Fuck Knows And Nietzsche

It's bird shit, says Sweezus. I hate my life.

Come on dear, it's not that bad, says Katherine. Sit down and wait for the stretcher.

Sweezus sits down on the grass with the Bristlebirds perched on his shoulders.

Those birds love you, says Katherine.

Look again, says Sweezus.

Katherine looks again at the Bristlebirds, whose eyes speak not of affection.

Shoo! says Katherine, flapping her hands at the Bristlebirds.

Mrs Bristlebird shifts one claw slightly.

Mr Bristlebird whistles a melodious tune.

I suppose I should pick up my trainers, says Katherine.

She walks over to the hollow log where her egg-and-baby smeared trainers are mellowing.

Sweezus closes his eyes to shut out reality.

But reality is in there, behind.

Gaius wants the bristlebirds... wants to teach them another language, how mental is that, latest science yeah latest science in ANTWERP, where was that café ... what was it called... yeah the kleine hedonist and arthur and pablo slow drinking, lucky buggers, and making up crap poetry about fuck knows and nietzsche......

Sweezus sits up.

Oh-yeah! Sometimes the best thing to do is shut your eyes and follow your logical thought processes.

He rips off his tee shirt in one swift movement, taking the Bristlebirds by surprise.

Now they are both swaddled up inside his stinky (but yeah, their OWN shit ) bird infested tee shirt.

Yewh! Wriggling and squawking. He ties the bottom of the tee like a compost bag corner to corner.

He ties up the sleeves. Tucks the neck in.

Katherine has been watching.

What on earth are you doing? says Katherine.

I'm doing what Arthur would do, says Sweezus.

Arthur, says Katherine, never thinks about consequences.

Yeah, well, says Sweezus. What are the consequences?

First of all, you'll be chilly, says Katherine.

Unni bursts into the clearing.

Sees Sweezus without his top on.

Babe magnet. He cleans up nicely.