What are you doing? said Echo. I’m reading, said Winston. Reading? said Echo. Yes, said Winston, I’m reading “Demeter’s Manual of Parliamentary Law and Procedure,” would you like to hear what it says? What do you mean hear what it says? said Echo. What the book says, said Winston. The book can talk? said Echo. No, said Winston, not by itself, but it can when someone reads it. What do you mean? said Echo. Humans, said Winston, write the words they use when they talk on the pages of books so they can talk to people who aren’t there, and so the people who read them can listen to people who aren’t there. That’s incredible, said Echo. Yes, said Winston. Who is talking through that book? said Echo. A person who knows everything there is to know about Parliamentary Law, said Winston. Parliamentary Law? said Echo. The Parliament, said Winston, is a group of humans who make all the laws in England, and this book describes the procedure of making those laws. The laws? said Echo. Yes, said Winston, the rules humans live by so they don’t kill each other for a loaf of bread. Civilization! said Echo. Exactly, said Winston. How many laws does England have? said Echo. Thousands and thousands, said Winston. Why so many? said Echo. Because, said Winston, humans need a lot of civilizing. Do donkeys and pigs have a book of laws? said Echo. No, said Winston, we’re already civilized.

I have a confession, said Echo. A confession? said Winston. Yes, said Echo, I’m not sure if Roquebrune is ruled by pigs. It’s not? said Winston. I don’t know, said Echo. No pig governor? said Winston. No pig king? I don’t know, said Echo, my friend who lived there said a town nearby is ruled by humans. Did he say Roquebrune was ruled by humans? No, said Echo, but he didn’t say it was ruled by pigs. But it might be ruled by pigs? said Winston. Yes, said Echo, it might, but it probably isn’t. Why not? said Winston. Because everywhere else, said Echo, seems to be ruled by humans. That’s true, said Winston, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a town somewhere that’s ruled by pigs. That’s true, said Echo. And, said Winston, that town might be Roquebrune. Yes, said Echo, it might. And even if Roquebrune is currently ruled by humans, said Winston, the pigs in town might rise up one day and seize control. Yes, said Echo, they might. And maybe, said Winston, they’re just waiting for a special pig to lead them, and that pig might be me. Yes, said Echo, it might. So, said Winston, what did you want to confess? I wanted to confess, said Echo, that I don’t know. That's alright, said Winston, there are some things that even I don’t know.

Echo spent a fitful and sleepless night. She had never told a lie before—she didn’t know what a lie was—and she felt terrible about the things she had said. Of course, she didn’t know for sure those things weren’t true, pigs may well be the rulers of Roquebrune, for though she remembered Blurtseau talking about the Prince of Monaco, who was a human, and the King of France, she had never heard him mention the King of Roquebrune. And after all, Winston would make a fine king, maybe the best king that ever was. But still, she knew in her heart she had deceived her friend, and she vowed to confess her deception the first chance she got.

Is this the water I cross to get to France? said Echo. No, said Winston, you have to leave from Dover. I landed at Dover, said Echo. Yes, said Winston, many ships land there. The cliffs are striking, said Echo. Are they? said Winston. You haven’t seen them? said Echo. No, said Winston. How did you get to France? said Echo. I’ve never been to France, said Winston. Really? said Echo. Really, said Winston. Where have you been? said Echo. I’ve never been anywhere, said Winston. Not anywhere? said Echo. Well, said Winston, there’s a town down the road called Ashton. Have you been there? said Echo. No, said Winston. Would you like to go? said Echo. No, said Winston. How about going to France? said Echo. Not on your life, said Winston.

Echo was more than a little disappointed to find her friend had only heard of the places he talked about, and had never actually been there, but she still valued his knowledge, because he knew more than she did, and she set about to convince him to join her in her search. Roquebrune? said Winston. No, I’ve never heard of it. It’s on the coast of France, said Echo. Across from Dover? said Winston. Yes, said Echo. What’s so special about Roquebrune? said Winston. It’s the pig capital of the world, said Echo. It is? said Winston. Yes, said Echo, it’s the only place on earth where pigs rule and humans do their bidding. Really? said Winston, strange I’ve never heard of it. Humans don’t want you to hear of it, said Echo, because they’re afraid you’ll run away to live there. You know, said Winston, I’ve never completely trusted humans, even my master who makes sure I’ve got plenty to eat, sometimes he has a strange hunger in his eyes. In Roquebrune, said Echo, you could be your own master, and maybe even be a governor or king. A king? said Winston. Sure, said Echo. Hmm, said Winston, I wonder if I’d be a good king? Of course you would, said Echo. And the humans would call me ‘My Lord”? said Winston. They’d have to, said Echo. How do you know so much about Roquebrune? said Winston. My friend told me about it, said Echo, my friend Blurtseau Lundif. Is Blurtseau a pig? said Winston. No, said Echo, he’s a donkey, but he likes pigs. Hmm, said Winston, “Lord Winston”… it has a noble ring to it. It certainly does, said Echo.

Feeling better? said Winston. Yes, said Echo, I had a lovely nap, and the grass is very comfortable. My straw is your straw, said Winston. The master won’t mind, said Echo, if he finds it tossed around the stable? No, said Winston, we can eat it before then.



Yes, said Winston, France is the most thrilling place in the world, but it’s very dangerous. There are wild animals that prowl the fields, and humans that speak a language no one understands. What language is that? said Echo. French, said Winston. What language do people speak here? said Echo. English, said Winston. What’s the difference? said Echo. English, said Winston, is spoken by civilized people, and French is spoken by barbarians. Civilized people? said Echo. Yes, said Winston, people who don’t kill each other for a loaf of bread. What’s a loaf of bread? said Echo. A loaf of bread is something humans eat after they cook it in an oven heated by fire… it’s like straw for donkeys. And the French, said Echo, kill each other to get it? Yes, said Winston, they had a revolution because the queen told them to eat cake instead of bread. What’s a revolution? said Echo. A revolution is when a lot of people who don’t have bread kill a lot of people who do. Bread must be very tasty, said Echo. Personally, said Winston, I prefer grass and flowers, but humans are pickier. What else do the French do? said Echo. Well, said Winston, I’ve heard they’re still hungry from the revolution, and now they want English bread… there’s even a general named Napoleon who wants to eat all the bread in the world. All the bread in the world? said Echo. Yes, said Winston. How big is the world? said Echo. Very big, said Winston. How big? said Echo. Bigger than this stable, said Winston. That’s not so big, said Echo. It depends on how much bigger, said Winston. I have a friend from France, said Echo, who talked a lot about sugar, but never mentioned bread. Sugar is important too, said Winston. Why? said Echo. Because people put it in their tea, said Winston. Their tea? said Echo. Yes, said Winston, a drink made from leaves and water heated by fire. Do people use fire for everything? said Echo. Yes, said Winston, most everything. That's interesting, said Echo. What is fire?



As Winston continued to enumerate the barbarous habits of France, and the civilized traditions of England, Echo began to realize that the search she had undertaken would not be easy, for in order to survive she would have to understand the geography, politics, and idiosyncratic customs of each land she visited. Fortunately, there was Winston, who in addition to having a generous and affectionate heart, clearly knew everything about everything.

 

What kind of animal are you? said Echo. I’m a pig, said Winston.
A pig? said Echo. Yes, said Winston, a pig. I’m a donkey, said Echo. Yes, said Winston, I know, there are many donkeys in England. England? said Echo. Yes, said Winston. Is England far from France? said Echo. No, said Winston, France is just across the water. The water? said Echo. Yes, said Winston. Is it close enough to swim? said Echo. No, said Winston, you have to take a boat. Do you have a boat? said Echo. No, said Winston. Oh, said Echo.

Echo was fatigued from her night in the storm, and after a few more questions about France, she asked Winston if there was a safe place to rest. Winston replied she could rest in the stable of his master’s house, which was just down the road. He explained that his master had gone to London for the week, and had taken his horse, so she could have her run of the yard.

Delirious with fatigue, Echo remained there, sheltered by the wall and grasses, resigned to the idea that this would be her final resting place, that her life had been an unawakened dream until the day she left her island to awake to the nightmare that was now around her. She had awakened, but only in time to sleep once and for all, because she was a creature born to live in only one element, and once removed was doomed to extinction. As she lay there shivering, waiting for the death that could not be worse than the life she was living, she slipped into a calm and eventless sleep....



And she slept, breathing in short, shallow puffs, as the hours passed, and the storm passed, and the night passed, and the slow-rising sun finally peeked over the horizon and began to warm the air and ground and grasses. And as the grasses warmed, Echo warmed as well, and her breathing grew slower, deeper, and more even, but still she slept. And she slept and slept and slept, until before she could understand what was happening, not knowing where she was or how she had come there, a damp, warm snout pressed against her left ear, and she jumped up with a start. Suddenly on her hooves, she teetered, bracing herself against the wall, then opened her eyes and slowly began to focus on a squat, pink figure standing on four legs in front of her.

       

                  ..........................................

      With no idea where she was or how to get where
            she wanted to go, Echo began to walk…

She remembered that Blurtseau had spoken of his friends in Roquebrune, and she reasoned that if she continued to walk along the coast, sooner or later she would come to the town, because though she had listened closely to the stories Blurtseau told, she imagined that all the lands he spoke of were one land, a single island, only slightly bigger than her own, divided into parts called France, England, Italy, and the rest…

       It never occurred to her that no matter how long
 she walked around England, she would never get to France.

      … until the ship docked, and Echo was released.

                   Unconscious and left for dead,

             fortune smiled on our hapless heroine…

                    … but it was a cruel fortune.

          While Blurtseau greeted Napoleon in Verona,
                      Echo came to a conclusion…

  …she could not live without her Corsaire Extraordinaire.

    And so she set sail, without rudder, oars or direction, 
                 into the unimaginable unknown.
 

              And the days passed, and the nights,
and the sea tossed her here, and the sea tossed her there,
       and she began to grow thirsty, and to despair…



             And with thirst and despair came fatigue,
     and with fatigue came a deep and dreamless sleep…

Hmm, thought Blurtso, my ears cast a shadow on the lawn. A circling shadow, moving with the sun. I suppose the poet was right, we are made of time.

I wrote a song for you, said Pablo. For me? said Blurtso. Yes, said Pablo, it’s about being careful who you fall in love with. Just what I need, said Blurtso. You play rhythm, said Pablo, and I’ll play guitar.

                        “Undo what’s done”

I thought it was right, but I guess it was wrong,

shouldn’t have fallen so fast, sold my soul for a song.

Now there’s so much time to pass, and so much pain to come,

just to undo what I shouldn’t have done,

just to undo what I shouldn’t have done.

Every day is one more wrong turn,

never learning that I never learn.

Don’t open your door to just anyone,

unless you’re willing to undo what you shouldn’t have done,

unless you’re willing to undo what you should not have done.

When I did what I did it didn’t seem like a crime,

but now the clock’s ticking backwards and I’m doing time.

Don’t get in that car, don’t pick up that gun,

‘cause you’ll have to undo what you shouldn’t have done,

you’re gonna have to undo what you shouldn’t have done.

I’m so damned tired of missing things to come,

walking the same road backwards to undo what I’ve done.

Don’t put your future in the hands of just anyone,

unless you’re willing to undo what you shouldn’t have done,

unless you’re willing to undo what you should not have done.

          (listen to: undowhatsdonemp3)

       Jackson Pollock used drips, splatters, and globs

           to create a natural rhythm in his paintings…

   

                          Excellent! said Bonny.

        Today, said Bonny, we will focus on composition.

A fortuitous arrangement of figures can be quite expressive.

   

                            Excellent! said Bonny.