Monthly Archives: January 2022

Blue Rose

While Lena Horned sang the entirety of her new album “Creepy Alley” inside for an exclusive audience…

… manager Zach Black danced on the deck with the less affluent people, although almost all of them had gone home by now.

7 o’clock in the morning. And he and Lena had to do the same thing tomorrow night, starting at 8. PM, that is. Mr. Low’s orders — he’s always one to give commands and not receive them. But the pay was grand, and they needed it on their whirlwind tour of the Nautilus continent, back on since the Maebaleia army declared war on its own navy in another surfacing of the ever-present North-South tension down there. They decided to amscray off the continent to protect their neutrality. Besides, Zach was an old air force guy, and, like many of his kind, didn’t know where he fit in with the conflict. “We’ll take the army boat out and the navy boat back in, just to placate both,” he said to Lena as they were pulling out of Cassandra Bay in the dead of the day hidden behind a bale of hay. It was the only way (he reckoned).

—–

“How was the party up at the yacht tonight?” asked wife Alysha to Jeffrey Phillips as he *finally* reverted and returned. “Good, I’m assuming. It’s 8 o’clock. *8* *o’clock*. I get up and you go to bed. Typical these days.” Julius was now 3 years old and playing in the palm shaded sand outside the beached submarine they live in. His sister Julia was nearly one herself. Tomorrow was the 4th anniversary of their marriage and hopefully it would get off to a better start than this one. They would be heading back to the same yacht, sans Mr. Low. Because he had his own tight itinerary to hold to. He was heading inland with his new wife of 3 years, following the high central beige ridge of Lower Austra and then the low green western coastline of Upper Austra. Bound for the north in a plane with military insignia both right and left. Just in case.

(to be continued)

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Redd star

“I know this is only our second date,” Jeffrie Phillips began again. Eraserhead Man had decided to move the location of the shoot to nearby Antares Isles, just northwest of Fio Fum. The Giant For A Day post title can wait. Or can it? “But I’m a marrying type, I’ll warn ya. I want to marry you. I think, I *know*… I love you.” He turned toward her, Redd For A Day.  She of course wasn’t expecting this. Blue script; in the white one she would have slapped him, knowing what he did on that filthy yacht just yesterday while she was with Thomas getting her tattoo. He promised to stick to the clean one from now on. And that’s where they got married. Just back there, in the background. And then they lived in the submarine home a little closer, on the largest and most northern of the 3 or 4 isles in the chain, right near the yacht, pointing toward it like a time bomb. Julius was born a little while later — well I guess it would have to be at least 9 months later. Jeffrey named him while she was busy reading her current furniture and fashion magazine on the far isle again, just where they are now, in the present. A black child for a white couple but that was just part of the magic.

They set a date. March 1, 2022. The day the music died.

Ironic that while perusing black and white photos in that fashion and furniture magazine during Julius’ illicit naming event back there she was thinking about Newt. And Annaberg — why did she ever leave that Sunklands burg in the first place?

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Giant for a Day 01

“Thanks for meeting with me again, Redd.”

Redd, she mused privately. I like that name. Better than Alysha. For now, for this scene anyway, with this actor/person. She decided to let him talk again instead of replying. It was in the script: blue.

“I… have a problem.”

“Yes?” Blue.

“I gave away my car to a man I’m not sure I can fully trust. Guy named Monroe Ray. Or maybe it’s Manray Roe. Anyway…”

“Anyway,” she quickly added, uncomfortable with the ad lib.

“… I’ve decided to get it back. You see, Manray, I mean…”

“Monray, I mean, Monroe.” Now *I’m* doing it, she thought. Eraserhead Man might not be so pleased with *this* ad lib. He was with some, and not as much with others. 1/2 and 1/2. Yet another one in a long line of 1/2’s and 1/2’s. I’m so tired, she continued pondering. Didn’t get enough sleep last night. The tattoo I got yesterday still smarts. I’m not sure it was a smart thing to do now (!). She instinctively reaches her left arm around and scratches it. Thomas said it would take a couple of days to heal up properly, maybe a couple of weeks. She could tell he wanted to add “a couple of months,” to extend the sentence even more but he didn’t. So it could be that long, ugh. But very very difficult to reverse now. She was stuck with it, most likely — in all likelihood.

“Monroe, right. Fern said it was ultra important and that the portal should *not* be closed right now, the one that goes to Bluefield, West Virginia, US of A. A purple car *will* come through, she stressed in her wise or at least brilliant way.” Then he turned away from his fishing and looked at Redd, aka Alysha. “But *you’re* Fern.”

“Kind of,” she explained. “Kinda not.” 1/2 and 1/2 once more, ugh. They both looked toward the cameras for direction.

(to be continued)

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Monroe alone and heavy on Twin Peaks

Black children, a brother and sister perhaps, emerge from a Halloween Tree beside 4th of Juli flags to play in the sun alongside a backyard fence…

… while Robert’s son, a white kid with slack-jawed mouth, sits on the front porch alone, bemoaning a lack of friends.

Past the Princess, Ray takes over Monroe as far as the eye can see, whitewashing a red car past.

A hidden letter in a kind of burning bush reveals another clue. A white S. The Son? The *Sun*?

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00310403

“I’m going to relieve you of your duties here, Valerie. We actually bought the purple car in a different place. Not Bluefield.”

“Mount Airy — yes, I’ve heard.”

Close! thinks Jeffrey Phillips as Baker Bloch, surprised rumor has traveled so far. But Iowa instead of North Carolina. And it’s Air. Ayr. But he let the mistake stand and didn’t correct.

“Last day will be the end of next month. You’ll begin collecting your retirement pension come March 1. We thank you for your service to the state!” North Carolina again, but we’ll stick with Iowa.

“Schweeeet,” she exclaimed, and crouched down on the floor, a familiar and comforting gesture. She couldn’t help it — her eyes were trained too well. She kept looking for that car to appear. Maybe it will, she thought. The owner of this here blog isn’t correct on all things. Maybe the purple car will come out *here*. It’s a blue rose case, after all. And this is Baker Bloch as Jeffrey Phillips. Backwards but obvious.

The owner of the land has it up for sale at a reasonable price. This portal in the very epicenter of Maebaleia could vanish any day now, any moment. I’m going to say goodbye to it now. Mad Valerie can be reassigned for that final month if needed.

Farewell 2701 Bland Rd. I place a blue rose in your lawn.

—–

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” hidden Fern said down below, switching South with North.

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when the levy breaks

“When did you get the new tattoo?” he asked over to me from his own blanket, lotion finished for now.

“Oh I don’t know,” I nonchalantly replied. “About 15 minutes ago I guess.” I was applying blog time here, because I’d only recently decided to expose the thing. TILE Manifesto. I knew where this was heading… kind of.

I felt Ted’s eyes look across me toward the elephant ride on the mainland beach. Corsica is a looong continent, I heard him say in his head, thanks to Fern’s temporary spell. He also said he’d give it a 10. She was pleased. No need to redo the legs any more. But to the information I *really* need.

“Ted,” I said. “Ted Bear.”

“Yes?” He rolled back and stared into the blue and white umbrella but he was still smiling. Always the smile now. He was dreaming happy things. Like more lotion.

“I know you’ve told me about Jenny and how she freed up Baker Bloch so he could go to that pyramid in de skies. Jenny is… prudish.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t like what I’m doing on this islet. She wanted Baker away from that.”

But to the thoughts. What is he really thinking? She scans but no luck. He was back on her. Pondering the back. The orange and violet would have to wait, zebra’s eyes X-ed out for now. Probably all for the best, she thinks, and starts to apply again. Next post!

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00310401

It could have worked between Alysha — Redd — and myself, Jeffrey thinks afterwards, nursing his remorse with a gin and tonic from the bar atop the filthy yacht.

Alysha in the clean one had moved on too. Inspired by the art in the neighboring galley over in Terriergate, she’s decided to get a tattoo, a tree one, on the back. Red green blue yellow, she recites in her head, reviewing the thing. No orange, no purple. Let’s make this shit happen.

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00310317

Jeffrey Phillips couldn’t help himself. “Now the other way,” he said to no one in particular. We wouldn’t see him again for a while.

But maybe in the long run such “weaknesses” would kind of be his saving grace. Because he avoided that bridge, that levy. He’d given up his chevy.

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THIS SIM 02 01

“*You* are Taylor,” she exclaimed excitedly across from him, wearing her standard green shirt with the lantern symbol, one from a Golden Age long forgotten by most. But not by Fern.

“And… you are?” Jeffrey Phillips remains confused. He had crossed the line from This Sim 01 into This Sim 02 and found himself here. On this couch. Speaking to this… woman. Stranger. Her eyes were brilliantly alert. She was always thinking, he realized, always spinning around something in her head. He thought back to the rainbow Ferris wheel.

“Orange,” she proclaimed, then seeing his continued blank look, said, “no not the color, the number. You are looking for VI. Ruby,” she furthered. She saw recognition in the eyes. “A… purple car, not blue not red, merges with orange to exit in you: Taylor.”

What was she *on* about? he thought. He briefly contemplated that he had died, had drove his red 57 Chevy into that levy between sims and all this, all that followed, was his dream in the afterlife. Taylor? Was that his new post-death name? And this person: some kind of angel? Or maybe: devil. Half and half. He slapped himself in the face. Didn’t work. He was still dreaming in this reality, wherever he was.

“What do you mean I’m Taylor?” A series of images formed on the couch across from him in place of Fern. He hadn’t yet realized this was his old gal pal Charlene the Punk, come back from the future after her dissertation on Bigfoot had been completed, turned into a book which was turned into a movie which was turned into a franchise, toys, cookbooks, the lot. There was even a brand of kitchen sink named after it. Bigfoot went from backwoods legend to front and center superhero. All the children knew who Gene Fade was and that his birthplace was at Jupiter Rock and that he spent his formative years in Mocksity and that he lived to be over 400 years of age. Children wanted to *be* Bigfoot now. Children wanted to live relatively forever too, where a childhood would last one of our present lifetimes. Fern knew a lot, had seen a lot. Fern had been augmented, just because she could afford it due to the franchise and all. And she had created 2 others just as tag along friends, one a ditzy blonde and the other, the other…

She changed back. “You were in that wagon,” Fern started again, like a well oiled machine, a purring car, a cat pouncing on a bat. Lee Meriwether had nothing on her.

Ruby, he remembered. The witch had said the same thing: that he was Taylor. The spirit she had summoned faded back into the netherworld it had come from. No: there! Outside the wagon now, floating across the landscape, heading toward a bridge of interesting design.

Another sim crossing. There! That’s where he had died. But not Taylor; the other. 2nd in command.

Man About Time woke up. Strangest dream, he though, and picked up his pen and pad beside his bed to jot it down before he forgot most of the details.

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THIS SIM 01 revisited

He puts back on his investigating shoes as he teleports into the sim. Wall hydrant at the very epicenter, he ponders, pacing back and forth around it.

Redd, just like where he came from, this Alysha “Redd” Fox, who of course he bought dinner for, having almost *killed* her with his 57 Chevy just after he darn near drove it into that levy just minutes before on the border of Dennis and Harwich. He wasn’t drunk — it was just the mechanics of the car combined with the wonky physics of the virtual reality itself. But at least there was bounce, although he couldn’t say more about this for now. Maybe later, when the psychics arrive. Because they would.

Redd would be seen, like a bright, blooming rose. Who’s on first!?

—–

We next find him staring at an octagon shaped trampoline, a combo of 9 and 8 actually, since nine is purple as 8 is orange. But mixed up here.

He investigates remotedly.

Rainbow wheel, with rainbow sphere implied. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 reduced to 1 2 3 4, or red green blue yellow but not necessarily in that order. TILE of course. Clare should know by now. We never found her new hiding spot in the northern mountains of Snowland, though. Maybe he’ll look there next.

More remote viewing here, first…

Oh, he notes that the cars are, in order, red yellow green blue *purple* red on that Ferris wheel, purple then emphasized again seemingly. He’s taking notes in his head. He’ll write them down later. Investigating feet (and eyes) first.

Ah ha. Roses (again). Reinforcement.

Dare he?

Enigma (machine). Orange revealed. 6th. VI.

Freefall.

But he keeps landing at the same spot. Endless loop!

Must be something about VI.

Pretty good, huh, Ruby?

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