An awesome person got on The Kandinsky yesterday. She stood in the middle of the woods, a wheelie suitcase by her side, a printed ticket in her hand. She is a definite interview candidate for the future.
A printed ticket. In the forest.
At the moment the vessel is like a thin snake covered in fleshy tendrils. We pick our way through the trees, and though we carry over two hundred people, we are yet to break a single branch.
There won’t be any trips outside for a while. You can get lost out here by taking five steps to the left. An experienced Nadadian will float above the tree line, or build themselves a hut made of marshmallows for the night. At this stage I am happy staring out of the window, watching the monsters go by.
What I am about to explain sound depressing, or even cruel. But like the lions in Lozowick, this is nothing worse than punching someone in a dream. Not my words, but a description created by one of the other passengers, and one I will continue to use.
Nadadians are always imagining things. In places like Lozowick, that is a great thing, and has built the greatest city this side of the Earth. But there are plenty of ideas that are of no use, but still pop into existence. You cannot get rid of them. That would be cruel.
Over time the residents these strange ideas into the forest, like a form of metaphysical fly tipping. This means the Wood of Arp is full of creatures that do not belong anywhere. They have not appeared through design or evolution, or even through creation. These are the afterthoughts of dreams.
Every metre we travel is a chance to see life unavailable anywhere else. Something walked past today that was like a praying mantis with white fur dripping off spindly legs and around bulbous eyes. Earlier the shadow of a man sketched out in coloured chalk walked past.
My favourite so far was a waterfall, not dramatic in either size or shape. An announcement from the captain told us to keep looking. Soon whole arms pushed out of the water, waving to us, then pointing to the right. Near the pool were words in the wildflowers, telling us to keep going.
We carry on, past animals that should never have existed, and in many ways still don't.
Photo by Nicola Guenigault