I was under pressure to finish this tonight. An expansion of “Adventures in Tintown Part 4 of Tin” into 4a (original 4), 4b, and 4c. Combined you can create 3 diptychs (4ab 4bc 4ca) and one triptych which goes around in a big circle (4abc or, if you will, 4abcabcabc…). Much analysis could be done but soo sleepy.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0505, Bogota, collages 2d, Ebbert, Kentucky, Missouri
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0501, Bogota, collages 2d, Ebbert, Kentucky, Missouri
On the outskirts of Mortons Gap lies Tintown, or use to until it became another one of those pandemic casualties. There you could dig for Gold, which means you could find Self, alchemically speaking.
All of ’em.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0417, Kentucky, Missouri
Cone grew up in Pine Apple, Alabama, with a population around 100. He attended Moore Academy, a one-room school from kindergarten through high school. He did not play football because there were not enough people to field a team.
He emerged from the blue and yellow tent in another dream, a blue and yellow type dream himself. He closely studies the pine cone atop the book tree we found Agent 47 (or 23) reading beside a bit earlier, remembering something about his father. Pine cone… pineapple cone, he free associates. My father lived in one. The cone became the same as one of his eyes. The Other: The Mother.
“I’m worried about my son,” Snowmanster confessed to her bartender at the town’s Hole in the Wall. “He’s built this whole fantasy library around this Kactus figure he made up when he was a kid and still believes in. He *is* Kactus… at times. When he’s playing that role he doesn’t remember who I am, who his parents are. His whole life becomes a blank.”
Now kimono clad Miss Ouri waited patiently for Snowmaster to come around to the obvious, and the prickly green doll she held in her arms. Maybe she needs a coffee mug or t-shirt to spell it out better. Don’t be a prick! The white swan turns into a black swan.
Wheeler wakes up and instantly remembers to jot it down thanks to a strategically placed poster. Good ol’ Arkansaw! Back to reality, phew.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0416, Alabama, Arkansas, Collagesity Fordham-, Lower Austra, Missouri, Nautilus
“Live around here?”
“Nooope. Pietmond,” he said. But Sunklands’ Pietmond had been destroyed long long ago. Something was up.
“Live around here?” she tried again just around the corner in a “secret” nook.
“Naah. Just here to study,” the long haired man across the loaded down table said hoarsely, as if he’d just sang a rock n’ roll concert for a 100,000 people.
The other sitting there even turned her back on the child, not wanting discourse and hoping her Goth father was about ready to split this boring town. So that takes care of Pietmond Boy, Osborne Well, and Lou…
… moving us into the opposite corner of the new Collagesity library containing an estimated 100,000 books, a book for each person at one of Osborne’s concerts to put it another way. Here: Tronesisia.
“Live around here?” she tried once more to the former pleasure bot turned tame, this child named Shelley who had given up her castle to construct this building, be with these people. But blue eyed Tronesisia was having a vision and couldn’t answer immediately.
Where had she heard this before? Blue *and* green. It didn’t compute: something was ill fitting; broken even.
“Arkansaw,” she said softly, starting to figure it out. “Arkansaw,” she said again, one blue eye changing, seeing beyond the other, seeing North beyond South.
In the center, Missouri appeared — Miss Ouri. The new librarian.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0403, Arkansas, Collagesity Fordham-, Lower Austra, Missouri, Nautilus
“Missouri or Arkansas? I’m going with Arkansas because of the redness (of the book). But maybe…”
“Missouri instead,” I completed for him.
“Michigan?!” shouted George from the side.
—–
I knew there was only one way to find out. Purchase the monster book on the marketplace and then… open. Chapter 1 (potential): “Marble Falls, Marbles Fall”. A blue marble seems to have fallen out of the cover, leaving the monster with only one. But maybe the title is misleading.
“Chapter 1,” Alysha read later in the red book before her while she was sitting in the heart shaped chair, or a heart backed chair. Make sure it doesn’t turn into a spade, I thought for her.
—–
She was at the monkey. “Marble Falls, Marbles Fall”, she said again, staring at the reversed image, a shadow if it was beneath her feet. “A heart becomes a spade.” And so it begins.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0401, Arkansas, Lower Austra, Michigan, Missouri, Nautilus, Upper Austra
“Peppins, Pippins, Pippens… the name shifted all around down through the months, now almost years. It all had to do with that Peppi machine: that was the center it all revolved around, The Diamond some call it. David A.B. put his heart and his brain into designing that machine; literally for the brain. He knew what was just around the corner. A beat up old station wagon with an Illinois license plate reading BDR529, intent on harm. He didn’t have much time.”
“But what does this *mean*?” ask Poetry Dancer, with Jeffrie Phillips for the moment. Until Charlene Brown the punk woke up about 11 o’clock. Morning walk he could say, building up a sweat by running in place for a couple of minutes. Poor Charlene — so involved in her cryptozoology dissertation writing late into the night that she was oblivious to the transgressions. Jeffrie was taking full advantage of that. The bastard. But a smart bastard, perhaps the worst kind.
“It *means*, my dear, that the death was planned; on purpose. We must track down this Sammie Parr, who is in the collages after all. She is an amalgamation of 5, just like me. That means…”
“Pot-D. *Sorry*. I mean Pan-Z of course.”
“Yes. A rival member, perhaps rogue. *Obviously* rogue because of the murder and all. David A.B.’s brain must have been in there all right.”
“But what will they do with it *now*?” queries Poetry Dancer further, no ugly in her face for the moment.
“They got him to the hospital through trickery, just like before. The brain I mean, and not the host.”
“Of course.”
“It’s Mid Hazel,” he suddenly intuited, putting collage pieces together in his own brain. “She’s up to something.”
“Oh dear.”
“More… *cake*?” he said after a weighted pause.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0023, 0510, Black Ice, Heartsdale+, Missouri, NWES Island
Toddles hated to drug up her grandma to explore The City at night unless absolutely necessary. But she had to go back to Boos without her interfering *negativism* to investigate the first floor collages more and the perhaps clues she saw in them when they both visited the other day. Poor Grammy, the prescient (and precious!) toddler lamented. So fixated on the collages over at the Red Umbrella that she can’t see the advancement of all that interesting energy into the Boos series (exhibited) here above the Temple of TILE now. Toddles ganders at the toy action figure she knows later turned into Casey One Hole, another a-hole of a man, although she’s not suppose to say that word aloud. “Grammy be *damned*,” she dares while staring and glaring. “He *is* an a-hole. And what does he look over at in the other hand? A seed. A license plate that is a seed. A tiny car of a thing held by someone named Olive. Olive something. Kimball something… Oliver.” She was tuning in better, eliminating the rest of the static. “Oliver Wendell Douglas,” she speaks clearly. “And ‘A Dirty Little Wet Seed’.” We know what that is.
She thinks back to the rest of the series just viewed and how it progresses to this *point*, this seed.
Another seed? (comedy)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0022, 0408, Boos, Canada/Tungaska, collages 2d, Google Street View, Marwood, Missouri, NWES Island
—–
Philip Strevor was his own boss for a while but that changed when he entered the Red Room and met Casey One Hole, the bastard. From then on, he worked for him; boss no more. Instead he was a grunt man, bullying underlings and upward mobile wannabes. Like Whatammys except transparent. Sammy Whatammy, aka Miss Raincoat, waited in the waiting room to be seen next by Philip. Then it was Yoko Ona (upward mobile wannabe) and then Zapppa (underling). The place was still heavily bugged.
—–
“Never mind the sign,” he made the obligatory apology to start. “I’m not the boss any more. *He* is. He calls the shots, sometimes golf shots, sometimes other kinds of shots, if you know what I mean.” He stared at Miss Raincoat/Sammy Whatammy, expecting an answer. “Do you *know*… what I *mean*?” he repeated more sinisterly, as was appropriate at this juncture. He’d seen it happen. He didn’t want to see someone face that kind of music again. Pizza!
“I testified just like [delete name] wanted me to. I said all the words I was suppose to say.” She repeated some of the words here: “Underwater. Sinky. Blub blub blub. Just like [delete name] told me.”
“Why can’t you say [delete name]?”
“[Delete] what?”
“The name of our (actual) boss. [Delete name]. Dang! Now I’m doing it too. Must be [delete word].”
“[Delete name][delete word] is obviously [delete word][delete name]. Reversed.”
“*That* bloodied vampire? That imbecile? Impossible.”
“I believe [delete word].”
“*He’s* Casey One Hole? Played by ever method actor Tom Casey? Dang!”
(to be continued?)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0020, 0613, Google Street View, Heterocera, Iris, Missouri
Since Lennon’s death in 1980, McCartney has fought an uphill battle to assert his place in history, often finding himself dismissed as a shallow hack, a Salieri to Lennon’s Mozart, as Lennon’s widow Yoko Ono cruelly put it. So even as McCartney’s tunes continue to carry the load for the Beatles’ back catalog (14 of the 27 chart-topping songs featured on the group’s wildly successful “1” compilation were predominantly Paul’s, and another four were at least half-written by him), little of the prestige reflects back on him….
Seeing the mid-’90s “Beatles Anthology” releases as an attempt to rectify the historical record, McCartney asked Ono if his name could be placed ahead of Lennon’s, if only for the song “Yesterday”….
But Ono was adamant that the Lennon-McCartney billing should not be altered, arguing that it would be “opening a can of worms.” McCartney did not forget: Two years later, when Linda McCartney died of cancer, Ono was not invited to the New York wake.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there at your, ahem, wake. I’m sorry that you had to die, and in such a bad way. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that old thing,” she waved off. “Yeah, I died. But it really wasn’t me. As you are really not who you are either. Clones are standing by, as Mid-Hazel likes to say. I am only a product of Oregon; Merlin merely points that out. Where is Merlin anyway? Helping Golden Josephine out of that tight dress she likes to wear when digging more greenbacks out of men?”
“I don’t know,” Yoko returned simply and plainly, wondering who Merlin is. Another dead person?
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0020, 0314, Heartsdale+, Missouri, New York
Sunklands 