Munmun(41)

“Crap,” I said.

“But enoughenough, I’ll get used to it, how about you meanwhile, don’t you feel amazing,” she asked.

“I do,” I admitted.

“Breathing, eating, wearing clothes, doesn’t it all just feel so so good,” she pressed.

“Super good, the best,” I agreed.

She kept asking me about how it felt and how happy was I to be out of jail and pardoned and everything but my answers were short, I still didn’t have a lot of words in me, prettysoon she was talking again just to fill the silence.

“The marriage was bad but I learned from it, bro,” she declared, “I really did, just talking to customers and selling things and working out in the world, honestly I think I’m a grownwoman now, I’m a whole different person from a yearago, that littlegirl knew nothing but this middlewoman is going to attack life, attack opportunities, attack knowledge,” and she kept talking as I kept sinking, she kept weaving and looming the spell that sent me off into Dreamworld.

In Dreamworld Kitty was waiting, the flowerhouse was crisper than I remembered, cracklier, less of a cartoon, more professional. But this time I could walk inside, easy, I stepped through a door and was in my own little operabox.

The inside of the flowerhouse was a giant concerthall, domeshaped and honeycombed with cozy boxes for a thousand blissfull dreamers, in the centerbubble she sang and played the music from many years ago.

How can I tell you what it was like to hear it again, I can’t.

But it was better than my memory of it, bigger and sharper and sweeter, actually the whole point was you can’t remember it.

So all I did was float in my operabox, listen, relax, let the musicfingers push out the knots and stones from a year of angry fearfull nights.

And I went back the next night, and the next night, and the night after that, and just listened, floated, let my body go liquid.

Maybe it was the same song every time, I wouldn’t know, no one could. It was too many notes, too many rhythms, too much texture, too glorious, your ears couldn’t focus. It was a thousand parades on one street, a thousand lives in one life, a thousand years of living and dying in every second.

I began to realize, it was the music of This Is How The World Feels When You Are Huge.

Huger than Kittyscale forsure, Kittyscale is only twoandahalf, fouryards tall or so, not enormous.

Huger than billionair big, bigrich, eightscale, twelvyards, that’s not bigenough for how this music makes you feel.

Maybe as huge as trillionair big, sicktyfourscale, hunyards. But probably huger than that.

The bigger you are, the smaller things get, the more things you can touch at a time and the more amazing little detail they have on your fingertips, toes, tongue.

The music fits into your dreaming ears the way Hue Family House could fit into your giant hand, if you wrappped your hand around the whole thing. Windows, brickwork, gutters, ivy, slateroof, columns, buckling crackling, crunching under your knuckles.

Music of the forest scratching your enormous godfeet, leafy barky trees between your toes, trickly streams dribbling under your arches.

Soundscape of mountain handfulls, thinly iced and melting into your fingerprints, crags digging into your thumbball.

If you were a god hugging the worldplanet and felt every single thing, big and little, pressing back into you to tell you, I’m alive, that was the music Kitty knew somehow to make, the music that swallowed me everynight.

Maybe it sounds overwhelming to you, exhausting, insane. But for a little red jailfish it’s a way to recover, become yourself again, or atleast stop being the tight furious dreamless sleeper, reset to being no one.

For sure it was therapy, for sure it could heal someone with a hard bad life, afterall she was using it to heal herself.

And did I want to make my own wild dreamstuff again, sure, ofcourse I did. But I couldn’t.

Everytime I tried to dream like previous me it was toohard, impossible, I wasn’t me anymore. The bigger the stuff, the more my mind fought back, nightmarestyle.

Dream a snow of flowers, snow turns to rain, flowers turn to paint.

Dream some lazy airdogs, dogs turn to sharks, sharks get stuck in the air and die, floating ballooncorpses rotting and popping.

Dream water and it floods your house, dream trees and they block your way, dream rooms and they don’t have what you’re looking for, what are you looking for, you don’t even know but time is running out.

Something in my head had broke and my dreaming was like other people’s, incomplete and outofcontrol.





LIFEANDDEATHWORLD


And meanwhile my days were whirlwinds, trying to allofasudden live a busy middlerich existence and absorb a quality education, spoileralert, this was completely impossible.

Step One, buy clothes, okay, that part was not so impossible. Hue and Tony took me to Fine Young Man for some stiff officesuits and Sporty Run And Jump for casual athletic gear to wear around the house, meanwhile Dawn and Kitty bought Prayer some sensible ensembles at Study Girl and Busy Bee.

Secondpart, see some doctors, also fine and infact great. We got our bloods inspected, hey greatnews, no one has a sexdisease or cancer. A middlepoor dentist gave me replacement faketeeth, plastic stones in my mouth, whiter than the real ones. “Reminder, faketeeth will not scale up or down with the rest of your mouth so if you ever change scale you must remove them first or you may risk serious injury,” he said super bored and fast, this guy must have to say it twentytimes a day.