Tweedledee and Tweedledum were having one of their usual quarrels in a sun-dappled glade in Wonderland. This time, it was about who could bounce a mushroom higher. Tweedledee swore he had achieved at least three feet, while Tweedledum accused him of exaggeration.
Their bickering was interrupted by a peculiar sound: a faint *click-clack* followed by a whispery *whir*. They turned to see a wooden figure standing at the edge of the glade, painted in bright reds, greens, and golds.
"Who are you?" asked Tweedledee, eyes wide.
"I'm Matryoshka," the figure replied in a lilting accent, bowing politely.
"And what do you do?" inquired Tweedledum.
Matryoshka smiled coyly. "I do not *do*, dear sirs. I *am*. But if you must know, I contain multitudes."
With a dramatic twist, Matryoshka's torso separated, revealing a smaller doll inside. The inner doll gave a polite nod before stepping out, leaving the next layer visible. This continued until five distinct versions of Matryoshka stood in a neat line, each smaller and more intricately painted than the last.
The Tweedles clapped enthusiastically. "Marvelous!" exclaimed Tweedledee. "Do it again!"
Matryoshka giggled, and one of her layers—a medium-sized doll with rosy cheeks and a mischievous smile—spoke up. "You two are quite charming," she said.
The Tweedles puffed up with pride. "Why, thank you!" said Tweedledum.
But the smallest doll, barely six inches tall and painted with a frown, crossed her tiny wooden arms. "I find them insufferable," she muttered.
"Insufferable?" gasped Tweedledee, clutching his chest. "What have we done to deserve such scorn?"
The smallest doll glared at them. "You're loud, you're foolish, and you argue over nonsense. It's exhausting just watching you!"
"Well, I never!" Tweedledum exclaimed, while Tweedledee looked ready to faint from indignation.
The medium-sized doll interjected. "Don't mind her. She's always been a sourpuss. The rest of us find you delightful."
"But she's part of you," said Tweedledee, scratching his head. "How can you both love us and loathe us?"
Matryoshka, now fully assembled again, gave a serene smile. "Ah, such is the complexity of the heart, my dear Tweedles. Each layer of me feels differently, yet together, we are one."
The Tweedles exchanged confused glances. "So... you like us, except when you don’t?" asked Tweedledum.
"Precisely!" Matryoshka said with a wink.
The Tweedles, baffled but not displeased, decided to make the best of the situation. They spent the afternoon showing Matryoshka their favorite mushroom-bouncing techniques. The medium-sized doll clapped with glee, while the smallest muttered under her breath about their "ridiculous antics."
As the sun set, Matryoshka prepared to leave, her layers sliding back into place. "Goodbye, dear Tweedles," she said. "Remember, love and loathing are just two sides of the same wooden coin."
The Tweedles waved as she disappeared into the forest, still arguing about who had bounced the mushroom higher. Somewhere inside Matryoshka, a tiny wooden doll rolled her painted eyes—but even she couldn’t deny she’d had a little fun.
Author Archive
Alice finds an answer
Wednesday, January 8th, 2025Here's a story for you:
---
**"A Whiff of Wonder"**
Alice stumbled through the forest, her head spinning with the riddles and peculiarities of Wonderland. The question lingered in her mind like a ghost: *Who are you?* It was a question she had been asked countless times that day, and one she couldn't quite answer.
The Caterpillar lounged atop its mushroom, languidly exhaling blue-tinged smoke from its ornate hookah. It watched her approach with its heavy-lidded eyes, the smoke curling lazily around its segmented body.
"You again," it said in its slow, melodic tone. "Still no closer to an answer, I presume?"
Alice hesitated. "No," she admitted, folding her hands in front of her. "But I think I might be. If I could just...think more clearly."
The Caterpillar tilted its head, a curious expression crossing its face. It tapped the side of its hookah with a chitinous claw. "Perhaps clarity is not what you need," it mused. "But expansion."
"Expansion?"
It leaned forward, offering the hookah’s slender stem to her. "A whiff of this," it said, "might help you see the paths hidden beneath the brambles. A little...perspective adjustment."
Alice’s cheeks flushed. "Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never tried anything like that before."
"Then how can you know what it might teach you?" the Caterpillar countered, a wry smile playing on its lips. "If you're to answer the question, you must first be willing to ask it properly."
The smoke swirled hypnotically in the air, its sweet, earthy scent curling into her nose. Alice felt a strange pull—curiosity and caution entwined. *Could it really help me?* she wondered.
Taking the stem hesitantly, she glanced at the Caterpillar. "Will it...change me?"
The Caterpillar laughed, a sound like the rustling of leaves. "Everything in Wonderland changes you, Alice. Why should this be any different?"
With a deep breath, Alice placed the stem to her lips and inhaled. The smoke filled her lungs, warm and strange, and when she exhaled, the world seemed to shimmer around her. Colors brightened, and the lines of the forest softened as though they were melting into one another.
"Who are you?" the Caterpillar asked again, its voice reverberating like the hum of a distant bell.
Alice closed her eyes, letting the question settle in her mind. For the first time, it didn’t feel like a riddle or a trap. Instead, it felt like an invitation.
"I am..." she began, her voice trailing off as images danced behind her closed lids. She saw herself as a child in her mother’s garden, as a curious wanderer in Wonderland, as a million possibilities and contradictions all at once.
When she opened her eyes, the Caterpillar was watching her intently.
"Well?" it asked.
Alice smiled softly. "I think I’m...a question still being answered."
The Caterpillar chuckled, withdrawing the hookah. "Not bad, little one. Not bad at all."
As Alice turned to leave, the world seemed lighter, as if Wonderland itself had sighed in relief. The question still lingered, but it no longer weighed her down. Instead, it felt like a companion, urging her forward.
And somewhere behind her, the Caterpillar exhaled another plume of smoke, satisfied.
---
What do you think?
A Sonnet on the Effects of Smoking a Really Sharp Joint With Mrs. Robinson Playing Somewhere in the Background
Monday, January 6th, 2025“There seem to be matryoshkas everywhere,”
She said through tawdry teeth with bated breath
I chortled like a hawker at the fair
As if I was a simile for death
“Matryoshkas know who chooses to believe,”
She brushed aside my laughter-bathed-in-guilt
I said the damned matryoshkas could deceive
Because that’s just the way that they were built
“They’re built like little gods that come apart”
She whispered through her veil in puffs of blue
I wanted to believe, but had to fart
And thought I heard them call: “Coo, coo, ca-choo”
And so our worship turned to Russian Dolls
We see them everywhere in hallowed halls.
Ode to Marijuana
Friday, January 3rd, 2025Life is a thin wisp of bluish gray smoke
Breathe it in deeply and hope you don’t choke
Wait for the visions from Mary or god
Life is the awe with which everyone’s awed
New strains of freedom are here to be found
Grind them and smoke them when no one’s around
Laugh if you like, but it isn’t a joke
Life is a thin wisp of bluish gray smoke
Born without blood, sometimes born without seed
Flowers can flower, and weeds, they can weed
Banned and accepted by fools and by kings
Sweet are the flavors sweet cannabis brings
Green is the valley and golden the sky
Search for the paths that can get you so high.
Mary of Magdala Hymn
Tuesday, December 31st, 2024Tale of the Chinook King Salmon
Sunday, December 29th, 2024As The Dams Are Removed From
The Klamath River
The Klamath is my road, my path, my home
Too long my kind, though royal, have been lost
The purpose of my journey, not to roam
But out to sea, then back at any cost
The cost of this, my journey, has decreased
My road, my path, my home has been restored
The sacredness it feels has now increased
The sacredness that used to be ignored
And thus I swim where freedom lets me go
I go to where I need to be at last
At last where I began in Klamath’s flow
Is where my freedom calls me from the past
The past is past and yet I know the way
A salmon king for yet another day.