Monthly Archives: May 2021

May 21, 2021 · 1:37 am

00260403

Duncan sometimes sits down there staring at those tulips well into the evening. He’s looking for something that isn’t there. *I* can’t even see the tulips at least from this angle, thinks George here, stomach rumbling from lack of food. 1/2 past six. Looks like spaghetti-o’s again. He moves to the kitchen to prepare the water.

—–

Couple more well placed toy avatars and we’re outta here, he contemplates while still staring deeply, gazing even. He pulls out a fish taco from his sweater he brought for a snack, but before he could take the first bite he remembered the boy.

“George,” he exclaimed. “*Dinner*”. He throws the fish taco in the tulips for the rats and heads home, going over apology after apology in his head. But George was use to it.

(to be continued)

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May 21, 2021 · 1:36 am

you can’t occupy a fort if someone already lives there

India: You have just begun to understand The Fortress. Do you understand?

Me: Yes.

India: But do you *really* understand.

Me: Um. No. No?

India: Yes.

—–

I knew that India lived at the Fortress, who was both Asian and American. NO Fused with a man. NO I picked up the negative voice. YES Snake, hissing of summer? MAYBE Ah… closer. Close.

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May 21, 2021 · 1:36 am

menstrual show

“I don’t think Marty has any right to judge art from my town, Buster. *My* opinion.”

“You are right,” Buster replied. Better get to a picture of ’em.

“I went to the Fortress today, Buster,” Duncan Avocado confessed to his boss, the Pot-D Deputy Assistant Sub Vice-Chancellor for Internal External Affairs.

“I know, Duncan.” He nods toward the tracking skeleton heart medallion hung around his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Duncan replies, fondling it. “Forgot.”

“The Fortress is not for you.” Sterner now. “It is for someone else.”

“I know: Hidi.”

“Well… *whoever* it is, and you don’t need to know that yet.”

“What about… Jerry Lind, the Asian Indian–”

“We know about him as well. And he’s both American and Asian: a mix.”

Duncan thought of the red complexion and understood. “They were headed to the Fortress.”

“I said I don’t…” He blows out a tiny puff of air from his small vampire body, trying to calm down. “Just show me the new Willendorf.” He was ready to blow this joint, his regular hangout beside the railroads. Still red hot and angry “policewoman” Angelina Dickenson lives just down the tracks, but in a different sim. He’s safe here, he considers again. But he remains trapped overall in the southern part of VHC City. Best he and Betty move somewhere else. If only Nautilus’ version of Collagesity were a bit bigger, had a few more shops for the wife to frequent. But alas: not so. Baker had decided on a regular 8192 parcel and that wasn’t enough for extras like that: only what he deemed so-called *historic* buildings, like the Blue Feather, like the Temple of TILE, like Fal Mouth Moon and the Castle and a couple of other ones. Not enough.

—–

Quickly they were in the gallery Duncan im’ed Buster about earlier, staring at the new Willendorf. Skyscrapers loomed above them. This was Middletown obviously, Duncan opined to Buster. Buster wasn’t sure. A gallery from the *future*? But it had happened once before and very recently. What can of soup had Marty opened up with his TWO TO KNOW project with Roger? Will traces of Middletown keep showing up and showing up until it’s finally *here*? he pondered correctly, knowing more that he knew at the time of the month.

Duncan closed his diary and stared at the tulips. So close.

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May 20, 2021 · 9:41 am

behind again

“In-tro-DUC-innnnnnng…”

Wheeler/Hidi stared at the drugs on the table and realized it was just money. Constraints of time, power, and that other thing they don’t talk about much any more, not after Kolya. Damaged goods he was. She must not touch, she says once again in her mind to reinforce. There was a 2 shaped hole in his head where the rain gets in. Marty knows; Marty may have even created. “Fiftysix,” she says aloud to know one. “They had to stop at fiftysix.”

Duncan returns from the bar with 2 drinks. Duncan said he’d never ever come back to this town, this Eveningwood that would one day become so central to Our Second Lyfe that they decided to rename it Middle: Middletown, a basically endless megalopolis that one could get lost in forever. Fractal. You have to find a path through it or else, doomed. Duncan knew this. Duncan had a path; he had almost worked out all the details. Labeling will begin soon. He knows that The Fortress is at the end, but he doesn’t know what’s inside. It all terminates at The Fortress.

Hidi has her drink. Duncan sits down with his. They have more to talk about tonight besides Middletown, fiftysix, Kolya.

“Who’s going to come through the black curtains, Duncan,” she spoke after a couple of sips of her whiskey on the rocks. “I thought it would be you.” She looks over at his blackness and sees it is good. He looks over at her whiteness: also good.

“Well, I thought it was going to be you, obviously. But you were already here when I arrived, sitting on that couch.”

“And you at the bar.” She ponders further, as she hears the metallic sound of a gate opening. A red complexioned Asian Indian then comes through the curtains, beckoning them to follow. At the beginning of a tunnel just behind, he then tells Duncan he must go back, his path through the beginnings of Middletown at least temporarily blocked.

He returns alone from the bars to whence he came.

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May 19, 2021 · 5:55 am

time barrier (morning to evening)

“These are powerful people,” spoke Buster in my head. “They control *portals*. Portals between realities. And once you cross the line you may not know which is which.” Wise words from a small vampire man, still living in VHC City near Duncan for all I know. Still frequenting that bakery where Duncan was inducted into Pot-D, until the cursed, bloody Yelloo sun comes up at least. Give him the light and dark side of the moon any time. Give him money procured from criminal actions deep in darkness and shadows. Give him… well, we’ll leave out the third. In fact we’ll chuck the whole dark triad, for Buster Damm is now full of light and goodness, thanks to the blood transfusions combined with the positive energy of Pot-D itself. Yes, the story of our small vampire friend, best buddies with fellow and much larger (or regularly shaped) vampire Pitch Darkly, will have a happy ending. He has his wife Betty now, who can appear tiny, like him, but also larger — to allow the couple freedom to move about in the world of regular joes and josettes — are also born again TILISTS. They’d studied the sinks of Maebaleia and other continents extensively. They’re convinced of the 3d hyperspin of Maebaliea and Jeogeot separate from the rest of Their Second Lyves to create the sinks in the first place. And above and beyond this, roosting on it like a demented OWL… but I’ve said too much here. ROOST is key.

—–

What did Duncan see on the other side of the 300? He observed the observer, almost hidden in a small wood of trees behind a barrel here.

He had dominion over his compact, changeable kingdom-queendom at 200 E Locust, he and his wife. But the wife also observes, 2 1/2 years in the past, an overturned chair on a porch just to the west. The lawn deer’s baby has moved back into its womb. Stars appear.


May 2018


Dec 2015

And a blue sphere moves from one side of a small garden space to the other to emphasize its importance. I think we know what *this* means.

Better shot of the observer.

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May 18, 2021 · 8:53 am

knowing your place

“Well I must say that was certainly an interesting game of pool we just played (!). How’s your, aherm, back doing Marty?”

“Fine, fine. Just need to stretch it out.” Marty had never tried something like this. “How’s your beer holding out?” he says, turning. “Smoking and drinking at once, I see?”

“Yeah.” He looks over at the dizzying megalopolis outside the skybox window. “Middletown, pheh. Who knew it was going to grow so big.”

“Yes, we’re on the edge all right…”

“Of something *big*”

Duncan looks on, unseen and unamused. “You choose the medium you have,” he can hear Buster in his head, clear as rain, “and you have the medium you choose. Roger and Marty aren’t *lovers* per se. It’s all symbolic past the clue.”

“Fiftysix,” Duncan says aloud for no one to hear. “Paul’s switch.”

Better get back and prepare food for George, he realized, looking at the time.

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May 17, 2021 · 9:51 am

00260314

Duncan *knows* about this art, Marty thought while staring at the Eve guided by the snake instead of the God. He believes he sees her inner parts and looks away at something else more in the distance. A man eating brains out of a skull — still disturbing but less so.

Roger Pine Ridge walks into the door. Marty remembers the deal: 57. Or was it 56? Maybe it’s the last number that counts, the 7 and the 6. Throw ’em in a cup, rattle them around, see what comes out. Quantum state; Black Hole, even. He beams at Roger, knowing he has the upper hand again. Yelloo.

“Let’s go,” Roger requests, eager to get out of this place full of “artists”.

But first: “Nothing in the library about Roost or the Roost Never Sleeps attached castle.”

“Have you tried *Rust*? As in Neil Young?” Marty’s hand switches from upper to lower and Roger is in charge. “Let’s go,” he says again, not taking no for an answer. “NOW”.

“‘Kay,” is all Marty could weakly manage in acquiescing.

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May 17, 2021 · 9:09 am

even oddballs

“Maybe *this* is what I need in NWES City. A Penny Lane style magic shop. Or mystic shop. Whaddaya say, Marty?”

“Roger. We’re here to talk about my death. Right over there.” Marty points to the chair at the window where he was stabbed in the heart and bled out only the night before in this central Eveningwood location. So central, so *middle*. In the future if not now, the town will be called that because of its sensual nature. Middletown, with any sign of Eveningwood swept away as in a raging fire or something. But for now the signs remain. Clues and signs.

“You *know* why we’re here Roger. Evening out.”

“Right: takes two to know. What, er, does the book say? About the spell. Can you reverse (the murder)?”

“It says: look in the beech grove for the answers you seek. Marg will be waiting.” Marty looks up at Roger. “Marg? Like in the game? I *killed* Marg.”

“No,” corrected Roger Pine Ridge opposite him at the fortune teller’s table. “You said Marg killed everyone else, including the ragamuffin — I think.”

“That’s not true.” Marty puts hand to chin in thinking mode. He tries to remember the order of things. Marg bludgeons Homer with her purse, then, yes, *kills* Boss Burns, then Willy comes up, steals the purse, and goes on his own murderous rampage. Marty puts down the book. “We’re looking for a man named Willy, then. He may go by Willard.”

“George?” spoke Roger back, knowing the name.

—-

With this, they head back to the Blue Feather in Collagesity to study the table in preparation for future actions.

“We’ve left Merry Gouldbusk, Eraserhead Man, Barry De Boy back in the dust. Looming ahead are both Sandy Beech and Buster Damm at 58.”

“Duncan will never allow us to reach Buster together. We’ll have to stop before that. Don’t want to anger him! No telling what powers he has now. He’s at least 2 nights ahead of us in the search.”

“For… Yelloo.”

“Exactly Mr. Roger Pine Ridge, my fellow 54.”

“For now.”

“Let’s agree, then, to stop at 57.”

“Make it 56,” Roger urged, knowing a bit more in this area. They bickered on it. They settled on it. [Delete number] it is.

(to be continued)

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May 17, 2021 · 7:21 am

having a hoot

“Look out below! Coming down,” he continued while sliding.

“Made it I see,” Marty greeted him nonchalantly. “My new personal shadow.”

Roger Pine Ridge walked over. “Whatchadoing?”

Marty has wife Marg bludgeon Homer with a weighted purse to begin, then answers. “Trying, ahem (death of Boss Burns now with purse), to figure out the clue Duncan Avocado got from this game.”

“Duncan *who*?”

“Avocado.” Marty has Willy walk up to Marg and belch in her face, then steal her deadly purse and kill Mo the bartender with it. Quick as a wink.

“Well I say. Listen, how much longer are you going to be here? In this, er, *firehouse*?”

“I am the fireman,” Marty states plainly. “As long as I wish — this is my project.” Death to Principle Poop now.

“O-kay.” Roger Pine Ridge tries to decide how to exit gracefully from this awkward situation. He was tailing Marty to this Eveningwood place, true, but didn’t expect him to be engrossed in anything like this, and declare it was totally a situation of his concoction and that he had everything under control. Fires rage outside! But here he was, cool and calm and collected, like it was pouring down rain all over the countryside.

“Just — gotta — find — the ragamuffin.” Many bleeping noises now. “*There*” Skateboarding Bart Smipson got run over by a doughnut truck headed to Homer’s.

—–

Roger Pine Ridge decides to wait on the roof. Everything seemed familiar. He stares out at the Eveningwood cityscape realizing there were were no raging fires and that Marty was right and he had everything under control, at least here. The light side of the moon rose over the horizon. Yes, must have been a trace of that brain damage he feared so much, the other, thought-to-be-left-behind Roger leaking in a bit.

Marty beams up, beaming. “Found it!”

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May 16, 2021 · 8:18 am

evening out 02

“Smoke?” he asked while peering through the window in the door in the Wall at himself. Marty declined, saying he’ll have a fag later.

“Strange expression over here,” Roger Pine Ridge responded to this. “Means something else in these States of Their US of America.”

“Give me Kentucky and Tennessee and throw away all the rest,” Marty joked, again weakly. If only he would do this kind of thing weekly instead of daily, hourly even. He checks the minutes of their last meeting last month. Then wife Linda had penned it down to the seconds. 17:11: talk about America; 17:32: switch to Marty weakly joking about a trip to Armenia which no one understands, no one laughs at, except Marty but only weakly as was appropriate; 17:51: rest hand because of cramp.

“I’m glad you decided to be my friend,” Roger exclaims, smoke bellowing from his mouth like a small train. “Makes it easier to meet. I send you an invite; you accept. Remember, heh, the last time? Remember how much money you wasted taking that plane to Borneo?”

“It wasn’t Borneo,” replied Marty, cooled off now. “But, yeah, I get the point. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you before. It’s just the whole…”

“Brain damage thing?” Roger guessed, thinking about the other Roger, the one Marty might or might not have himself invented/created and then forgot about, like a demented God.

—–

17 minutes and 11 seconds later, they drew even on a particular topic of some interest to them, perhaps to others as well. Now that the moon has been successfully swallowed by the sun again. It blared brightly in the sky like a loco bugle, sending not smoke up, although it was burning too, but rays. Rays of warmth. Roger Pine Ridge felt his lips getting hot. He had burned his special cigarette to a nub and forgot to uninsert.

(to be continued)

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