The fantastical light-pawed journeys of that ""hippest of the hip"" -- Horse Badorties (only a lyric genius like Kotzwinkle can make a looney tune of ""Bad Orts"") who lives atop, within, and carries around, a ziggurat of junk and garbage. By rooting around the Horse Badorties pad, he can find things like his sink, or two shoes (unrelated), or sheet music for his Love Chorus -- made up of fifteen-year-old chicks, trained to sing the ultimate music while each holds a purring fan. As could be expected, while moving from ort to oft (the pull of each makes it even oughtto-ought) there are brief discomforts. Subway doors remove an overcoat, pinion the Horse beard and love comes to naught on collapsing boxes. Toting his hot-dog umbrella and among other things, his Chinese moon-lute, Horse scuttles through the city, and finally has his mystical vision in Van Cortland Park to prepare for his concert -- which, of course, he misses. Kotzwinkle, man, makes it ali sing, recycling the hum of the humus so that it becomes a new kind of music of the spheres, however special.