Scruffrug Threads

These pages are stories of Scruffrug. Scruffrug was born a rug. One day he up and flew. This story was written on 5/14/1990 and found in 2016. It is the second part of Scruffrug Capital, here.

Scruffrug told some more today. Sweeping past Elizabeth's friend EJ's ankle, Scruffrug caught a thread on the sandal buckle. Scruffrug unraveled. It was an astounding sight. Things made nowadays are different. The weaves when Scruffrug was born were much tighter and a rug such as he, full of character, has many more kinks than you might think. The pile of threads was enormous and winding up high.

It loosed something in Scruffrug that he never dreamed existed, so he reached out for his friends for help. All the threads wrapped around Elizabeth and EJ and the vandal, so they appeared like three mummies or like the cave drawings called the spacemen. But such a wonderful unweave spacesuit. None of the glass, plastic, alloys and hard stuff. This was after all coming undone and Scruffrug merely grasped his friends by surprise.

They all went beyond the maker. (Remember Elizabeth, Scruffrug's adventures when he went back to Afghanistan to meet his maker?) Well this time he fell into a strange state. They all went to a place where thoughts are real and bodies are just imagined. It's kind of the opposite of here where bodies are real and thoughts seem to be imagined.

The first thing they noticed was that it was very rug-like, very rugland. Everything was woven together and they were not at all separate. However each was weaving more of the rug constantly. Bodies were just pictures in the weaving. The funny thing was that they appeared rather flat and lifeless, compared to the vivid encompassing beauty of the fabric of thought.

Rather like a tapestry, quilted. Worked with beads, subtle textures, variations in depths. Freed from their bodies and the 3D world of primary colors, their thoughts were vivid beyond the wildest drug-crazed vision imaginable.

Now this scoot, this little mean vandal, who likes to make a stir, fusses up those around him. He hurts so bad, he tramples his flowers. He can't stand to see them grow. They must be crumpled and everything deflated, apparently because that's how I am and I create my world. See that love bond between EJ and EG, like an elastic cobweb? I'll tear it. His thought rakes the soft visible love stuff.

But thought laws are different than physical. Instead of breaking apart when violent force is applied, more threads of the fabric appear. The boy's thoughts are added to the EJ and EG thought threads. They are inextricably wound together. Yet from the boy's point of view, with no access to the genesis of the love thoughts, his pieces of it are broken and meaningless, torn and shattered. He gets what he has. And that would seem to be a black hole of badness.

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