Category Archives: Canada/Picturetown

00470311 (level 9223372036854775807 = trap?)

I spoke clear and distinct into the Air. “I’m here looking for a BOOK.”

No answer for about 15 seconds, then:

“WE ARE HERE.”

I think that’s *Lauri*, I realized. I pondered what to say next. Simply repeating the request didn’t seem right. They knew.

I had to specify.

“31 pages with a 32nd ripped out,” I tried.

15 more seconds, then:

“CHECKING.”

10 more seconds, then:

“LIMITING QUERY TO PICTURE BOOK, 32 PAGES MAX. PLEASE RESTATE REQUEST.”

Picture book? I thought. I didn’t even know what that really meant. I assumed: children’s book. What children’s book did I know?”

“‘Little Black Sambo,'” I said once more into the Air.

2 seconds later: “THAT REQUEST IS NOT ALLOWED.”

O-kay, I thought. Good the library has some kind of racist filter, I suppose. Although someone old enough with a valid ID should be able to request the material anyway. Just then:

“PERHAPS SPECIAL COLLECTIONS CAN HELP YOU SELECT A PICTURE BOOK. OPENING A CONNECTION…..”

Hmmmm. Dare I? It would mean returning to the beginning of it all. Perhaps losing everything that’s happened since in the process. All those hard earned years of service.

Couldn’t do it. Like Denmark, something rotten went on there. 42. Bad juju.

I’d have to keep working from outside the system. Nibbling away on the periphery.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0311, Back Rooms, Canada/Picturetown

00420601 (Castle Town)

He often came here to rock and think about the battle of rock vs. paper vs. scissors, which for him was won by putting paper (1) before scissors (2) before rock (0). 102 if read left to right, with rock always in the center like the ground zero it is.

He hears a noise outside. It’s 3:25 in the morning — no one else up, he imagined. Except ghosts.

He stops rocking, gets up, leaving the maple leaf throw pillow behind and thoughts of Canadian Picturetown along with it. “Who goes there?”

The right Wendy walks through the door of the establishment…

… with her first words inside being: “This entrance has changed.”

It certainly has, thinks Barry De Boy, very happy at the sight. It certainly has. No demo over her head now; he was seemingly dealing with a real flesh and blood girl again. They can… well, you know. This is what boys think. Boys like De Boy.

“The gatekeeper said I’d find you down here. Said it was his last night to work, the last hour, the last minute. Said he was here for me and then he could go. He put a Help Wanted sign on the door as he locked up behind me. I turned around just in time to see him leave. Go figure. Guess I’ve found my work in town after all.”

“Wendy!” he exclaimed, not knowing how to follow it up. Shock!

“In the flesh.” She twirled around, showing him the different dress. “And blood I suppose, ha.” She approached him. Dare she kiss him this early? It’s been years after all. Instead: “Share a cup of coffee with me?” She tweaked him on the nose, a sign of things to come.

“Of course! Over there,” he pointed to a nearby table. “I’ll find the brew.” He started rummaging around the back of the counter. “As you can see, we’ve also turned the tables to the side.”

“We?”

“Yeah, Me and Grumpy. We run the place now. Or manage it — Stew’s still the owner. Technically I suppose.”

“So no jobs I suppose,” Wendy spouted as she took a seat. She so so didn’t want to be the new gatekeeper of the town. Boor-ing, she knew. She’d heard Devil Dave complain enough about it back in the day.

“No… sorry. Can’t can Grumpy, you see. He has a wife and two children now (!).”

“Who could have imagined.”

“I know.” He’d found the coffee. Now to make the concoctions. “Espresso alright? All I can find.”

“Yeah. Perfect, actually. Make mine a double. No… triple. What the heck, let’s go with 4.” Could be a long night, she knew. Lots of restaurant talk to get through, potentially. Lots of talk about success and then failure. Utter failure. All tests show 5% human DNA, PHEH. I’ll get that Okama Majo, she thought. If it’s the last thing I do.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0042, 0601, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Castle Town, Omega^^

Boos 27 and 26 (“2 Fer 1”)

“It’s one of the ones that we had to give up when we moved to Rooster’s Peninsula here, Hucka Doobie. But as you can see, there’s (Mr.) Bean, there’s Tom (Kite) — front and center here. Combined: Tom Bean.”

“Fascinating,” Hucka Doobie admitted. “So we go back to Tungaske? Canada?”

“Ontario at least,” replied Baker Bloch.

“Ahh. Picturetown.” Hucka Doobie suddenly felt sorry she/he wasn’t directly a part of those Canadian based collage series, the In and the Out. With his/her analysis, I mean.

Baker turns. “You seem to be changing back into a bee-man,” he observed.

“Admittedly I’m slipping. A bit.”

Poor Hucka Doobie. If you don’t nurture a character and pay attention to them, they tend to atrophy. Hucka Doobie became stuck on Baker Bloch, unable to deal with the stuff happening all around her/him. What does that say about me (though)?


flip side: elimination (obscuration) of Tom and Bean

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0033, 0407, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Canada/Tungaska, Nautilus, NORTH, Rooster's Peninsula

00330108

The elimination of George.

Harrison remains. *Barely*.

“They got his knee, which knocked out the rest of his leg — sorry. A thumb was missing from the hand but they were able to regrow it with the intact others. Don’t ask about the procedure. It’s messy, complicated. But without that hand, that regrowth…”

“He wouldn’t be able to play the guitar,” the other in the room finished for Dr. Diper, fresh from the surgery. “Thank you.”

“The red and green almost got him this time,” warned the doctor. “Best not to send him back out to war.”

“Oh, we won’t. Denisce just made a bad decision sending him over there. It’s in her name, you know, bad and good.”

The doctor paused with this, then said, “oh yeah,” as he got it. “Denisce. I forgot it could be spelled that way.”

“Almost,” replied the other. Probably Marty at this point, since he’s so concerned with the hand and its dexterity. “Will he lose any chords? I don’t mean vocal chords obviously (Dr. Diper snickers here, since both knew the head wasn’t involved — nice break in the seriousness) but guitar chords. Can… will he be able to play…”

“All your songs,” the doctor finishes a sentence in turn. Like tennis they were this day, battering concerns back and forth across a net that is the separation between people. Good and bad. Sometimes it’s absolutely necessary. “Wellll.”

Nurse Jem comes in, celebratory drinks in hand. Vodka for Diper and a, let’s see, Russian Roulette for Marty, a new drink he claimed to have concocted on the spot back at the hotel after the San Francisco concert in Candlestick Park, knocking it out alongside a couple of new ditties: the embryonic form of “Back in the USSR” and the unreleased and seldom heard “Moby Prick”. A baad song, Georgge Martin proclaimed upon hearing it back in England. “Hey, we’re the f-ing Beetles, Martin. Leave us alone!” exclaimed Marty after the judgment, but then the others admitted it was sour instead of sweet too and he let the matter drop, song unrefined and left in a raw, unprocessed form. They all secretly felt it was about Marty and his character, though, but to voice this out loud would be character assassination. He was just that much of a prick. At the time — he mellowed out later. After he died.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0033, 0108, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Canada/Tungaska, Jeogeot, Towerboro

Cowboy (revealed 02)

“Another dream: I was at 23:23, the place *and* the time. This was the…”

“… beginning?” He’d heard this too. Male-female synthesis. “So we’re back to trying to track this 102 fellow. Or 102 girl.”

“Yeah.”

—–

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0104, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Heterocera, Pond District^, Rubi^

Art Box

He wanted to scream but couldn’t open his mouth to do it. Stuck. Just like in life.

Realities were shifting around for him more rapidly than ever, almost at a blur’s pace now. Time to calm the hell down. Where’s that green phone and D Flat ring when you need it?

Lunchtime now. He wondered if any of these other dudes he was sitting with on this beam in the sky had any packets of mustard for his sandwich. He hated bologna without mustard. But with it: best thing ever. “Wanda forgot the mustard again,” he said to Fred beside him, lifting the top slice of bread to show the non-yellowness within.

Yellow yellow yellow. He was remembering something. Tumbling, he fell into a different reality, different universe really.

Wanda was with him, now called Hidi, true face hidden beneath towering blue hair. They had kids between them. Yellow ones, all beaming smiles at the camera. “Cheese!”

He tried to reach for the ringing phone but it remained just out of his grasp. Blue anyway; probably wasn’t for him, and neither was Wanda-now-Hidi and the in-between kids.  And now he’s checking, the key is D, not D Flat. Too far away from Middle C to matter. Oh well. On to the next!

“Let me try!” Hidi exuded, poseball whisked away as she selected the next.

“Get it?!” she shouted down to Kolya far below after assuming the new pose. “I’m a banana!” Kolya didn’t get it, the one within not yet ready to be peeled. “Very appealing!” he shouted up, trying to be funny despite the confusion. The holes in his head began to hurt. He forgot to eat his sandwich before he left that one reality, but there was the problem with the mustard. Then, with the vertigo induced by hunger apparently, he fell off the beam into a family centered by beaming yellow kids. Well, except for the middle one, who was too small to smile and just sucked on her pacifier to indicate being please in the moment. The camera’s eye moved onward…

Kolya selected one but it turned out to be Hidi’s pose again. “Whaddaya think? Giant tigers!” He’d seen this before. But where?

Then he remembered (again). Picturetown. Must – get – back.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0515, Canada/Picturetown, Nautilus, New York, Retirement Islands, Springfeld, Wild West

links

“Have you heard, the news, Douglas? ‘Daily Toilet’ says Picturetown is back on the map and humming.”

“Distractions,” offers Douglas Blue Feather, the local sheriff ’round these parts. “Us Angels should stick to what’s good for us. *Dreaming*.”

“But reality beckons!” Douglas hated when Yellow Purse Kimball shouted during a game. And this is the first hole (!). What will the 8th, the 11th, the 16th bring? A noisy snack of Big 60 cookies in assorted vanilla, chocolate, strawberry packed away deep in his golf bag? Gum chewing; finger snapping; whistling; singing, even: “Singin’ in the Rain”? Weatherman Fox Stet, a professor of biology over at Camden Yards, forecasts a good chance of storms this afternoon. Per usual in early May or June or whenever the f-ck it is now. Along with the wind of course, the constant evening billowing.

“Better finish by 2,” Douglas says, looking up in the skies. Clear sailing so far. He glances over at his golfing partner already swatting away. “Maybe, Yellow, we should save the putting for the actual green and not the tee.”

“Hey, I’m just practicing!” The shouting again. Oh looky, there goes the first piece of gum into his mouth. It was going to be a long round of golf. The only reason he’s doing this in the first place is get the scoop on Picturetown, because Yellow Purse Kimball has inside stuff. But he mustn’t be too obvious about the prying, the digging, the scooping. “Vanilla and chocolate,” he imagines saying to Don the ice cream vendor between front and back nines. “And top it off with, let’s see…”

“Strawberry?” guesses Don, still 9 holes away in dream-reality but already scooping away at the brown and and then white filled buckets below him in his imagination.

“Let’s go with lime.”

——

“This is absolutely the longest f-cking round of golf I’ve ever played, Douglas thinks after 2 pieces of gum, 5 whistles, and 15 hums by his count. And we’re only 1/3 the way through! Don and his delicious, home made ice cream, sorbet and sherbet is still 3 holes away. Can he hold out for his just reward? But he’s already got some scoops, so to speak. Information, that is. White Palace, Toddles the precious precocious child stuck exactly halfway between 23 22 and 22 23. Male and female. This information definitely didn’t come from the “Daily Toilet”. Inside stuff indeed. He looks over: at least Yellow Purse is on the green while putting now. Can you take any longer to make a shot? Oh, there’s goes the humming again, the stalling. He’s recalculating his line. Might as well dream about ice cream again, pheh.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0026, 0609, Angel's Rest, Canada, Canada/Picturetown

grid patterns

Kolya truly loved Hidi but could only touch and hold her in his dreams. There he called her “my unicorn” — that could be an alternate title of this post. The shower had yet to be installed at the uncompleted bathroom down toward the bay area in the dreamscape, but at this tree they’d set up duplicate poseballs in the meantime. It wasn’t ideal. Most times they just pass through each other, like tonight. There was no water, thus they remained dirty, or attempted to be. He called her a bad kitten and had to be punished. She laughed — that smile again. Always the smile. She took the tomfoolery good naturedly. It was all play in the land of dreams.

Reality reared its ugly head again. Kolya was sitting apart from Hidi in the train, who had also nodded off then woke up. They were having the same dream in fact. And where was Sam Jerry, her real part-time lover? Husband Axis had been left behind in NWES City, where he ran a brothel for cows. The other Jerry, who also goes by Harry and even more commonly Norris, had decided to become tiny again and look for his old home in Rose Heaven. He planned to go back to composing but slow it the hell down this time, one tri-chord per 2 seconds at most.

So they pondered about each other in awkward silence. In another dream, Kolya, and probably Hidi along with him as he thought he recalled, took the train all the way to Picturetown. “Where the hell is Picturetown?” he remembered asking a jogger on stilts in Toronto.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0026, 0204, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Omega^^, Wallytown/Fishers Island^

No Toronto

“What was that destination again, sir?”

“Picturetown,” Kolya answered for Cpt. Margret Coffee. “Thanks for the coffee, Margret, by the way.” (*sip*)

“Call me Captain,” requested Margret, ready to sail the ship, as they say, after her stint at baggage check-in was over.

“Yes ma’am,” Kolya dutifully replied, a Marine brat as a youth and thus use to accepting orders.

“Ginger, you got anything yet?” asked Cpt. Coffee to the receptionist by her side, just back from medical leave for a face replacement.

“No, I’m afraid not. How about Toronto?” she offers. “*Very* popular destination. I’m betting you’ll like it there.”

“It has to be Picturetown,” insisted Kolya, off on one of his tangent tasks. “Try Prince Edward Island.”

“Ahh,” jumped in Cpt. Margret Coffee again. “A beautiful province. Setting for ‘Anne of Green Gables’, you know. You’ll *love* it there.”

“No, not that one, the other one, the other Prince Edward.” Kolya scratches his holey head, at a loss for words beyond this.

“The other Prince Edward… oh you mean the *county*.” Margret had figured that part out. “And *Picton*.” Margret had figured the other part out.

“Picturetown, yes.” Kolya could not pronounce it any other way, no matter how hard he tried to conform. Picturetown it is.

—–

The plane went down somewhere between Otterville and Delhi. That’s how Kolya met the red complexioned Indian fellow named Sam. Sorry: Jerry. He was wearing a lime colored shirt while jogging past a collapsed garage. He also owned a lime hued X 1/9, and stated this route to Delhi was much too dangerous to attempt it by car — too many right angle turns, too much distracting graffiti, especially down at the Indian Lake Creek Bridge, he said. He preferred running it. But he was all up for a lift when spotting the collapsed garage and Kolya just happened to drive by, asking for directions. “Which way does a bird fly to get to Picturetown around here?” he called through the rolled down window, just in time for Jerry to catch it since he was quickly losing steam. He had reached the end of his jogging days. “I’ll show you,” and he sprinted one last time around the side of the car and got in beside Kolya. Soon he had taken the driver’s wheel. The train tracks on the other side of Delhi beckoned. They were going beyond the before.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0026, 0203, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

topic at hand

“Get it?” she asked. “It’s (a) trapped *rock*, then a picture full of rocks, a rotating one. Rocks.” She held out her hand which was balled into a fist. “Now you try,” she requested while snickering. Let’s see, I thought, rock beats scissors? Or was it paper — no, paper covers rock. Which one would I choose? Do I let her win, or lose? “The paper is one,” she says into my mind, short term product (curse?) of another spell. “The rock is zero, and the scissors are two.” She molds her still outstretched hand into the appropriate symbols while saying this. “Who do you know that is a 102?” Me, I realized. “What about the quartz?” I tried to deflect, but which led directly back to rock.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0202, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Maebaleia/Satori, Outer Islands