself as dennis browne and extended his right hand. when graham heard the name, he instantly recognized it, as if it was a name he knew as common as george washington or thomas jefferson. but it was not in the real world he had come to associate it. instead, it was this parallel one he had entered as a boy in the illuminated and enchanted waters of the hawksworth well. and it was this man, this dennis browne, who had somehow become a bedtime story folk hero and mythical legend. a jesus without a god and a god without a son. graham said the name back to him as if it had been peeled off his tongue like the painful removal of a band-aid. "THE dennis browne?" he said, uttering it in the form of a piercing question that required a definitive answer since graham had always imagined dennis browne to be pleasing to behold, not this sheer wreck of a man, left to the nothingness he has become after years of self-deprecation and spiraling depression. they shook hands. graham thought it felt like steel wool. "yes," dennis said, chuckling. he removed his hat for a moment of social gravitas revealing a thinning bald spot punctuated by oozing pustules. "just look what has become of me since my love has died." graham swallowed. he could taste bile in his throat and mixing with the stink of dennis's demise, he wasn't sure what to say, because he kept having to fight off the nagging urge to vomit. sadness hit him like a flash shower of rain, soaking his soul before he could find shelter. he gazed again at the one dead eye and the other like a snake's, black and gleaming. he tried to see the dennis browne of the illustrations he remembered in books he and molly read together, side by side on bales of hay tucked away for winter. "there you are," he said, the spark of recognition lighting a fire in his mind. he knew dennis browne once loved a woman who was part bird and part human. her name was ver_boten. faced with the limit of his ability to connect, he turned away to check on kufraya. considering the miraculous appearance of the aged storybook character, he could not help to think about the original kufraya, the offspring of a man made of paper with a avian/human from the world of kemulya which dennis used to ride from one parallel world to another, and by doing so, enabled countless others. children who grew up reading the story would raise their own red birds and call them kufraya. they too, could ride, albeit metaphorically. "your kufraya looks like she's in pain," dennis said. he put his hat back on and removed a small micro-cassette recorder from the front pocket of his soiled nike warm-up pants. they were blue and had one thick yellow line running up the sides. he clicked the player on. they listened: "Boom swagger swagger, boom boom, swagger, boom, boom, boom!" he clicked it off. "she is," graham said, lifting one eyebrow at what he just heard. ok? he mused. "she was bitten by one of the tiger king's god-forsaken transposition animals. motherfucker!" "we all get bit," dennis said, approaching kufraya with caution. he began making a deep cooing noise in his throat. however, from his many years of smoking, he could not do it without coughing as if his lungs would be forced through his throat. kufraya was not frightened as one might think. she seemed to look upon the stranger with pity. it was all there was left to give him for he had lived so long by himself and had fallen with such grace that he was happy even as his soul was mentally decomposing. "hey girl," he said, reaching out and stroking her backside. she rose up on her strong, able legs and out of what appeared to be some bizarre act of respect, she fanned out her expansive tail. there was a noticeable cringe in her countenance. "wow! look at you!" he said. a raspy laugh leapt out of him, like a toad from a child's dirty fingers. he clapped once. "she's telling us something important," dennis said. "she wants to get better. we have to get her better." graham felt his breath catch inside of him like a field mouse in the paws of a hungry farm cat. "we?" he reflected. what does he mean by "we?" 101017 ... crowli molly was instantly caught off guard and stood frozen in the cool sand like a startled rabbit caught within the unexpected illuminated swath of a nifhttime explorer's flashlight. uncertain how to proceed, she could only stare at the woman in front of her with widening, curious eyes, while her gaze was returned with a brisk air of cool, unwavering confidence. the peculiar queen-looking figure seemed to be regarding molly expectantly, and molly had the distinctive feeling was she was being asked to answer a question that had not yet been asked. "are you lost?" molly asked, her words floating with the wind blowing over the surf and easily connecting with their target. molly thought she had to be lost as no one in their right mind would dress like she was for a walk to the beach.      after a few lingering seconds passed that seemed like an eternity, the woman raised her head from the shadows, and in what could only be described as a regal gesture, she opened her arms with a flourish and motioned for molly to approach. the green and royal blue velvet of her flowing bell sleeves flapped their agreement in the steady seaside breeze. the woman did not speak, yet as molly studied her intently, she felt strangely at ease, almost as if she was reuniting with a long lost favorite aunt or perhaps a well loved teacher from her past. molly couldn't get a good enough look to be sure, but she was almost certain that this "queen's" face was delicately painted to resemble a butterfly. ‘she’s so lovely.' molly thought, 'but this is just weird. is she a danger to me?’   “oh, come here, my dear molly, i'm not lost; rather, it is you that have been found! come here, you are safe with me." the stranger answered clearly, and molly thought her voice sounded like chimes brought to melody by a gentle blowing wind. her mannerisms and tone of voice suggested a loving motherly quality that radiated from her with such genuine affection that molly was left awestruck. blinking in surprise at her own blatant desire for acceptance, she was unable to hide the smile that had begun to tug at her lips. ‘how does this woman know me?' molly mused. "i know you from my dreams, baby girl, just as you know me from yours."   the woman had answered molly's unspoken thought once again, and with such alacrity that it should have been frightening but instead the result was overwhelming reassurance.   there were only a few others that could read her thoughts easily, and they were graham, and her ‘twin,’ new molly, whom she had met after she and graham had crossed the bridge into their parallel world years ago when they had first entered their magical well at hawksworth.  also, of course, there was the tiger king….whether molly liked it or not, he always seemed to know what she was doing as well as what she was thinking.   likewise, the tiger king was also the only one whom she’d ever heard use the term ‘baby girl.’   however, she’d only heard him use it in reference to her doppelganger.   but never to her. never once.   molly had accepted a long time ago that the tiger king was “partial” for some inexplicable reason to new molly. he loved her pure and simple, and it bothered old molly intensely as she selfishly craved his attention and affection for herself for reasons she still did not understand. molly had never found the courage to confront him.... ....because she loved him and feared him in equal measure.   quickly shoving the tiger king from her thoughts, molly released the handlebars of her ten speed and allowed the bike to fall like a lightning struck tree to the ground. once again, the contents of her bag scattered onto the sand. molly ignored the mess she'd created for the second time as she took a step toward the open arms of the stranger in her path.  suddenly gripped by her magnetism, molly then sprinted the ten steps it took for her to come face to face with her visitor, and she glimpsed her smile in the second prior to the woman gathering molly into an embrace she would never forget. "this is what a mother's love feels like," molly breathlessly uttered into the woman's velvet-clad shoulder.  "yes, molly, this is love. because you have missed, you have that much more to give. life is all about balancing, and thus so is love. you must choose your path correctly, and love will circle back around for you."  "are you talking about graham?" molly asked the woman hesitantly, wondering suddenly if she might know his whereabouts.  "graham is searching for you, baby girl, yes, indeed." the butterfly faced woman declared.  "oh you know him?! please....where is he? is he alright?" molly's questions gushed like lava exploding from an angry volcano. she had not meant to offend the woman, however, she had abruptly dropped her arms and let go of the beautiful embrace. she placed her hands upon both her hips in an act of blatant authority, and stared at molly intently as though she were looking through her, inside her, into the depths of her soul. "there is work to be done molly, go on, gather up your things." "who are you?" molly suddenly demanded, her tone not disguising her ongoing frustration over missing graham. "please help me find him....i need him." "i am the queen. the butterfly queen. i am guide, mother, basic behind the scenes master of overseeing a certain king and his castle, and most especially his children." recognition washed over molly like a hurricane blowing forced information. 'the fucking tiger king has a wife. i can't believe we never knew.'  the butterfly queen simply raised a dainty eyebrow at molly's thought, but said nothing. she helped molly to quickly reload her canvas bag with all her belongings, and molly watched her place the last two items in thoughtfully and deliberately. first was the unique key pen to which she nodded her approval and smiled, and then next was mg. the queen intently studied the back cover of the book for the briefest of seconds before opening it from the back to glance at the last page.  they both saw the picture of the man, the boy and their magnificent red bird preparing for flight. it was kufraya.          101018 ... . mg_07 101019 what's it to you? who go blather from