This is not good, not in the slightest, the Queen is getting up in arms and the knights of her hunt are glaring at me from the edge of the gate where they sit, poised to launch in my direction and have at me with their dastardly terms and deadly penetrating spears of wit. The hunt is getting itself worked up into a tizzy, the rade has put dropped anchor and the entire population is diffusing into the mountains and hills, early this year but eager for the show I have been preparing, they want to see their brethren debut to the world in all their glorious fashions, scenes and prepared skits for dissemination to this mortal population, a coming out that will shake the very foundations of humankind’s belief systems. They are, in short, both nervous and excited, nervous because they worry about human reaction. Excitement because it has been a good long while since they glamoured a human into being the mortal recipient of their attention to details and their strict adherence to the rules…to which I, a weary publican, Mr W Rabbitt to those who care, must endeavour to present the best possible face I can create, to the world at large, the arrival of the realization that magic is real and we are not the only intelligence on our planet earth, that we may be the interlopers here. A rock troll told me yesterday that it is they to whom this world was constructed and they like the grass and the trees in much the same way a teenager spends all their time on clothes, it is a look they spent a long time cultivating, one they do not appreciate humankind shaving at such alarming rates as the clear cutting surrounding the amphitheatre that makes up the zone in which our story competition is being told, at the market tavern, located on a crossroads of the paths of the dead, on the highway on top of the world, at the bleeding edge of reality, where stories are real and bartered as currency which does not go very far to paying the electricity, which is ramping up quite quickly, possibly due to the little fellas who look like lightning bolts of energy who have been feeding at my outlets since they arrived.
The stories are coming along, but am afraid they may not make it, beyond a couple of poems and shorts from early days of practicing, will endeavour to do my best, the photography tells my tale anyways, stick to it and do not worry, this is all going to work out just like one of those fairytales you keep imagining, the ones with the happy endings. Happy endings all around, the world could use something nice happening for a change and a contest between the fey and a rabbit Pretending to be a human, may just be the panacea we all are looking for. Of course, this requires an awful lot of luck in the marketing department…that’s okay the twins are up soon to tell their tale and they always have two minds of everything, opposites in complementary fashion the gestalt principle given anthropomorphic representation.