He exited the stylist with a haircut so bad that Google Street View decided to blur it out. Which gets to Spongeberg’s next point…
“Minoa was like a bad haircut in that the stylist had to go, the designer. So I moved you to Fordham up on the beige ridge above us, placed you in a corner there. Eventually this led to Eddy in the current photo-novel, child of Hermon who is also a monster created by another, the CREATOR in this case. Stylist is another word.”
“Snip snip here, snip snip there,” I said to this, thinking of a lion. Thinking of *the* Lion. Gurdjieffian.
I am the stylist he speaks of, I knew by now.
“What couldn’t you fix about your creation, Wheeler? The hair. That jagged, ragged black awful hair.”
“I tried. I really did.”
“By making his face your own. Like staring into a pool of water.”
“Right. But he changed, became independent of me. Through New York.”
“Through *Black Lake,* New York. Old Gregg.”
“I guess,” I answered, thinking of another bad haircut.
“Eddy might be different,” Spongeberg continued. “So also says New York. 2 Coopers as it turned out.”
“Me as Shelley,” I noted. The red haired version, just to mix things up.
And so we’ve come back to the second…
… which is actually the first.
Spongeberg hee-hawed about it and then took his leave from us, also ending this section.
Sunklands 