Monthly Archives: February 2018

February 3, 2018 · 2:23 pm

NEVER CONFUSE…

… someone who has a golden glove…

… with someone who merely has butterfingers.

Marion Harding woke up in the translucent green crystal tree lounge where he’d met Golden Josephine three nights before; promptly walked off the open eastern side and dropped down to the landscape far below; stared up at the tree and saw the two lights on its huge trunk next to the lounge, pinkish red and bluish green, which then faded; turned around to look at some colorful plants; then turned back around only to see the two lights reignite on the tree at the same position. He repeated this pattern several times. Yup, every time he returned his gaze to the tree, the lights were there, then diminished to nothing. *Must* mean something.

“Wake up Mr. Hardman,” urged Tonya Two Egg from the shack’s lone table where she was sitting with Arale. “Our sister Annie heard something over the ridge and has temporarily left her watch station. The time to move is now!”

“Oh,” she then said, taking another look through the ice tinged window. “Never mind. She’s already returned. You can go back to sleep, sir.”

So Marion rolled over and dreamed about the tree again. “Those lights up there,” he said to himself. “Where have I seen them before?”

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February 3, 2018 · 9:54 am

Mimosa

Tom Casey always drives fast down the road leading to the club house, because it passes through the dreaded front nine where he almost always plays bogie golf or worse. But it’s a necessary evil to prim and properly reach his beloved back nine… and the 17th hole. Had he replaced the flagpole from the last hole in one? He wasn’t sure.

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February 3, 2018 · 8:19 am

three pairs

“Wake up, Tonya Two Egg,” whispered Arale after hopping down from the top bunk. Her internal alarm had just gone off. “It’s 2:01 in the morning, sister. Time to head over to the ice fishing shack. Marion Harding will be waiting.”

Across the house…

“Your *sisters* don’t think I know all about that 2:01 in the morning trick, Annie,” murmurs actor Tom Casey, who has also just awoken and then roused his sleeping partner. “You better go follow them. Let me know what you find out.”

Annie emits a small, retaliatory grunt. But he knows she’ll follow orders.

“They’re coming out of the house now, kid. You better get ready.”

“Already on it.”

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February 2, 2018 · 7:53 am

squallor

Squall Camp Site, thought Golden Josephine. This is where it all started for Gaeta V, planned to be the first of five continents in a Gaeta super-system. Only a bit of a second actually came to fruition: the Willy Continent as some humorously term it because of its resemblance to a penis and balls.

Legendary explorer Magellan Linden‘s airship: crashed on the beach here, or at least washed up here. Parts now on the land; that long, towery thing in the water over there — undercarriage to the dirigible perhaps.

The continent as a huge, peanut shape wilderness, the land closer to shoreline liberally dotted with linden palms. A kind of mountain range in the middle, true, but not like the dramatic, spectacular ones found on the old continents — even Corsica just to the west has a much more interesting topography. Everywhere the gradual slopes tinted that oh so tiresome Gaeta Green, as she called it. You can barely tell you’re walking uphill until you reach the top.

Where has it all led to? Vast majority of the palms long gone. Civilization came. Civilization has largely left now, she thinks bitterly. This is where Our Second Lyfe bleached its face off in an attempt to start something new and different. This was the end, though, and not a beginning. Plans for a continental super-system long in the rear view mirror. Number of Second Lyfe residents decreasing year by year. Capitol City, The Tree, are not too far from being all that we have left here. Lone pit or *sinkhole* filled in and smoothed over. Pittsboro becomes Pittinger becomes Darksity becomes Capitol City. Bland and boring. You need that wacky weed to liven things up, else one could go mad. Poor Marion.

She gets up to examine the camp site itself. Various pieces of trash litter the beach, the majority of which appear to be liquor bottles. Yes, Magellan was noted for being quite the drinker. And litterer.

A teddy bear left behind as well inside the lone, remaining camp tent. Seems to, um, bear a likeness of Magellan Linden himself according to the object’s description (sorry).

Tourists showing up. Time to take my golden hinny back to The Tree.

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February 1, 2018 · 10:22 am

treed 02

“I’ve decided to be a man for this, man…”

“So I’ll be over here, then. In the shade.”

Josephine looks down at her hands, her figure. “Oh dear,” she then said, and checked her inventory. “Er, my male shape seems to have simply vanished!”

“That’s okay,” Marion said from across the patio. “Do you want me to come over there to sit or do you wish to come back over here? Your choice. I’ve learned to follow your example.”

“I’ll come back over there.” Golden Josephine was truly puzzled by the inability to transform into the opposite sex any longer. She was stuck!

“Well I must say you look simply radiant today, Ms. Josephine, ha.”

“Right.”

“So I was asking about the ring?”

Still looking down, Golden Josephine was unable to shake off her shock. “Am… I wearing the ring? Is it on me?” She held out her hand to Marion.

“Um, no,” he replied, looking at the fully golden appendage. No green upon it.

“Then where is the ring? Where did you leave it? Somewhere safe and secure, I hope.”

“It’s in my pocket. In a little ring box I found in my service station.”

“Just… found? Like it was laying there, waiting for you?”

“Er, maybe.”

“You must be careful at all times. The ring is almost priceless as you know. It has power to alter space — and time — around you. The ring *must* have changed me… changed the tree. Before I was just a golden head. Masculine. Now I’m feminine. The tree has sprouted various, colorful growth. We cannot go back. We are, as you say, treed.” She lets the statement hang in the air, then: “You better check the box. Just to be sure.”

—–

“Never mind. I *do* have it. That explains the change.” But she had somehow switched chairs with Marion, the latter nowhere to be found now.

Golden Josephine was alone again.

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February 1, 2018 · 8:41 am

treed

Marion Harding sometimes went back to Unity Pond where the breakdowns were first noted. No sign of them today, however. Maybe they went away? Doubtful, though, he then realized, taking a last toke before throwing away the remainder of his joint into the murky waters. The aberrations would return.

He had smoked enough. Time to meet Golden Joe in the tree.

—–

“Rubles. Barney Rubles,” the golden head answered to Marion Harding’s first question in his deep, ghetto voice, which was: “What do I do with the ring, the core?” Maybe he didn’t phrase it succinctly enough (even though he did). He tried again, simpler this time. “Why am I here?” Golden Joe sprouted closer to him out of the tree limb so that he could look directly into Marion’s eyes. “Let’s talk more face to face, man. Marion Man.”

—–

Golden Joe winked out again. The tree changed. Marion could feel the energy elevate all around him. He stood up to take in the panorama. Various types of different, colorful plants had sprung out of its limbs now.

Marion felt he was home. Home at last. Not the fishing shack over in Horizons-Spica. But here. He must remember this feeling later, he said to himself. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.

He walked down the limb he was on into one of the tree’s main joints. A patio appeared to his left, connected to it by a long, descending ramp. All was translucent green crystal.

Someone called. “Marion, I’m down here, bud!” Distinctly the voice of Golden Joe again, but more feminine and less Godly and booming. Matching more the full name of the, er, character, he realized: Josephine.

Lured by the summon, Marion headed downward. He’d have to also remember the blend of pot he was smoking today, a weaving he called it while improvising the mix. Good work me!

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