Daily Archives: October 6, 2020

X-man

It’s time you learned the ties of TILE to the Korean Channel, young Kola.”

“Kolya, actually,” the young man, perhaps the young apprentice corrected. He turned to the red clad guy on the mat beside him at the pit fire. “Who are you, sir — really? I know you’re Santa and all but that’s just a costume, a disguise even, if you will.”

The man dressed as Santa chuckled with this, jovial in the moment. “I will call you Pepi Kola you young jokester. See, Pepi? The sacred islands spread out before you from this viewpoint. And it has a heart, a Sacred Heart.” He now looks up in the sky, channeling a trance it seems. “Pink is still with us,” he speaks after a pause, fire crackling louder before them. “And Brown… they haven’t left this plane yet.” He stares back at the sea, at the islands, at the *center*. “Resolution.”

“Well, that’s great and all — I don’t know who this Pink or this Brown is –”

The Santa man snickers again. “Oh you will, young man — young apprentice.”

“Apprentice?” Kolya questions. He has not bought into this Santa dude’s new name for him atall, but he does likewise stare toward what he’s been told are the sacred isles, looking for a heart. He is beginning to see.

—–

“Jesus that was loud!”

“I know. And it’s just starting.” The plane flies into the ship. Pink and Brown are dead after all.

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hilltoppers 01

Sally and Jack celebrate the establishment of their Phantom Hill Horse Farm only 3 week prior to Halloween by dancing amongst the breedable horses, the colorful blue mare in background also being named Sally, as it turns out. Accident?

No one else is allowed on that property or I would check further. But at least Sally will return from Phantom Hill back into the land of the living a bit later in our tales. A person or entity named Nugent might be involved, but not Ted. I don’t think.

I must tell the story of of how Sally and Jack met at a fancy dress ball sometime. That’s actually how they became the ghoulish figures you see strutting their stuff in the picture above. Costumes they are. Outfits for core avatars to wear and then discard, normally after the end of October.

Dr. Nugent Mouse looks down from his castle next door, considering how he created these 2 misfits and what went so right about something that should have gone so wrong. And I think his first name is Ted. Ted Mouse. Teddy.

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-shine

“We’ll give it another shot, baker.”

“Yes. We understand that we didn’t get to the point in Uncle Meatwad that Spongeberg the Destroyer did in photo-novel 1 where he became convinced of the alien influence.” She recites this sentence robotically, pronouncing each syllable crisply. Rehearsed. They were trying to encourage me, not discourage like last night when they sat on the couch beside me and we watched the syncs together, the 2nd half of Pretty Bunnies and then the 1st part of Uncle Meatwad, well, almost the whole 1st part (of 3). Not quite to the “Egypt” cue that convinced Spongeberg going on 5 years ago now. A long time! Yes, they were trying to help, of course; understood the small misstep as guiding spirits. They know it’s hard enough for me without any support outside my trusted circle of the wife and one or maybe two other friends. The brother wouldn’t understand for sure. And that’s *my* problem to still deal with, that whole family issue. I must make peace.

“You have to understand,” Toothpick/Filbert began again, “that *we* created (a lot of the source audio). We are not the most objective judges.” He looked at Elberta; Elberta, his now blonde bombshell of a sister-fiance, looked at him. Camping came to mind this time in their still synchronized brains, another test. “And Lynch — I know what’s on your mind — will come around too. Right Pencil?”

They all looked over, but the entity properly known as Eraserhead Man in this here blog, hand behind head, wouldn’t commit to a thumbs up or thumbs down. He remained unconvinced like them. It was his creations involved after all. Same issue.

“But the maps…” I argued. All nodded here from their respective positions around him, indicating that maps were a different thing and separate from the audiovisual synchronicities. But they weren’t. Unified Field Theory. The Diamond. Heck, The Diamond is clearly coded into Billfork for X’s sake.

The hole couldn’t be made up. The hole between the synchs and binding them together existed. Hellmouth!

“I will still fight for the importance of the Piera, the run of synchs (I explained further) between Billfork and Uncle Meatwad. The period of 2004 through 2007.”

I realized a major influence was missing. Wasn’t me. This was pre-Carrcassonnee. Maybe, maybe…

“Let’s look at the rest of Uncle Meatwad.” All agreed to this as well.

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zeppelin tube

The stage is set for Toothpick and Elberta’s “Beech vacation”, a test run. Mr. Z and Mrs. M won’t like it but the wedding has been slightly postponed. Trouble is, Toothpick (and Elberta) aren’t even sure now, when checking, that Munday is actually a day: seems to be a mash-up of real days Sunday and Monday, borrowing letters from each. If so, that would mean there are actually 7 Happy Days already instead of 6, which throws everything off, and also explains, it seems, why olive colored alien Carrcassonnee can’t become fully alive at the Temple of TILE. Because the non-olive eye is the 7th (prim), Tin and Gold both. Self. POLK. “I need my voice!” she says inside. 6 + 1.

—–

“Budweiser casserole’s ready, dear.” Toothpick didn’t budge. He wasn’t even sure which was which. He was both on the couch and announcing that dinner is served. He had on coveralls but he also didn’t. This wasn’t working. 7 had been reduced to 6 and the 1 was missing. And that 1 was him. Zeroed out. Time for Newtonia Cashcow, aka Tracy Austin, to step in, 88s accompanying her as usual.

I, as the Man About Time, decide to meet her at Axis’ coffee shop in the heart of the city as we’d done before but find it closed. Newtonia then invites him, me, over to her apt. for coffee. He watches tv while she changes upstairs into something more comfortable — “less period,” she puts it — but I know this doesn’t involve romantic advances because we’re related. Brother and sister as well?

Hmm. He’s (I’ve) seen this video before. But where? Fuzziness consumes again. I decide to get rid of the I. He’s been asleep for an indefinite time when she arrives back downstairs, offers him some hot Sumatra. “Rats!” she exclaims. Forgot the sugar. She goes upstairs again. She’s trying to be funny. It’s working! After putting lumps in my java she calls me Willard and asks how my gang is doing and if we’re still working on all those map things. I jump back in the picture and say, “yes,” because she just alluded to them. She asks about the mouth of hell and the cave between two synchs and the hole in the cave and why it leads to the center of the Earth where gravity becomes comedy. We talk about a lot of things and I know what she says because we sort of speak a common language. I realize, at the heart of things, she’s just as much in on this communication as Toothpick/Filbert. I needed to talk to the female half for a while, for a post or two or close enough. Grahams. I ask about the Grahams and she produces two, one cracker each. She puts on some Crosby, Adler, Fraud and Young. Spoken book, each taking turns explaining their theories of psychoanalysis with the first and last also involving music. “That is one river of words,” she says when they finished, wiping off the extra sugar from her lap in preparation for the next act. “Like the Mississippi and Amazon. 12 tiles each.” She moves atop her chair and starts to scratch herself like a Monkee for all to observe. I decided to put an end to it for tonight. More soon.

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