Nightmares in the Dream Palace — The Buzzing

A mouldy deck of cards. Shuffle. Lay them out. Minor arcana in formation, all under the Dark Tower.

Flip the Shabby Rabbit Detective. The skill set required to do a thing is the exact same skill set it takes to be able to judge if one is any good at that thing. The Shabby Detective cannot fathom how far he is out of his depth. Tired and tilting at shadows. Burst blood vessels in his nose, a hieroglyphic prelude to his next drink. After the rabbit killer! His own borrowed rabbit suit turns into a galaxy under the black light.

Flip the Bubble-Headed Boy. Kindergarten horrors and playground echoes. He was ahead of the class. Children can be cruel. Do not stare at his head. He has exciting talents. He talks to us, though he thinks we’re Jungian archetypes out of the collective unconscious. He can take you on an inward journey. He can make you forget how to breathe if he asks you to. In all of creation, is there a sight more lonely than a seesaw for one?

Flip the Wayward Daughter. Daddy Tanaka is not pleased with his child. She fell in with a bad crowd. Or they fell in with her. Mere puppets they, who come and go at bidding of vast formless things that shift the scenery to and fro. The rabbit approaches. Closer and closer. Hippity-hoppity.

Flip the Girl With the Purple Tattoo. Sad stories trail in the water. She survived every one. Survived and thrived and changed. Afraid of the sea. Drawn to the sea. She dreams of New Carthage. She dreams of a people that will not judge her. She got her stars crossed with Ricky Pagan once.

Flip the Messenger. Who is John? Who was John? John dies at the end. You can look and see sweetling. Find the red-red bed. In the AV Suite, you can look into John. Just remember Nietzsche’s warning. We won’t say we told you so, because linear tense means little to us.