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TitleSkinny Legs and All
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LanguageEnglish
File Size1.4 MB
Total Pages370
Table of Contents
                            prelude
                        
Document Text Contents
Page 2

Tom Robbins

Skinny Legs & All

The Messiah will only come when he is no longer needed
—FRANZ KAFKA


IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT (AND I FEEL

FINE).
—R.E.M.

Contents
prelude
the first veil
the second veil
the third veil
the fourth veil
the fifth veil
the sixth veil
the seventh veil
about the author

Page 369

alive. There, with her eye on the ball, she would paint. She'd paint and paint and
paint. She would dedicate herself to ... well, she'd have to call it "beauty," for
want of a better word. She wouldn't be sentimental about it, or self-righteous, or
even spiritual and pure. And she wouldn't get defensive when ridiculed or
misunderstood. Beauty she would not carry like a banner, nor would she take
refuge from the world in it like a hermit in a shack. Beauty would just be her
everyday thing.

Meanwhile, there was so much to think about. All that had been revealed to
her—and to who knew how many others?—when Salome danced the Dance of
the Seven Veils. Those revelations might require her to grow in unexpected
directions. The others might similarly

grow. What effect, if any, that mutant growth might have on the culture at
large, in the earth's "Final Days," remained to be seen. Meanwhile, the garden
there in Jerusalem, the sunny patio there at the cervix of the world, was a fine
place to ponder it all.

Ellen Cherry was relaxed, calm, at peace. The roller coaster ride was over.
Those years of feeling on top of things one week, squashed by them the next,
had fallen away like the pages of a calendar. Those bizarre events that had
haunted her in New York were swiftly fading memories. From now on—she
could sense it—her existence would be stable, maybe even staunch; the life of a
relatively normal artist in which relatively normal events transpired. She sighed
like a feather pillow being fluffed by an old Norwegian maid. She took a long,
slow sip of tea.

Moments later, Boomer bolted into the garden. It didn't much look like
Boomer but it was he. He was carrying something, presenting it to her like a gift.
God, she hoped it wasn't the tail of a dead rat.

"Looky here, bagel britches!" he practically shouted. "Looky what 1 found
for you lying in the rubble on the edge of Pales Plaza. It's a spoon! A little ol'
spoon! Exactly like the one we lost in that cave that day! I mean

Page 370

about the author


Tom Robbins is the author of

and —highly original novels that have left their
mark on our culture. He lives near Seattle.

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