Mother Of Art : Part 1, The Yellow Cow Of Buckaroo Hill

This is the story of Mother Of Art: Milk it!.

The cast : 3 main characters

1) Moomoo, the junkie yellowbelly cow


2) Zapp, the notacat a.k.a cat-erpillar freak


3) Mr. Hu, the angry metalbot a.k.a tinhead


The Story : 3 different misfits of the new world searching for the meaning of LiFe, finding clues, finding themselves and at last finding the Mother Of Art.

Chapter 1:The Yellow Cow Of Bukaroo Hill

Moomoo sits on his favorite spot, the rock on top of Bukaroo Hill over facing Lake Hitaru. As he puffing away his fix, his eyes gazed at the evening sun which beginning to sets in. At times like this all the other cows have disappeared back to the farm. Everyone is ready to buck up for the day and settling in the house. Getting ready for tomorrow. But not for Moomoo.

The sky seems rosy and the reflection on the lake is much darker with glitters of light like the stars on dark nights. Moomoo takes the last puff of his joint. Lying on his back now with his eyes closed, flashes of lights playing in his mind. Flying, twisting, swirling and mesmerizing like beautiful colorful butterflies and angels in the skies. Moomoo smiles. Eyes still closed.

Now, music is playing in the background of his mind. Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Chile’ grooving and moving his soul. Dancers seem to appear now, swaying and turning their heads to the sound of the guitar god captivating tune. Moomoo is lost in the moment with himself for now. Trapped in his head. Far away from Bukaroo Hill and the sky above. Far away in another galaxy of his own. He is free.

Time does not exist in his mind in this moment. Drifting in his ocean of dreams floating like a boat without a sail or any particular navigation. The drug steers his mind aimlessly. The course plot from a rainbow garden to castle made of clouds to a majestic waterfall of milk. Moomoo rejuvenates. Moomoo felt alive.

His eyes opened. He feels tiny drops of water hitting his face and body rapidly. It was not the milk from the waterfall. There is no rainbow skies or castle in the clouds. It is raining and the night is pitch black. The music stops. The dancers are gone. “Time to run for cover!” Moomoo thought. He gets up and hurrily make his way down the hill and to a shed. And all along the way down talking to himself,” I’m running away all my life. Where to? Where to? For who?”

Sitting in the old shed, Moomoo waits for the rain to stop. Back to reality. Dark and noisy. Looking outside the shed, he could see nothing. Just black. “Plain black, just like my plain life!” he sigh. He pulled out the cigarette box. “Damn it!” he blurted out. It’s empty. Finished. No escaping the cold night and the cold reality. Moomoo awaits the sun to rise and shine on the footstep of Bukaroo Hill and in his pretty repulsive world called life.

The rain did not stop. The rain does not wash away the sadness. Listening close, the rain seems to hum a sad melody. Only frogs would enjoy this tune. Only the frogs would dance to the tune. Not Moomoo. Never. He still could not see or hear the beauty of the dropping rain. The peace that the night brings. The comfort that the cold dark night offers. The pain of his life blinds Moomoo. He is crippled by the sadness. So paralyzed his emotions could not move. Numb mind and bitter hearted. Nevertheless, Moomoo awaits the sun alone in the shed.