Monthly Archives: December 2023

December 11, 2023 · 12:11 pm

00410306

With part of the money she made off her successful debut album “Atlantis Rising”, she decided to take an extended trip to the Azores themselves, starting with Corvo, the smallest and least populated of the 9 island group and known for a huge stone statue of a pointing man on a horse perched atop one of its high ridges, supposedly dismantled and moved to Lisbon by the Portuguese government around the start of the 16th Century and then lost. Or so the legends go.

She tried to get into fishing while there… and failed. She’d settle for fishing out mysteries. She asked around about the equestrian statue, but tales were numerous and often varied wildly from each other. Some say the Portuguese themselves erected the horseman shortly after they discovered the island in the 1400s. They say the supposed inscription on the base of the statue, “Jesus, go ahead”, proves this, although it was originally claimed to be illegible. Some credit the Carthaginians who may have been in the area during the first millennium AD. Some dare to go even further back, before men as we know them began sailing the seas of the world. Pre-men known as Atlanteans. This is what she wanted to mine.

Another popular Corvo legend has it that a stash of coins was found in the cornerstone of a washed out house during the 1700s that predate the Portuguese, including many that were gold. No one on the island seemed to be an expert on this, but several directed her to a pawn shop on the neighboring island of Flores — in the City of Cass that we know pretty well now through these blog novels. But more appears to be there to explore and contemplate. One local even hinted to Supergal Ruby that the pawn shop owner *herself* had two of these gold coins stashed away on the premesis, but he seemed pretty mad to her, furiously producing thread on his oddly placed spinning wheel at Crow Beach in order, he said, to add to a giant ball of yarn she then found located about 100 meters further down the same Corvo beach. Guy who had the curious name of Gold himself, she noted, always paying attention to name synchronicities. We will return to him.


spinner…


… and ball

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December 11, 2023 · 3:21 am

the movement of ONE

Axis shifted the name himself after satisfying his needs at the Lucky, concealing the missing letter. No need to be so obvious about it.

So Marsha “Pink” Krakow changes it back and arrives on same, aiming to do Alice Tart’s will and set things right again. She wore Alice’s “I am a Demo” sweater all along as a constant reminder of her mission in Paper-Soap, the Paper part fully yielded to Soap now, two halves separated out again in the passage through the tunnel. As she stood before the train, the symbolic missing letter now lay beside the track, with the reappearance of Gee Cat naturally coming along with it. Here.

“Can I help you Missi?”

“*Gee*. You *scared* me,” she spoke over to the large, upright orange cat appearing as if from the blue behind her.

“Yes, Gee scared you,” he spoke matter-of-factly in a regular type voice. “Gee the cat,” he announced himself.

“Wait. Your *name* is Gee? Like the letter you’re beside right now. I want to get this clear.”

“Gee is the cat. G is the letter. That is correct all around, then.” Is she the ONE? he thinks here, expecting such any day now. He checks the name on the train. Not yet, then SIGH.

“I’m looking for someone… or something. Greene’s Motel. Maybe it’s the Lucky Motel with a green door in the front office I’m still not sure. Woman with the last name of Tart and maybe a first name of Octavia. That’s all I’ve got. Can you help me? Gee?”

“Gee will help,” and he got to it, entering the station to talk to Wanda Berta Shirley. Make that: Laverne. Fresh from a closed down Barrow County beer factory, dreams of retiring in the bottling business shattered. But most people know her as Ginger.

(to be continued)

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December 10, 2023 · 9:37 pm

00410304 (104)

Couple of battered suitcases left behind but nothing in them as she checked. Clients should be arriving pretty soon; better make herself prettified, as she liked to say. *Remember*, the taller, richer one *doesn’t* like the blue rouge, she reminded herself. And of course that code he goes by to sanctify all this. Oil me up, I suppose.

She’s staking her claim to the room. Daisy Chain can go to hell for all she cares. Pills in her staff meeting breakfast for a knock out punch, BAM! She can works hers and Daisy’s together. She’s not that old yet: only 18 going on 38. Now if she could only remember the year. ’36? ’39? She decided to split the difference and settle on herself. Still before the Axis took control.

Town school superintendent Axis walks through the 104 door, taking control. “Mouse here yet?” He’d checked in his copper red hair at the main desk with Wilma the day clerk — no need for that inside. He could be who he was here. An older, balding man destined for chancellorhood, he felt.

“Not yet,” she answered. Octavia always fancied Axis among her townspeople clientele. Certain a step above, say, a baker, a farmer, a grocery store owner in the swampland. He owns an actual, bona fide *house*. Mouse — that’s the other one’s name: Mouse — might be richer and also have a house but he’s not as devilishly handsome. And the emblazoned cross across his chest he bears helps with this judgment too. Man of God he’s said about himself. Mouse was obviously devoted instead to science; even brought a beaker and test tube along for one of their sessions, and not to decorate the tree in the room, he said. “This time,” — like he was going to bring them again during the holiday season which was in full swing now, hmm. What does he suppose he can test with all *this*. She didn’t like to think about it; didn’t want to ponder the possible weird requests that could come along with such things. Daisy’d warned her about stuff like that. Maybe she was too harsh with the drugs; maybe she couldn’t pull off this 2-n-1 thing she planned today. If it wasn’t Mouse and his eccentricity she figured there was no way it could work.

—-

“I’ll finish up here Mouse; you can go back to your house now,” still-in-control Axis said later on. Octavia needed more than the doctor could provide.

—–

“We’ve gone back and changed time, Marsha,” said Alice, seeing the results, “but now *Axis* is instead my father. Villain of villains!”

“He’s not that bad.”

“I guess you’re telling me *Hitler* wasn’t that bad.”

“He invented the VW Bug — or something,” she attempted to justify, then realized this was wrong, all wrong. And where was her yellow Bug? Still orange? Still in Amiable? She made a note to herself to check. After all this dialog here was worked out.

“We have to go back. Daisy *wasn’t* sick that day in April’s May.”

“I believe that would have to be November’s December, Alice — holiday season and all. The beakers and test tubes on the tree. Remember?”

“I don’t remember *nothing* because it didn’t *happen*. I’ll MAKE it not happen.”

“Again?” Marsha said, staring into the other girl’s eyes who was still wearing the same “I’m not a Demo” sweatshirt as herself, same holey denim jeans.

“Again,” she said back firmly across the gap, closing it for the second time.

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December 9, 2023 · 5:24 pm

super-cape

With her relatively newfound fame, it seems that our Ruby Supergal was always traveling these days, living out of her suitcase as it were. She was on a mission: to spread love and peace and joy throughout the whole of Portugal and maybe even the western parts of Spain, depending on how much she can grow her fame. She felt she was a light of the world, showing the way to a brighter future out of the dimmer past. And the Atlantis revelation was one step along that path, perhaps a pretty important one, up there with any musical decisions she might make.

She let one of the colorful butterflies circling around her shimmy through her outstretched hand, enjoying the sensation.

She knew the butterfly enjoyed it too. Hope, she decided to name it. Hope for the future.

“Soundcheck on the set in 10 minutes!” her manager barked up some nearby stairs. “Goodby Hope and the other 2,” she said as she moved away from them and back into reality.

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December 9, 2023 · 11:30 am

00410302

She put away the guitars and got serious. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she practiced, not having an audience yet. It was only 5 in the afternoon and her gig wasn’t until 8. She’d have to eat first of course; make it a past participle before the actual playing began. At the same time, the audience should begin dining on sole food, that particular fish being the catch of the day here in Portuguese Hill village formerly of Illinois, US of A. Where they found *her*. “Ladies and gentleman, simmer down,” she continued imaging the applause coming her way after the song “Rockaway Beach,” a crowd favorite as usual. “I have an announcement to make.”

—–

“Your painting looks very pretty over there, dearest. I see you haven’t used any green yet. That’s good. Stay away from green. And oil. Stick to watercolors.”

“Of course my dear. Those times are in the past.” She apparently couldn’t see the bit of green he used in the couple of village trees from this distance — good. This made him think of Mr Babyface, his old flame. Lost at sea in a craft of too small design. At least he went doing what he loved. Sucked up by a rare water funnel in that area, they said. Glug glug glug, he imagined. Glug glug glug — GONE. The boat was later thrown up on the shore of Kenfield but the short man with the large face was no longer with it, fishing off the port side, fishing off the starboard side, fishing off the bow, the stern. He loved fishing in all its positions. He’d eat his sole later on in honor of him, he decided.

“Did you like my speech at the end? Too serious?”

Yeah, past and also present lover Greg Ogden had reservations about all that. “Don’t you, I mean, what if a member of the Portuguese navy is part of your audience? Gets back to headquarters, say. You could be in trouble (!).”

“I said what I had to say, though. Atlantis is rising in that part of the Azores. All the locals know it, the *government* knows it. They just want to cover it up, the hierarchy. The locals won’t stand up to them either, at least publicly. *Someone* has to take a stance. Might as well be me. I have a platform.” She briefly indicated the stage behind her. The former cover band cover girl now striking out on her own with strikingly original compositions popping forth right and left, backwards and forward. The announcement fits right in with all that, he realized. Unique, he summarized it in a word. Like a perfectly square pyramid perfectly aligned with the 4 cardinal directions, waiting to be revealed in all its past and also present glory.

“*And* — I think we should announce the news of our re-engagement if you don’t mind; make that public as well. Hand in hand.” She takes his hand from beneath the table, holds it tight. The double announcement was a go.

(to be continued)

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December 8, 2023 · 2:39 am

art

“That doesn’t look much like the landscape out there,” I opined from behind.

“I paint what my cane tells me to. I mean, my *brush* — force of habit there with the mention of cane. I may not need it any longer,” he furthered. “Getting an update from the person who created me. The heck with the other doctors. Dr. White, the last one I interviewed, turned out not to be even (named) White. And maybe not even a rabbit as advertised, pheh. Looked more like a rab*bat* to me. No, I’ve decided to simply replace me… with myself.” He checks his Diamond Rolex watch, dropping some cerulean blue paint on his gray-black Ralph Lauren dress pants in the motion. “Shoot,” he cusses at the stain, but then realizes the pants will be gone soon, along with the body, the skin, the whole kitten kaboodle. “Gotta run,” he says in parting. “Mind finishing this for me?” And grasping his brush while he did the same with his cane, I sat down and went to work. I can do realism, I said to myself as I added more waves to the sea.

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December 7, 2023 · 6:02 pm

00410217

He checked progress in the book while Marsha rested her now covered arm on top of his hat, a sign of the irreality of the situation. “Let’s see, I’ve come into the pawn shop, I’ve found Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow asleep on the job, I’ve spotted and then continued to gawk at her short pink hair, and then I’m reading this book to check on progress.” He puts down the book; continues to gawk at her hair while noticing the change of clothes. Only one thing left to do per his next line. “Go on… a date with me Victorian lady?” And so their second one and actually maybe their first official one was set up for that night at mirroring Shenanigan’s just across the street. There they would run into June Bug Johnston aka Plain Jane Johnston once more as their stories continue to grow and evolve.

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December 7, 2023 · 4:19 pm

00410216

Her new hair made her doze a lot but she figured it was the only way to get rid of the gargoyle dreams. Wanda in a hot tub there, Wanda in a ballerina dress over there, Wanda in a… well you get the picture(s). Biff Carter walked into the shop, interrupting her latest non-gargoyly dream. No more Wanda for a while. She even got rid of the green phone so she couldn’t call him first thing in the morning. She’d seen enough in the mirror. Greene’s Motel, she knew. There was no Greene’s Motel, not any more at least. Just a green door left of that color which led into the role playing room behind the main desk. The one she just used last night for that purpose, non-gargoyly indeed. She had to go back in time and make things right again. Dr. Mouse was now truly Alice’s father, thanks to the lucky Irish whiskey imbibed just before. She talked him into breaking the code! Swamp and sewer lesson learned.

“Pink — oh sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt–” He was embarrassed about catching her sleeping on the job but then realized it *was* her shop. No one else to answer to.

Pink stirred, tried to focus back into this reality. “Biff,” she recognized. “*Andrew* ‘Biff’ Carter.”

“No. *Wendell* ‘Biff’ Carter.” Is Pink drugged instead? He imagined her mind being a prison.

It’s also here he noticed the hair as her head continued to rise from the table and fully separated out from the rest of her outstanding pinkness. She now stared directly into his eyes. “Biff — yes, of course. *Wendell* ‘Biff’ Carter.” She looked around the almost empty shop, remembered her job, why she came to Cass City in the first place. Certainly not *this*. No she had a much bigger mission in mind than to carve out a Southside pawning niche. She came here because of the man standing in front of her… gawking.

“*Boy*,” he said. “That’s *different*. I *like*, but it’s… um…”

Marsha “Pink” Krakow reflexively reached up and felt her new doo. “I’m just trying it out, mind you. It’s called Victoria.” She gauged his reaction closely.

“Like in the Age? 50 years?”

“Er, kind of I suppose. Victoria,” she said again. “With a modern twist, a *Pink* twist.”

“Okay, um..” He couldn’t stop staring at it. Something about that hair.

(to be continued)

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December 7, 2023 · 6:02 am

one last sensory experience

“There. That was me, Alice. A wolf caught in the bright headlights.” CHANGE

Lazy girl Marsha “Pink” Krakow had seen and heard and felt and tasted and touched enough in Paper-Soap. Back to Cass City to wrap this section up, she said in her mind. Just after she finishes nomming down this delicious sewer popcorn.

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December 5, 2023 · 4:21 pm

00410214

They continued their imaginary conversation at the purple shack over at Bill’s swamp. The chest was still there with the photos, errand notes, love letters, etc. stashed safely within. She had to take Mouse’s word for it because she still couldn’t get inside the thing, couldn’t find the key anywhere on the premises. She kept thinking about the huge Arabic number back on the pinball machine in Cass City as if it was pinned to his chest. Deception, she knew. Lies.

“Swamp Shack Purple here use to be Swamp Shack Brown,” she said while she was eating provided soup and he was drinking the house wine. “Explain.”

“You’ll have to ask Robert.”

“O-kay. Then where’s the key? To the chest I mean, obviously.”

“Did you check the sink? Sometimes things get caught in the drain. Doris Drain.”

Why did he say that? she asked herself, but got up to check anyway. “Wait here,” she requested with more seriousness in her tone. “Don’t *move*.”

“Why there’s not even a drain to this sink!” she exclaimed through the wall at him. “What gives?”

“She must have had it removed!” he answered from the living room. Then was gone.

“She had it *what*?” No answer. She rounded the corner. The imaginary visit, so vivid in the moment, was over. She sat back down, finished her soup. No Mouse no wine no cane opposite her, no nothing. But the numbers remained.

Combination! she realized. Eureka appeared as if from the blue but actually it was red. Eureka could shift her form into any shape. And she chose Robert, the lead mystery man.

“You!”

(to be continued)

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