dance and spectacular light show at the Boy Scout Camp at Many Point Lake.
The seven exiles wore Treaty Shirts that mysterious and unpredictable night, the same stained shirts that we wore at the ratification of the constitution, the sector revision of the reservation, and notice of our banishment. Treaty Shirts embodied our spirit, sweat, and loyalty to the constitution, and we wore the shirts unwashed at every convention and convocation in the past twenty years.
Godtwit Moon was distracted by our presence at the dance, of course, and tried to disguise his worries that we were there to curse him in our Treaty Shirts, but suddenly he smiled, turned his head to the side, and waved his hands to show compassion, surely a cynical gesture of Rendition de Gentillesse, the new politics of compassion.
Savage Love tied blue treaty bandanas around the necks of the mongrels of irony, and yet we worried that the governor might execute another ban of mongrels at the dance. The five mongrels smiled at the sector governor, a much wiser ironic and totemic version of rendition. The mongrels were designated healers in blue bandanas.
White Favor was a whistler, not a moaner, a whistler with a clear pitch, and that night he whistled several times at Godtwit and the two Peace Hookers who were invited to the dance at Many Point Lake.
The Debwe Heart Dance, an ecstatic native cavort of truth, was slightly revised that night to deceive the hefty autocrat who could hardly walk through the casino twice without turning slightly blue with worry and heart fatigue. The drumbeats and heart bounces were slowed, and a new cast of songs and stories were simulated and shortened in his honor, only the most common names of nature, white pine, cedar, sumac, waxwing, beaver, porcupine, and water moccasins. The governor was cornered in a circle of tricky shamans who chanted these common names with a clever curse and poetic simplicity.
Savage Love taunted the governor with stories about the extraordinary rendition of words, the gentle words of death, and the ecstasy of nothing, absolutely nothing, not a single thing, and she encouraged him to inhale a hefty mound of blue luminous powder served on a short cedar stave. Godtwit sniffed and reached for Savage Love, but she ducked and moved between the trees.
The Specter Drones circled the red pine and were seduced by the holoscenes of historical figures over the lake. Waasese projected three images of Distinguished Eagle Scouts, Gerald Ford, president, Neil Armstrong, astronaut, and Steven Spielberg, movie director, in honor of the Many Point Boy Scout Camp, and Christopher Columbus, Samuel de Champlain, Cotton Mather, Andrew Jackson, Chief Joseph, Geronimo, Babe Ruth, Hillary Clinton, Vladimir Putin, and the waxy laser crucifixion of Jesus Christ slowly vanished in a wave on the lake.
The Peace Hookers and other sector security agents were amused but not distracted by the laser shows. The agents, however, were scared away from the truth dance by nasty packs of feral mongrels.
Godtwit Moon inhaled the narcotic and promptly lost his practiced rendition poses. He became belligerent, smoky faced, and shouted two mundane heart dance versions of truth, “slot machines and fast sex,” and “hate cats, hate dirty pets,” and then he danced in the red pines near the shoreline of Many Point Lake. The poseur circled in the dark, sniffed the last trace of blue shine on his finger, and hallucinated the presence of native women, naked natives in magical flight. Wild Rice howled at the poseur and nosed his swollen gray ankles. His heart was weakened by subdued rage, and his crotch was stained with urine.
White Favor whistled a lively tune, and with other moans and bays the mongrels created a magical chorus in the red pine that night. Mutiny turned and brushed her lacy ginger tail on the thick thighs of the governor.
Packs of feral mongrels circled the heart dancers and growled at the treeline, an escape distance. The bright eyes of the mongrels flashed in the red pine, ten, twenty or more mongrels in natural motion. Sardine gestured with her wet nose, and we were convinced the pack was rightly tracking their prey, the paunchy governor of the sector.
Waasese created later that night holoscenes of erotic monks with various animals above the birch and red pine near the lake, scenes from stories in the Manabosho Curiosa, an ancient and obscure manuscript published by Moby Dick. The wide circulation of the erotic monk stories, and the indisputable allegiance to the constitution were the obvious cause of his banishment. The tradition fascists were clearly aroused and outraged, of course, at the sex scenes with timber wolves and bears, and because the publisher was a constitutional loyalist, had collected and nurtured deformed aquarium fish, and earned the nickname of a great white whale. White, the ordinary name of a pigment surely made the poseurs more anxious than the giant whale of fiction by Herman Melville.
Moby Dick had nurtured deformed fish in two huge aquariums at the White Foxy Casino, conspicuously located near the center of the slot machines. The deformed fish were given names of famous explorers. Christopher Columbus shimmered with four fancy pelvic fins, and Matteo Ricci swerved to the side with huge floppy pectoral fins. Jeanne Baret, the explorer and naturalist, was a bright, sociable goldfish with five dorsal fins. The new gamers paused at the machines and watched the magical motion of contorted fish in the enormous curved tanks. The fish were exceptional, double heads and dorsal fins, triple eyes, bent spines, marbled, spotted, and hideous overbites. The tank was backlighted and hues of blue shivered through the water. The curious fish nosed the thick glass, deformed even more by the magnification, and stared at the faces of the casino losers.
Moby Dick maintained the deformed fish were the modern art of nature, the fancy of abstract expressionism, a tease and creative crease of ancestry, although the artistic expression of four eyes, or three dorsal fins in natural motion were no more grotesque that the disabled gamers with oxygen tanks on the outside of the aquariums.
Waasese projected a blue laser bear and several monks masturbating, and other monks shimmered in a natural sense of motion and embraced cottontail rabbits. A monk with wild hair touched the moist underbelly of a gentle beaver. The holoscenes overhead, visions and mirages, and the devious dance of truth on the shoreline, were followed later with an incredible incident of vengeance and death.
Godtwit Moon turned his head from side to side, and traced with his finger the scenes of erotic motion that clear autumn night at Many Point Lake. Later the poseur was slowly squished to death under the light cleated tracks of a snow machine. No one would reveal who drove the machine back and forth several times over the bloody body of the sector governor. The face was crushed, and the heavy arms of the poseur twitched in one direction of the track, and the chest wheezed in the other direction.
The elusive pack of feral mongrels moved closer to the snow machine and one by one, patched mongrels and three pedigree miniatures, nosed the mashed remains of the sector governor. Some of the mongrels moaned, others sneezed, and rolled over in the moist weeds. The Bichon Frisé and a hairy Chihuahua whined over the body, and then ran away in silence.
Many natives had imagined nasty ways to murder the sector governor, but crushed by a snow machine was never mentioned as a strategy. One storier staked the poseur overnight for the wolves, but only vultures might consider his mushy, sour flesh. Moby Dick told one of the best stories, the slow submersion of the sector governor into the casino aquarium with deformed fish. Savage Love thought his body parts should be returned in small plastic sandwich bags to La Maison de Torture Extraordinaire. Gichi Noodin moved for an ironic banquet of cured sector governor on a sacrificial stake.
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