Monthly Archives: February 2018

February 10, 2018 · 7:02 am

beamers

When it got dark enough, Tonya Two Egg’s two egg shaped eyes “turned on”. She’d had this ability since infancy, according to family members. It also gave her special vision to see things that weren’t *quite* there in reality but actually really were still.

Like Marion here, crashed out on top of the couch formerly occupied by Harry.  Uncle Harry he insisted she call him at the end of their conversation, which was refused by the wise child. Just because he was one of a *number* of suitors strung along by her 18 year old sister Anorexia — Annie — doesn’t give him that privilege. She had only one uncle she knew of: Dick. And he had moved away when she was 8 to distant Mimosa (so they said), several years after Arale had been constructed. And not too long after the mysterious disappearance of her parents. Couldn’t be coincidence, she had concluded while pondering the odd conjunction down through the years now. Dick must have known the whereabouts of Ruth and Benjamin. And then there was also James and Fuschia, Billy and Donovan, Jackie and Ona. And the strangely cool yet confusing Sis brothers. All flesh and blood family members. All gobbled up by an unknown force between the times of June 2010 and October 2013, she’d decided. She even had a name for it now: JERRY. All caps. Tonya Two Egg was bound and determined to uncover the nature of this, in her eyes, malefic entity.

13 Annie was at the time. *Just* old enough to act as their legal guardian under Horizons laws of the day. Upheld during a 2015 hearing involving 23 such guardians under the age of 18 — grandfathering in the old law the judge had called it. And now she herself would be 13 in 2 weeks, old enough to be on her own according to the same exemption. And Arale too — they could move. She was already secretly scouting out locations away from the prying eyes of her older sister. The ice fishing shack near their house acted as a dream portal.

Arale was so excited for her sister… was planning a big birthday ta-do, which Tonya Two Egg had discouraged but also had become resigned to participate in. Cousin Rufus was flying in from Mobile, Alabama. Ted and Jemima from Jacksonville City. Bob and Wanda — little Utah village of Indiana County in Pennsylvania. Never mind that these were more robots created by her own robot, and that, outside of Annie, no one knew the whereabouts of any of her real family. Mechanoids were her true kindred spirits now. Tonya Two Egg has even pondered that she herself may be a very well made robot sent back to our present from the future.

And this turns out to be spot-on truth.

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February 9, 2018 · 8:15 am

Wastelands

Marion Harding sees those red and greenish lights above him again, but in a different location.

And he’s wasted as hell from the pot recently purchased from drug lord Santa God at The Octopus Ink.

“Who *are* you guys??”

“So we need to talk, Harry,” spoke Tonya Two Egg to the bleached face man sitting across from her. “About Annie. About a lot of stuff.”

“It’s not safe here,” he replied, then glances over at the giant bong to his right.


But no one was there.

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February 9, 2018 · 6:26 am

Collagewold

The sim changes the man in this case. Or makes a boy into a man, as it were.

And not being 13 certainly had its advantages.

—–

“I wonder what’s behind the starred man on the striped couch?” asks Hucka Doobie about the most recently hung Bodega Gallery collage, killing some time while waiting for The Table meeting to start over at the Blue Feather.

From behind, thought-to-be friend Tammy Whatammy then pushes the bee person *into this collage*…

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February 8, 2018 · 9:41 am

illusions

“You’re not suppose to be looking in that direction,” scolds Arale to her sister perched on top of the Bluebird Cuddle Van. “We’re not suppose to know about such things.”

“I’m not. I’m looking over there. At the sunset.”

“The *water tower* is blocking your view of the sunset. Why do you care anyway? We’ll never have such monstrosities attached to our bodies.”

“Well… *you* won’t. You’re a robot.”

“Hey. Watch with the bad mouthing.”

“Well, you are. I built you when I was 6.”

“No you didn’t. I’m a child just like you.”

“But you never grow older. Do you?”

“No.”

“Then that’s usual, wouldn’t you say? How many inches have I grown since we’ve known each other?”

“17.3859.” Arale became aware that she is acting too robotic and backtracks here. “Approximately,” she tacks on, although she knows the figure is correct.”

“Alright, alright,” relents Tonya Two Egg. “You’re my sister. Flesh and bones.” She jumps off the van and hugs Arale tightly — suggestions of the metal parts within but not so much as to break the illusion. It was a top of the line kit, she remembered. The last present her real parents would ever give her.

They often used the vacated house formerly owned by their Uncle Dick as a base for exploring Mt. Tom, like today. “Sunset is over, my blood sister,” spoke Tonya Two Egg. “Time to go see what Harry is up to.”

“61.58…” Arale said, then realized she was unblurring the boundaries again. “… 34”, she couldn’t help adding on several seconds later to complete the calculation, though.

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February 7, 2018 · 8:10 am

transference

Mr. Babyface had fallen asleep again studying the Big E on the top floor of his Collagesity apartment. Awoken by a large thud, he quickly turned over while remaining in his sprawled position and peered into the higher stories of the Kidd Tower — the same view he was looking at when he dozed off.

Everything as before, pheh, he thinks. Depictions of the Jeogeot Gulf sims representing the letters A-L on the east side and O-Z to the west remained intact. The missing M and N at the top: MaN. What it all spelled out, he realized, was another boring day in Collagesity for The Face (himself). But what about the thud?

Then in sitting up and turning around from the table, Mr. Babyface saw something totally unexpected. He jumped out of his chair. A familiar Middletown skyscraper loomed just beyond his window!

“Holy Jesus!” he exclaimed, toking rapidly on his still lit pipe. “The Kidd really did it this time. The tower is truly and fully *there*. But there is here!” And he knew this meant the The Kidd would in all likelihood be sitting in her beige chair on the floor below his apartment, in what use to be Greg Ogden’s spot. But maybe Greg has returned too. He better get down there posthaste.

—–

200 feet above all this, Tronesisia heads to the top-of-the-line Italian refrigerator to retrieve another of those strong German beers (Brewmeister’s Quarterly).

But in glancing outside the window to her right, she saw the tower too! All the old, repressed memories came flooding back with the sight: Pitch and Buster’s killing shack across the tracks; Bendy heading to Muff-Bermingham in the Collagesity rocket Karoz built and her attempts to follow him; Mary’s pregnancy with George. And she’d been wasting all her time wallowing in the idiotic glories of war! Axis and Allies, phmph. There never was a war, she realized. She had been sleepwalking all along.

Fully awake now, she locates the red phone hidden behind the bed that would connect her directly with Baker Bloch. She remembered that piece of the puzzle too. “Call me when the transference happens,” he said while handing it to her over 2 months back. “You won’t remember me again until then. Nor I you. Good luck!”

—–

The phone rings in Baker Bloch’s back pocket. “Excuse me, everyone,” he says, turning slightly red. He never seems to get calls any more and simply forgot to turn it off before The Table meeting. “I’ll just take this over to Perch…”

Tin S. Man smiles broadly as Baker walks past, and Wheeler catches it. “What are you up to giant?” she queries, scrutinizing him. “Besides the 20 foot mark, I mean. Why hasn’t Hucka Doobie shown up yet?”

In thinking how the sentence “Why hasn’t Hucka Doobie shown up yet?” translates to German, Wheeler then realizes who must be on the phone.

“Hallo?”

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February 6, 2018 · 7:53 am

beginning

—–

“Well, okay we’re still waiting for Hucka Doobie to show up. Let’s just read some of Baker Bloch’s — Baker *B*’s writing at the time.” Wheeler Wilson starts reading from the screen. “‘Continue to view Pumpkin Twisters at least once a day, usually twice a day.’ — this was before you adopted the compound word title, hmm –.”

“I guess so,” Baker Bloch replies from across The Table. “My user, you mean.”

“‘Very addictive,'” she continues quoting, “‘but this is the pattern for all my synchs. After a week or three, I’ll get tired of this constant viewing and move on to another project. But right now I’m still dominated by PT’. Um… ‘Keep thinking about how I can continue to further the field, new movies to try, new albums, new techniques and tricks of tiling a synch, theorizing about the process of tiling itself and expansion into other hypothetical synchy arts.’ So that’s the beginning, Baker… guys. Should I just spot-read more ‘Pumpkintwisters’ related stuff in ‘Apple’, Baker?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s see, then just down the page: ‘The only synch where 2 movies, not 1, is used, is Pumpkin Twisters, definitely a unique quality for it. This actually also occurs in Kansas City Life, a direct predecessor of sorts for PT, but I consider this earlier synch to be a more minor work than all others listed here.'” She looks over at Baker Bloch. “Do you want to explain ‘Kansas City Life’ to the group, then?”

“Not really… go on…”

“Okay.” Wheeler Wilson scrolls down. “Lot’s of stuff about *other* synchs here…” She continues to scroll. “All right: ‘I’ve talked quite a bit about the structure of my finds so far, but one could go much further in this. I’ve only talked about it in terms of tiles and tiling. It would be interesting, for example, to study the perceived *centers* of synchs. For Pumpkin Twisters, to give an example, the obvious center is the selection from the secondary movie 200 Motels, overlapped with 2 tracks from the Kinks’ Preservation Act 2, and this is also the place where the synch is most obviously [quote unquote] “synchy”, or, in other words, there is an obvious match or synchronization going on here. The center of Billfork is the ark scenes and the aforementioned — in the last post — heavy *video* editing in this center…'” Here Wheeler Wilson stops and turns away from the media feed. “Ahh, I think we’ve read enough of your old writing, Baker Bloch. Time for the new. Are you ready Tin S. Man?” She takes her customary seat at The Table.

“Ready, Wheeler Wilson,” the gentle giant replies. He has become his much larger self since returning to Collagesity from Gaeta V. Glad he was about leaving that bland land. But Wheeler insisted mistress Tronesisia had to remain behind. Soon enough they would reunite, he knew. Very soon.

“We’ll give Hucka Doobie about 5 minutes more, then.”

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February 6, 2018 · 5:51 am

Clemscott

“The more I look at Greenup 03, Broken Heart, the more I think it is about Spica just above the celestial equator turning into Vega and igniting brighter in the process, like, um, an ant being burned by a magnifying glass. Tonya Two Egg — the close Spica binary star — is stuck like unto a frying pan in the Horizons-Spica sim which is actually the Horizons-Vega sim, unable to remove herself from intense scrutiny. The ice fishing shack is a time and space portal. Can she reach all the way back to VHC City and heal the wound?”

But Broken Heart is instead staring toward Greenup 02 on the opposite wall, thinking:  This is you, Jacob I. my friend, my comrade. Prince Martin. Will you be able to heal *yourself*?

—–

“All the dreams reaffirm the same location and the same needed action, Mary,” Pitch speaks from the viewing platform after parking the freshly stolen orange beetle at the appropriate spot down below.

“It all makes sense now: apple, orange, yellow fruit — banana…

… and then the giant lime on Merlin’s Mound — thank you Wheeler Wilson!”

“You’re welcome!”

“This is clearly ‘Floydada’, the start of ‘Pumpkintwisters’ analysis.”

“Nifty,” Mary replies while beginning to eat a peach.

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February 5, 2018 · 8:20 am

Octopi

—–

“They’ve been out there a long time, Golden Joe. I wonder if the deal will go through?”

“Have you ever thought about traveling to the center of the sun, Marion,” she deviated in her deep, metallic voice. “It’s actually quite nice.”

“I remember Philip mentioning that concept once. Philip something.”

—–

“Alright, I won’t split hairs any more, Cooper. We’re both tired; 50,000 lindens it is. Now spill your contents on the table here and let’s count it out.”

“Okay.”

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February 5, 2018 · 7:59 am

Group picture: “The Great 3-n-1”


Left to right: Santa God, Melvin, Halloween Jack (Forest Retreat, Clemscott 2018/2/5)

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February 4, 2018 · 9:11 am

gift

“They just sat there. In that shack. Daring me to approach with that blasted *poodle* in plain view. You know how I hate poodles. Such an ugly dog now with its hair all trimmed in the wrong places to make it… make it look like a demented toy.” On the stool, she crossed her legs and folded her arms while uttering a grunt of disgust, foot vibrating rapidly.

“Now, now Annie,” actor Tom Casey soothed from the couch. “I have something that I’m sure will cheer you right up. You’re always complaining about how I never gave you anything.”

“All I asked for is a ring. *The* ring.”

“Well, you know I can’t do that right now love. But I got the next best thing for you. A *bug*. Right outside the door. I’ve been keeping it over at the club to surprise you.” He waved his hand toward the front of the house. “Let’s go look.”

“It’s got spider webs all over it,” she continued complaining, unimpressed with the auto parked outside. “And it’s orange; you know I hate orange.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried washing the webs off to no avail; they just keep coming back. I would assume the same with the paint. But you know what this means?” he asks, still unconcerned about her indifference. He knew it would spin around.

“Halloween came early this year?” she replied sarcastically.

“No. It means you don’t have to sit at The Table and talk ‘Pumpkintwisters.’ There’s no way The Eye and The Cat can properly reach it now.

“Oh,” she reconsidered.

“I stole it right from under their nose. In the center of Collagesity.” His smiling white teeth contrasted sharply with his tan face now.

“Yes,” she said, face also beginning to beam. “Yes that *is* good news.” She threw her thin arms around the muscular Casey and planted a big, wet one on his cheek. She’d lost her ruby slippers and rainbow halo but at least she wouldn’t have to revert to being a Zappa groupie again, with all that old baggage resurfacing. Relief!

“Thank you,” she said, tears now running down her face and ruining her mascara. Still smiling too brightly, Tom Casey dramatically handed her his freshly laundered handkerchief with the 24 karat gold “TC” monogram.

Always aware of the camera, this one is.

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