Category Archives: Kentucky

00340607

The door to the place in the sewer was open, unlike before. Roberts sat on one of the reddish chairs within, facing another. Franklin? If John L. Brown is such, and perhaps he is. He got Jem high as a kite with the Duck dope over in Ontario to save or at least extend her short simulacrum life, and everyone knows *Benjamin* Franklin is an expert kite flyer, perhaps a drug user himself? Firesign Theatre seems to think so, at least in one strong probable reality. And besides, John’s already called himself Benjamin Franklin for just those very reasons in part 01. So there’s that.

Or Franklin could actually be Johnny Black who just arrived, since namesake Johnny Cash, Man in Black, was famously married in Franklin KY to June Carter in 1968 after getting his license over the line in Tennessee, probably passing through Black Jack south of Franklin in the effort, shared between the two states — yet another black then. And a separate community named Black Jack exists just to the north of Franklin, firmly in Kentucky in its case. Speaking of cases, pilot Thomas Mantell was born in this same Franklin and very mysteriously plummeted to his death just outside the small KY town in ’48 while chasing what he and others identified as a bonafide UFO, very near Black Jack and the Tennessee line again, even though he lived in a different part of the state at the time.  So he is another aspect of Franklin definitely, representing the uroboros where cradle links up and even eats grave, causing a perpetual loop.

Roberts invited Johnny Black in, seeing him space out thinking about some of these same associations. John L. Brown then waved high as well. Appropriate. Someone was also in the pool ahead of him, although he couldn’t tell what or who. Perhaps green? Oh, and when he made his way inside and stood between them, he was standing right smack dab in the middle of what townspeople called The Anomaly, thought to be gotten rid of. Nope. Just showed up in a different place and a slightly different form.

One thing we know is that the green thing in the pool *isn’t* Norris, who is instead dead behind swifter Johnny in the sewer, victim of a zombie attack it appears or something. We wish him well in the afterlife.

Oh look. It *was* Norris in the pool — *just* formed. Another Franklin! And perhaps the truest one.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0607, Kentucky, Paper Soap, Soap, Tennessee

states

“Interesting place you brought me to, Wheeler. All I asked for is to give me back the mop.”

“Brrr,” she fake shivered. “Getting cold in here. You’ll have to put on at least a shirt soon.”

“You know I don’t do that, Wheeler,” spoke John L. Brown honestly. For a change. He *was* getting cold. A paradox was coming up. “It’s right there,” he continued. “Just… hand it over.”

“No,” she replied bluntly. “I… I’m not ready.”

“You like the *power*.” His smile turned into a smirk. Change x 2.

Wheeler thought back to using it on Arthur Kill. Indeed made him rise from the dead, just like Duck said it would when they met last. She desired to meet him again. John L. Brown said that he would meet in his stead and that he was away from Our Second Lyfe for the moment. Something in Real Life, he said. Uncopyrighted and untrademarked business. Herbert Domain.

“Herbert Domain?” Wheeler uttered at the time, obviously thinking of Tennessee. And she was right. They weren’t ready for that kind of business here. The dog named Spider is enough for now.

“You’ve done your business here,” spoke John L. Brown, the smirky smile not quite off his lips. “You know you can’t get out of this.”

“Chop me some wood first,” she said, fake shivering again. Because Wheeler had her own internal heating system. Unlike John.

But there was no wood to find in this desolate place high in the Foxtrot Backcountry. Only snow, static to others. Tennessee remains untraceable. The plane remains crashed in Kentucky and not Black Jack. That was the whole point of this.

Wheeler relented, gave over the mop. John L. Brown would hand it over to Paul in the next post.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0416, Hana Lei^^, Kentucky, Tennessee

bon appétit

“Thanks for coming over from Wendy to meet with me, Wheeler. I know you’re mighty busy over there.”

“I am (!).”

“Anyway, I see you brought your bodyguards.”

Wheeler looks at one Eighty-eight at the table in front of her, and then glances over her shoulder at the second one sitting at the table behind. “They’re still needed,” she summarizes. “176,” she totals up.

“Fascinating,” says Baker Bloch, still in sarcasm mode. They have important business to discuss tonight and better get down to it. Baker has been waiting for over 30 minutes now while Wheeler lounges about the castle library. I thought we were done with all that. He condenses these observations and says them aloud for her.

“Yeah, not quite (about the library). We have more issues to work through.” She looks around again, quicker this time. “But good we are in Ontario. I sent Dickie Doom over. He is my (original) burger.”

“You… as Wendy.”

“Yeah.”

Baker looks down at his hands through the grated table. “Center Point,” he blurts out.

“Yeah?” Wheeler waits for more, hands still in lap. Her food and drink are getting cold.

“It doesn’t come up in the Oracle. The one in Kentucky, probably the most important one. It brings to question…”

“… the Oracle itself, its veracity,” she finishes for Baker Bloch. Because they are one beneath it all as well. Just like Baker Blinker and Baker Bloch. Just like *all* the cores. There is no real separation from The One. In the end.

He produces the tic tac toe board from his inventory; is kind of irritated that Wheeler doesn’t move her dinner tray so it can be positioned more in the center of the table itself.

“So this is the game, Wheeler. Who moves first, what moves second? We don’t know. But *whoever* it is, they win.”

Wheeler takes a sip of her coffee, takes a bite of her plumeria sandwich, getting under Baker’s skin again. He doesn’t like people eating when he’s explaining something and Wheeler knows it. “This is,” she says with mouth full and muffled speech, “Collagesity.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0401, Collagesity Fordham, Kentucky, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Wendy-Ontario

00320204

“Perhaps it’s not Alien Island but *Allen* Island.”

“Maybe.”

“Picture this, ahem: Allen Yellow, our “Alien, Yellow” from novel 13, actually got to marry his friend Jennifer he met at Misty MO and now they live here, at this condo tower. The island is named for him — he owns it, or mostly does.”

“Perhaps,” she reinforces, thinking they have other locations to focus on now. They have a name, whether it’s Alien or Allen.

“Maybe he accepts the name Allen — I think he actually does this in 13. He dons a helmet that has an extra pair of eyes and which makes him look like a frog, a big yellow frog.” He turns to look in *her* eyes, trying to determine a color. Green? Blue? They could argue about it all night and then wake up the next morning and start over again. She better take it from here…

“Do you love me still, Allen the yellow alien? My Alien, Yellow (snicker)?”

He couldn’t hear anything in that helmet but she knew he did.

—–

He tried not to look in her eyes, knowing the paradox lie there, the stuff of irreality. Instead he focused on the mission.

“What,” he starts, “does he know?”

“He swallowed the frog to Prince story hook line and sinker,” Jennifer M. Friend stated proudly. They were hiding out behind the office, away from prying eyes down at the beach, Allen’s included. He was busy with the book she recommended. A tome about Prince Isles formerly Frog Isles. And without any frogs atall, apparently. They vanished overnight! How could it be?

“He thinks,” speaks Dickie Doom playing the part of Archibald now, “the helmet is needed?”

“He’s worried he’s going to lose his frog-like nature as well. So he wears it all the time now to keep an eye on it. I sometimes turn down the volume on his ‘ears’, just so I can speak to him without him knowing, a kind of sounding board — bounce ideas off of him that he doesn’t need to know about or understand.”

Dickie Doom/Archibald doesn’t respond any more since his allotted 10 words are up. We’ll see if he has anything to add to this in the next post (checking).

No. He doesn’t.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0204, Alien Island, Kentucky, Nautilus, Wild West

Abyss, The

“A boy 13 to 10 and back to 13 and over and over. Obviously this is TILE, W.”

“(Small) ‘e’ to (large) ‘E’,” she agreed. “5 to 8, gaining 3. Years in this case.”

“Yellow to blue.” He looked out at the sky, the suns rising over the horizon. Horizings.

“But what of the step-down?” she continued in this vein. “The 12, then the 11, back to 10 and then back to 13, over and over?”

“Children according to the TILE documents and creeds. Red and green. Gred. Or Reen.”

“Redgreen. I remember that place. A place of war.”

“7 and 6. Mixed up. Which is higher, which is lower? Confusion in the middle. And by extension…”

“At both ends. Hi becomes lo. Hilo.”

“But one thing we agreed,” he offered as a compromise. “The Abyss plays no role in the end game. Because the Abyss has no real power. Only illusion.”

“Like static.” She squelched the urge to tack on the state names of Tennessee and Kentucky to this. It would all play out.


Tennessee. And Kentucky.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0501, Kentucky, Michigan, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara, Tennessee

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0311, Jeogeot, Kentucky, NWES Island^, Tennessee

another cave


“It’s a crossover post from this here blog over to Facebook-land, Hucka Doobie.”

But Cassandra Blueberry, wanna-be Blue Berry Girl of the great state of NWES City, was there instead. Similar in ways but I wasn’t suppose to talk about that any more.

“I thought your name was Constance” I replied to her greeting.

“Find me,” she said in her pleasant voice, with no hint of a troubled past. “I’m still relevant.”

I doubted it. I had chosen another. Wendy. Like “The Shining’s” Wendy except different. More red I suppose but perhaps not more bloodied. Ketchup again. I left Cassandra to hold the irrelevant mustard.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0517, Apple's Orchard, Kentucky, NWES Island^

Carter’s Cave

“It’s a landscape tile, perfectly square and I don’t think it could be here by accident. Just thought you’d like to know, Baker Bloch.”

“Well um, *thanks* Biff Carter.”

“I have an office set up already in The City to start examining the oddities of this area. This — New Eden.”

“That’s great. I wish you well. Let me know what you find.”

“I’ll send you a report daily.”

“Er, what about Cassandra City? I thought that was your base? Did you have a falling out with the guy in the trench coat? Wait — I suppose *you’re* that guy, or the replacement. Comedy over gravity and the like.”

Biff Carter thought about this for a change before replying. He didn’t want to become totally stream of consciousness. I realized who he might be tonight.

“We have a mutual friend.”

Thought so. But what of the square landscape tile? It *was* here. And he was right: ’twas a strange phenomenon and I don’t think it could be accident. Must be the work of Carrcassonnee again. I understand she has a car now that she can steer around. CAR.

“Don’t get too close to it,” peering Biff Carter warned once more. “Could be radioactive; could be a plant.. er, planted here by Umbrella.”

“Yeah, been meaning to ask you about that. Who, or what, is Umbrella? Red or maybe red and white striped.”

“Strip, yes.” Did he say strip?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0515, Kentucky, New Eden^^

fire in the road fire in the road!

“Why are you telling *me* all this, Baker Bloch, he he?”

“Well, because…”

“I’m a Bee? I’m no longer a Bee in any way, shape, form. I don’t even have the antennae any more. Here,” and Hucka Doobie tilts the top of her head toward Baker and pats it. “Nothing.”

“You’re from Mammoth Cave, right?”

“No. Never said that.”

“I think you did.”

Hucka Doobie shakes her antennae-less head and crosses her arms over her red plaid vest.

“Where, then?”

She uncrosses her arms. She crosses her arms. She stares.

“Aahhh. So it was *you* that tied the bow on that building… shed. Whatever.”

“Maybe.” It was a more definitive answer than Mammoth Cave. I decided to press.

“How old are you, Hucka Doobie? 108?”

Shaking again this time. I figured former host Charles Nelson Blinkerton would have been about that age. Had he lived. Boy, hadn’t thought about *him* in a long time. And Hucka Doobie use to *be* him. A him. Took a while, I suppose, for all the hormones to work their way out, alongside (and parallel with) the bee stuff it seems. I decided to press even further. I asked about a man-bee fusion.

But Hucka Doobie was gone. She didn’t fly away, but just took flight. She’d made her point I suppose. Center Point.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0508, Kentucky

X

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cub_Run,_Kentucky

Cub Run is an unincorporated community in Hart County, Kentucky, United States. It was also known as The Crossroads….

The [Chicago] indie rock band Eleventh Dream Day recorded their 1991 album “Lived to Tell” in a tobacco barn on the Niland’s farm in Cub Run.[3]

http://www.comedyminusone.com/releases/new-moodio/

In the fall of 1991 Eleventh Dream Day was at the crossroads.

Not the Robert Johnson meet-the-devil crossroads (although they may have been willing to negotiate if they could have found those crossroads), but a juncture where break-it seemed more inevitable than make-it in the dichotomy.

Who is at The Crossroads? And is that a… guitar??

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Curse_of_the_Billy_Goat

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, *REALITY, 0021, 0507, Kentucky