Category Archives: MAPS

March 9, 2019 · 10:06 am

Bald Seal Prelude

Baker Bloch next checked Hana Lei for survivors, but the members of the band Lamb — Peter, Paul and Mary — were nowhere to be found. Baker thought of the perhaps odd coincidence that the 3 locations beginnning with “H” in his overall lexicon were all clustered together if sorted by number of posts. 15 for Hana Lei here, 16 for Heartsdale, and then 14 for Horizons. But none of these places seemed relevant any longer — all used up for meaning. He couldn’t stop thinking about the 3 “H”‘s, though, and how it perhaps — again — points to the Omega continent (through Kentucky). Better get back to Bauerbridge, then…

… but the high dune had been masked by a thick thicket of trees. Big Thicket? Edward Swift once more?

April Mae’s small cemetery remains at the edge of the thicket, where her husband Septimius Felton was buried and which we see her visit several times in the last Collagesity novel (last?).

I’ll just do a little grave maintenance while I’m here.


The Angel of Death reached out for Baker Bloch’s hat again.

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February 24, 2019 · 11:29 pm

Ruby Fantasie: savior

“It’s so beautiful Zoidboro. Just like you said. The trees would grow, the water would go. I’m ready to name my baby.”

“Jackson, then?” guessed Zoidboro, steeling himself for disappointment.

“No, a compromise. If our son is very special — say, can do 6 butterflies in a row…”

“What’s a butterfly?” queried his cephalopodic partner while watching yet another shooting star cross the sky.

“That’s right. You never went to dance school like me — sorry. It’s a cartwheel where your hands never touch the ground. Anyway if he can do 6 of those as opposed to, say, 4 or even 5, we will call him Jackson. Otherwise: Daniel. Danny will be a good boy, I’m sure, but not special. Jackson is reserved for Special.”

“Like Jack’s son.”

“Yes. I wish 100 times over that he is special, but we must love him equally either way.”

“Agreed,” Zoidboro quickly returned.

Patrick turned away from the sky and toward his partner, his ally. “And now, it’s time, to go, inside.”

—–

“I have found them! In the heart of the Pineapple Island. My intuitions are correct!”

“And across the street: another tiny car! This must be the controller.”

“I’ll go inside.”

—–

“Ahh. Should have guessed. Tessa.”

“Who are you??”

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February 22, 2019 · 9:17 am

Murdock Island Too

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

Lānaʻi (/ləˈnaɪ, lɑːˈnɑːi/;[1] Hawaiian: [laːˈnɐʔi, naː-]) is the sixth-largest of the Hawaiian Islands and the smallest publicly accessible inhabited island in the chain.[2] It is colloquially known as Pineapple Island[citation needed] because of its past as an island-wide pineapple plantation….

In 1921, Charles Gay planted the first pineapple on Lānaʻi. The population had again decreased to 150, most of whom were the descendants of the traditional families of the island.[14] A year later, James Dole, the president of Hawaiian Pineapple Company (later renamed Dole Food Company), bought the island and developed a large portion of it into the world’s largest pineapple plantation….

In 1985, Lānaʻi passed into the control of David H. Murdock, as a result of his purchase of Castle & Cooke, then owner of Dole….

In June 2012, Larry Ellison, then CEO of Oracle Corporation, purchased Castle & Cooke’s 98 percent share of the island for $300 million. The state owns the remaining 2 percent.[15]

“I have gone too far down Murdock Cherry. Collagewold influence lessening. The green A Team from Pineapple has murdered — even lasered down with their red beam — the blue Bees. Shivering commences again. Porch sitting Homer and Lady La La talk about knife fights and poisoning. The saucy eyed saucer spits out aberrant things.”

“I must return back to The Islands.”

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February 10, 2019 · 3:20 pm

more Picton pics

https://www.iceboxpec.org/visit/

Muffled voice from within: “Is it spring yet?”

“Just kidd’n. I’m over here now. But what happened to Yellow’s?”

https://www.theye11ow.com/blank-pvj6y

“Ahh so. Ye11ow’s. 11 instead of ‘ll’.”

“And only 200 meters away as the crowbird flies…

… but still hidden, hmmmm.”

“Hold on. What’s that over there? Just at the end of the street?”

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February 3, 2019 · 10:57 am

windows

At the Jaeger’s Hat, Rosehaven tourist Donald Farr gets a big laugh out of a jukebox style gramophone that comes to life and sprouts arms when touched. The castle scene behind the sentient record player is actually a false window, which becomes important a little later on. Reminds Donald that he’s made friends with a Rosehaven castle owner recently, and wonders if it is the same structure he presently calls home. King Tull (or King Tully). We’ll get to him soon as well.

In looking behind him now, I realize that the false window of 10×6 panes, if extended into a square, would represent 100 panes that have become one through the castle.

—–

Donald enjoying his second house whiskey at the Avalon Estate irish pub and dance hall, the first being so refreshing. Good thing he’s not driving, walking and teleporting being his only means of transport while on vacation. When did he have to be back to work? he ruminates through the inebriated haze. Perhaps never, hehe.

—–

Hmm. Donald remembers a building that could be rented on this parcel before, which now is vacant. He had his eyes on it, but the rent is a little steep for his traveling budget. He just wants a place to rest his head between exploring jaunts. Perhaps one of the nearby cottages is available now. He’ll go check there next. He can only impose on King Tull (or Tully) for so long. Plus it’s pretty much a fur piece from anything out where he lives on that mountain. He’d like to be closer to the center of all things Rosehaven, and the cottages fit that bill.

—–

—–

Darnit! The edge cottage that had been available for several days was now rented. He missed his chance! Music is heard within — a ragtime tune being played on an out-of-tune piano. It draws him in; there’s a welcome sign as well. Plus he’s still a little drunk and uninhibited. Is this a private parcel? He didn’t care. He felt it should be his.

He opens the door and walks inside…

…. to find himself staring at himself.

“The missing building!” he cries while twirling about.

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January 20, 2019 · 11:37 am

one way

“2:01, Mabel. Who do you think will come through today?”

“We can only hope,” replied Tessa’s likewise observing Martian friend, bracing for the “norm”.

“Bloody fairy,” uttered Tessa disgustedly, spotting the wings first. “Put her across the tracks with the rest. I don’t even want to speak with this one.”

“Me neither,” echoed Mabel, still not over the incessant babbling of the impossibly exuberant Bubbles.

She points for the confused newcomer.


Joining her brethren.

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January 13, 2019 · 9:15 am

Storisende

John Cage had come to feel
That art in our time
Was far less important
Than our daily lives

~ “Tiger the Lion” by The Tragically Hip

“So here we are. At the appropriately named Ebonshire. This is as far as you’ve ever gone Monsieur Gold. You are almost ready to transition. See over there?” Parasol indicates across the water to her left. “End of the tale. Tiger. Are you ready?”

But then Monsieur Gold was gone, in a flash. From the other direction, several deer look on, thinking her crazy for talking to herself.

—–

Just later, Parasol goes to confer with the Monster of the Sea about the next step.

—–

“Thank you my friend.”

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January 12, 2019 · 9:55 pm

Fantasie

She continued to puff on her Havana while talking.

“Wee found another dooor out, Duncan, Baker Bloch and Ii. Stiill shut… but sooon.” She puffed again. “You are stiill happy here in the Fruit Loopy Islands, noo?” She stares but no answer. “I seee that you arre. You just continue what you’rre doing and doon’t mind mee. Play as iif I’m not heere, hehe.” She stared some more, then looked behind her through the palms, though the location in her mind was far, out of sight even with the longest draw distance. “Biig Island, eh? Stiill much to exploore. Snaaakes (pause) Manateees (pause) Liooons. (pause) I’ve even heard there are tiigers on the neighborring island with thee temples. Tiigers, Duncan. Tales of thee..”

“And mee in the ceentre. I was *theere.*”

“I plan to goo to Rosehaaven and shaake things uup a bit.” Puff. “Thaat’s my deestiny.” Emit smoke.

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January 12, 2019 · 6:51 pm

RYS

A small shop I’d like to open in the heart of Rosehaven but probably never will. Has little to do with knitting, weaving and sewing. Instead: tales, with tall preferred.

Let’s begin with this:

https://rosehavenblog.wordpress.com/tag/the-mists/

And here’s the bit that links this yarn with the other:

https://rosehavenyarn.com/color/mist/

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January 1, 2019 · 9:27 am

Parasol 03

He sat on the throne a long time after he finished. He didn’t want to go back down. April Mae was pissed because *he* was pissed, one of those vicious cycles. But what did he really have besides the narrow boat-plane? She had her clothes, her friends, her furniture, her… paintings. Were they really her paintings? No, they had bought them together. The paintings were his as well. Kind of. Split, I suppose.

But… the scratch. Nay, more than a scratch, a scar. Car scar. She said she just ran into the dune — didn’t see it looming up in front of her when overshooting the cemetery. And why does she have to go out there to the Omega continent to visit her ex so often? She’s got *me* now. I’m the important, *living* one. She has to help protect *me*.

—–

Instead of going downstairs to continue arguing with his wife, Monsieur Gold decides to walk over to his study on the other side of the second floor to check his email account. Eventually, inevitably, he’s draw again to play that game on the laptop he’s so addicted to. We’ve seen it before: Gunn Mobile Home Trailer Park. He plays for about an hour until he’s pretty certain April Mae has simmered down. On his way to the stairs, he pauses to contemplate Monet’s “Woman with a Parasol” at the end of the hallway, one of two versions displayed in the mansion. One for him, one for his wife. Split.


“Oh. Hello dear. Sorry about before.”

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