Monthly Archives: May 2019

Baby Kate

They stared at each other across the void. In the background, Tracy and Tracy try to figure out what went wrong. The patterns, the patterns!

“It’s no use,” Tracy Austin 01 desponds. “We can’t get through.”

“Go on,” the second Tracy urges, head upright. “It’s worth a second try don’t you think?”

“It worked!”

The correct reality locked in. The patterns are able to be heard now. Yippy!

“Dot dot dot,” she translates, playing her trump card. “Dot dot…”

—–

“War!” she then screams toward Mommy while bolting up.

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fantasy man

“There, there Sport,” Uncle Barnacles rattled. “Ship’s gonna come *any* day now.”

“It’s been *five years*,” his hound speaks droopingly. “I’m tired of perpetual motion.”

“There, there. Now, now.”

—–

Blackrain (old ship) will do for now. Craighead Phillips, wearing a combined option 1 and 2 look until the polling’s closed, applies facelight and heads to sea. Patterns he’ll examine today. Maybe walk on the bottom but maybe not. Bottom writing.

“So long, Unk!” he shouts back while steaming forward.

“That ship ain’t going *nowhere*,” Sport slops. “Corralled.”

“Five years,” Uncle Barnacles slips. “Any day now,” he then adds, rocking and staring while the ship also rocks in place.

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echoes

“And I have multiple options for my looks.”

“Ah hem,” she laughs liltingly. “So do I.”

—–

“If the voters choose option two,” Tracy Austin continues, “then I will look like this.”

“Better adjust the poll to reflect this,” Craighead Phillips suggests.

“Naah.”

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Craigheads

Craighead Phillips stares at a current picture of himself and wonders: Is this really the *me* me?

Because he has options.


Option 1


Option 2

Vote now! Which is *your* favorite Phillips?

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no title

It was a momentous day. August 8. Eightyeight. The day I found out Dark Side of the Rainbow couldn’t have been created by Floyd. It was instead created by…

—–

Phillips strolled into the room, interrupting my writing. Fresh from his little house in the small woods tucked away in the tiny corner of town. He bounded toward me; clung on to my leg. I hoisted him up. Stared at his little face, his little eyes. 88 lost its grip on me. I turned back toward Your Mama and Raggy and the god dog at the center of it all. Something submerged, something surfacing, submarine-like. Must get Your Mama a ham submarine when I stop by Baker next week. For she is in Baker now. Probably for good. But I diverge…

—–

Back to your little house you go (!). Now where were we?

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lit’l gray (what to do??)

It was a momentous decision.

“How did you know?”

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man cave

“You will not be able to figure it out. The Azure Sky hides truths under its many lights. This is Science. You are Art.”

“Blue Feather, please,” she corrects her girlfriend while continuing to try out new poses.

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Eightyeight

“Maybe we should both be time traveling Blue Feather Douglas in this saga.”

“Past, present, future,” Tracy Austin agrees, wondering if she should have her baby before or after the production.

—–

The poor, pitiful sob, she thinks while staring back across the circle.

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Blue Feather

He looked down on me, always smiling, always laughing.

The Man About Town Time.

—–

I must get home…

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ruff

“And the little house beyond?”

“Phillips.”

—–

The horse leads, the horse tells.

Doors opening.

A man, a woman (sort of). A shallow grave.

So close.

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