Blogging at Sunklands Institute while the Moon comes up.
Perch: the restaurant is still intact.
Angus Nuffin still cooks there; burns perch occasionally.
Magika Bean waits for her date.
“Hi baby doll.”
“What’s that, Spot (Spot!)? Something out in the water?”
“Better go take a look.”
“Come on, boy. Come on! (whistling: phw phw phw!). Okay, be that way scardy pants.”
“Wmpr Wmpr Wmpr.”
“Oh I’ll be all right.” [Gus] rows out to the Shallows.
“Hmmm. Nothing out here but a couple of green leaves and that green thing over there that’s been here forever. Better go get Spot to a dog doctor. He’s seeing things!”
“I *told* you the Shallows was a bad idea for a tree,” he-she whispered sideways out of his-her mouth over to she-he.
“Oh shut up, you. Sounds like he’s going away.”
Morris was very long and almost extended across this Aley designed Gilligan’s Island hammock. Morris also thought he might be green because he was seaweed. But this isn’t Morris, I realize. It’s someone else — green. C. Weed? Anyway, this, I believe, is his island.
Oh, he has a dog. And a wife. But it’s not Lou. Lou is Morris’ sister. Neither has anything to do with C. Weed or whatever his actual name is. Gus? Better get back to Lou and Morris sans C. Weed. Just noting that he exists and where his home probably is. Near Sunklands Institute; just on the other side of the Shallows with the splintered factions of Core-Alena now.
They form quite the nuclear family.
While on the continent, he had to go see if it was still there. It was: the Bridge of Entrapment.
He recreated the scene. He was beyond the fear now. Being dead and all.
Elephants across the island at the end of it. Elephants are a symbol of hope. They cannot entrap him now. He need not dwell on the past. He is free.
Neighboring Vilania and its Safe Hub is something to be holding in mind as well. We know the link to the hidden village (of Utah?): VILA. Only 2, and this is 1 of the 2. Or actually 2 of 2. A man drove an impossibly small car between the 2 last year. Actually several men, but one turned from green to red and became useless, more out-of-focus landscape all about. Utah (Utah!). Mirror Lake Highway. Kamas to Samak. And so it goes.
The couple of Rhodenwald were in the other VILA yesterday as well. Inside a Dark Mountain, the one feared by Christians there too, and perhaps rightly so. Like Hitgal’s pal Sangria. Like Uncle Zach’s nephew Domino. A black community, in constant fear of their lives. So we brought them here, or Jacob I. did, I suppose we have to clarify. With his big, 3rd eye. It was revealed under his straw chapeau and all happened. The Joint Joint became a locus of energy. And it, too, is still there, with a direct portal from NWES City, of all places. Rhino. Speaking of which…
The newest anomaly of Rhodenwald is gone as of sometime in the last 24 hours. A temporary madness.
Maybe that kind of madness will also pass for the country as a whole. But I don’t have my hopes way up.
“Uh herm, you’re showing a bit of an ankle there, New Nun.”
“No, Duncan, it’s just that I can’t hate this place. I *should*. But love is here. So much hate in the world.”
“Like the couple in the park,” Duncan Avocado in the wicker chair beside her said, referring to earlier conversation.
He looked up from the bare ankle. “And the cross?” he spoke. “And the crucifix?”
“Yes, they will always be in hand. A second life must be prepared.” She pauses again.
“*Is* this a second life, a second chance?”
“I cannot say there is not love here,” she finalized, looking across the road at yet another symbol of red hate. Dixie seems to surround this oasis of Rhodenwald, a Meat City all around. We’ll have to talk about it further.
New Nun switched from the red to the gray book in front of Big Dick’s Halfway Inn and realized something was late. Really late, like 20 years. Red across the road was warning from the past, kind of Dixie but also not.
Bullfrog saw the same thing in X City last year. Bullfrog didn’t live long after that, done in by a red hatted crazy chick in the formerly “Mild East” part of NWES City.
Speaking of which…
Later, they’re joined by New Nun and perhaps some others. “New Nun,” the male Baker declares after her arrival, “you hold the cross and the crucifix in your hand at once and thus you are valuable to this here current photo-novel, 21 in a series of 20. Wait — what number are we on now?” New Nun shrugs. Duncan Avocado answers more philosophically. “We are beyond Collagesity and the number 20. We are Sunklands through and through now, the true archive. Collagesity became too — bloated.”
“Bloated?” responds Baker, truly puzzled in the current picture.
Or was it worry.
Duncan, who cannot express facial features since he is a mesh creature, elaborates. “Your original version of a virtual village, Pietmond, was also perhaps your best, or at least best balanced. You had artists coming in from the outside and having their own galleries. Yours was only one of a number. Then the new wave of collages came for you starting in, 2013? (Baker nods). Parallel to this came the new galleries, Power Tower, Falmouth, the largest of them all, followed by the Red Umbrella followed by Boos. Before you had 100 collages in 6 series, a well rounded and contained quantity: Art 10×10 I believe you named it (Baker nods). Then another wave hit, the second — stronger and deadlier. Beware the second wave.”
Baker understood now. Before it was Kenneth Rougeau, Melodie Darwin, Mike Casey, Stegocat, Max Ernst, Baker Bloch, Julie Sadler, and others. Afterwards it was just Baker. The second wave changed it all. Forever.
The United States of Our America is definitely in some kind of Civil War now, and I’m definitely on right, but just in the picture below. I’m a card carrying leftist. How did we become so polarized and broken? We politicize *mask wearing.* *Mask* – *wearing*. Ugh. But we must carry on, divided but somehow still united, and face the true enemies head first, rising fascism disguised as anti-socialism being one. I side with Rhodenwald (right) instead of what’s across the road.
It’s why Duncan has no desire for Baker Bloch to rent from Life Properties also across the road at the old Rhode Gallery site he sits in front of here, pheh.
“Don’t you dare,” he tells him. “Don’t you bloody dare.”