Category Archives: 0017

January 8, 2020 · 6:24 am

Areogeleye

“There,” Wheeler declared. “Down at the bottom.” She bends down. “A blue eye!”

“Your… *missing* eye?” Baker Blinker asks, staring down as well at the grassy being with one blue eye, the left one (to it).

“Yes. We must observe this closely.” She stands back, taking in the whole work.

Newton Collage 09, (in)formally “TILE Waterfall”. She sees this through the checked description. “TILE,” she then utters. “Does *Karoz* know about this one?”

“I– I’m…”

“We better ask,” Wheeler stated, not letting Baker Blinker finish. She could tell her new partner didn’t know. But Karoz was the last person Baker Blinker wanted to talk to right now. Not after what she had just done.

We may also note that this is the 49th collage of the 100 piece “Art 10 x 10” housed in the Collagesity cubic skybox called the Edwardston Station Gallery that Wheeler Wilson and Baker Blinker are presently combing through for clues. The 49th room of Kowloon’s 100 Story Building similarly contains a “spilled” black liquid combined with bright white. We’ve already seen it here: the dream cat called Space spills black ink while diminutive feline companion Star seems to spill a contrasting white milk and then revel in the mixture. We don’t have a white *spill* here, yet white *absorption* through a synthetic, ultralight porous material called areogel. The blue eye *eyes* the areogel, knowing what it actually stands for.

This is black and white combined again.

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January 7, 2020 · 6:49 am

hidden

But something still doesn’t add up. Or multiply. We have another on the rooftops quite near the Bird — staring at it even — leaf umbrella in hand shielding his *head*, if not necessarily the rest of his body, from the localized rain surrounding the whale directly above him.

He has a different tattoo on it than Fish Head, but, otherwise, the same body it seems. A bird instead? Dry instead of wet?

And, to be specific, the rotating Bird he’s peering toward only has the head of such. The (white) body is instead that of a female human, outstretched arms sort of giving the appearance of wings.

If only I could translate the native languages better inworld, Chinese and Japanese. Because both are used here.

Maybe a trick to understanding all this is start seeing through walls. For example, we find a mysterious *hole* using this method directly below Fish Head’s bar on the ground level.

Where does this lead us?

Underwater, it turns out. A more realistic abode for, let’s say, a fish.


“You’re not going to be able to figure it out.”

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January 7, 2020 · 5:42 am

bar fight?

The Fish goes its separate way from the Head. Like seeks like.

Although the rain still pelts down, he is above the fray now.

Unlike the Bird perched down below, the Fish doesn’t revolve. Take that as you will. Just an fyi.

The bar directly below the Bird seems vacated. Is this a dying city?

It’s a rival bar to (grounded) Fish Head’s just down the alley. Did Fish Head cause the closure? Is his known confidant, the Heart Queen, also responsible?

Rotation, hmm.

One way to find out.

“Did you cause the closure of the Bird’s bar?”

“No.

—–

“I mean maybe.

—–

“Yes.”

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January 5, 2020 · 6:46 pm

87 02

“I’m going to make you partially transparent so don’t panic.”

“Okay, here’s the problem. Or deal. *I* sit on the black stool that represents the 8 ball. 88 01 (let’s say), you are on the orange “2” stool and 88 02 (we’ll say), you’re perched on the yellow “3”. Wheeler then considered something else. “Stool, huh.” She then took a remote picture before returning to the 87 Room.


Room 61

“Alright, so between you is an XVideos labelled laptop that, to me, obviously is suppose to represent “x” as in *times* something. But 3 *times* 2 (she points to the 3 associated objects in turn) equals 6. Added to my 8 (stool) you get 86. But this is (Room) 87.

If you consider the X might be a cross (+) it goes even one further from the truth, since 80 (points to herself) plus 3 (points to 88 01) plus 2 (points to 88 02) equals 85. Now the XVideos laptop sits on a stool representing the 1 ball in pool, the blue one. To me, this *must* represent Blue Eye, the missing one in either Arkansas or Missouri. So here’s the solution, people. I’m 80, you guys are 3 *times* 2 or 6, and then the stool, the one, when added in at last — *not* multiplied — brings us to the needed 87. You have to count the missing one hidden by the X to make sense of it all.

“So what’s the problem?” I asked just beyond the wall.

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January 5, 2020 · 6:00 pm

87 01

“It’s time to take one of you observing 88’s to the room to see what went missing. Maybe both of you. Yeah: both.”

—–

“First, a little wine before we start. Sorry you can’t have any, guys.” (sip)

“Guys? Can you hear me?”

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January 5, 2020 · 10:25 am

up down

“*Rebl*? What happened to your *eye*??”

Shark? What shark?”

Plans?”

Flash bulb? Blinding? *Disappeared*?”

“Go ahead,” she urged. “Find out where it leads. It won’t hurt you. Like it did me.”

“Aahh!”

—–

“Somewhere in this Edwardston Station Gallery, my love, my *future* love, is a clue to the whereabouts of my missing eye. I can feel it. So close.” But still they walk right by.

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January 5, 2020 · 8:07 am

fly

We watch him from beyond the wall. He was on a journey. Lamb was taking him somewhere. Along the way he picked up two traveling companions who might have been figments of his imagination. Probably were. “Who are you?” he decides to ask despite this when they first came alongside him. “Space,” announced the larger being with black jacket and matching black pants. “Star,” came the piping voice of the smaller, blue hooded one. Both some kind of cartoon cats, assumed Guy, looking them over from the side. All traveling through the heavens on Lamb toward — something. How long before arrival?

Along the way, Space fleshed out a backstory of how, many *many* years ago, he spilled ink from a bucket or can, while Star had spilled milk from a smaller container. Together, hand in hand, this created our galaxy, he claimed. “That’s why Milky Way is here with its neon coat of white,” Star furthered, obviously reveling in the mixture. “We are travelers of the Lamb dimension now.”

Facing forward, the cats were suddenly gone. He was alone in his journey to what he now understood was the Answer to Everything, with only a looming, translucent wall between him and it….

SLAM! Guy Benjamin woke up. He excitedly relayed the details of his dream to fellow “Lamb” fan Grandpapa the next morning.

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January 4, 2020 · 11:56 am

helmet world

“I was in a virtual reality, Grandmama, Grandpapa. Two wrestlers had just made an alliance. One had to manage the other. That one had been replaced by the other in the far past.”

“Virtual reality, huh,” groused Grandmama. “Is *that* why it took you so long to find us?”

“*Finally*,” reinforced Grandpapa to her side.

“Then I found a store selling progressive rock t-shirts, but, get this, they were *cartoon* versions.” Guy shows his Grandmamapapa one of the t-shirts, with a parody of Genesis’ classic ‘Nursery Cryme’ album cover on the front. “Pretty cool, huh? They had *2* Genesis t-shirts, one for this and then for ‘Foxtrot’. You know, the one with ‘Supper’s—”

“No ‘Lamb’?” interrupts Grandpapa, staring at the thing. Among early Genesis efforts with front man Peter Gabriel, it’s the only one that interests him personally. He likes the story. The music is glossier and fuller. He says so, and adds, “just like Grandmama here.” Here reaches across the table and pinches her fleshy side.

“Stop it, Jack,” she complains, swatting his flirting hand away but at the same time taking the “complement” in stride. “We’re *suppose* to be angry with *Guy* here. 15 weeks since the last visit? Too long young man.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I can’t *find* your place that easy in all these twisty-turny alleys. And there’s so many distractions.” He indicates the shirt he’s wearing again. “Look,” he decides to display. “Here’s the other one.”

“Well sit down, Guy and I’ll put some more tea on.” Grandpapa attempts a joke about Guy putting on another t-shirt and Grandmama putting on another tea which fails in mid-effort. He clears his throat and then drives home his point about “Lamb”. “‘Lamb’ is *real*, not fantasy. *Not* virtual reality. It’s the gritty streets of NYC that we found anti-hero Rael spray painting his name on.

“Subways,” Guy corrects. “The album says subways.”

“Yes, of course.” Guy knew his Genesis. He respected “Lamb” too. He just digs early Genesis in general. The only album he really likes by them post-Gabriel is “Duke”. He laments the fact that the t-shirt fat pack didn’t include that album cover. Nor “Lamb”, but “Lamb” was probably simply harder to do, since no singular focus on the cover. Probably hard to create a cartoon image of Rael. Maybe that adds to Grandpapa’s point, he then ponders. Rael is too *real* to turn into an animation.

(to be continued?)

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January 4, 2020 · 10:41 am

more more

She was back in Collagesity. Husband Karoz Blogger may or may not follow. She’d heard of Wheeler’s marriage to Axis and had to return. She had one last pitch: a wrestling confederation. Headed by Wheeler.

Marriages don’t have to last forever.

—–

“It’s a good place, Wheeler. A strong place,” Baker Blinker spoke about the Gloomy Gus structure, her original home in Collagesity, recently moved to the Peninsula residential area of town.

“I *do* like the hair. Thanks so much.”

“Sorry it’s so late.” She gazes at the remaining visible eye through the doo and wonders if it’s Arkansas or Missouri. Only one way to find out. “Marry me, Wheeler. Divorce Axis. I’ll divorce Karoz. Together we’ll be *Beans*.”

Wheeler paused. We’ve been here before, but with the shoe on the other foot. “You better get back to Chilbo,” Wheeler replied non-committally. “Karoz will be needing his supper soon. Still eating rice all the time?”

“Quinoa now,” explained Baker Blinker with a laugh. “Less filling.” She rubbed her belly here. Wheeler liked the look of it. Axis was a marriage of convenience. They could remain friends, after all.

“I’ll — think about it,” she finalized for now. “You better go. Oh… let me see yours.”

Baker Blinker showed her the new hair she bought for herself as well. Magika Bean she could be soon. With Flip as her partner at both home and work.

“The study would be right in there,” Baker Blinker tempts. “Just like before.”


Before.

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January 3, 2020 · 8:44 am

more connections

He turns away from her on the bed while she is talking, much to her relief. She’s tired of looking at the thing. He claims their sex is hot, hot, hot, but to her it’s always lukewarm! And he’s not tea so no reheating; one and done. “Santa,” she calls back toward him.

“Satan, please,” he requests, his voice booming even when projecting the wrong way. “Santa’s a last name.”

“Oh, right.” April Mae knew full well what his name was. He had to use the most obvious anagram possible. Might as well stick 2 horns on his head and prod expectant children with a forked candy cane or something. “He knows about you,” she then offers.

“I’m *not* the maker.”

“He knows that too.”

“I am Satan!” His tone was more defiant that ever.

“You are the Red Devil, true,” she agreed. Where did all the legends get that hot fire and brimstone stuff? she wonders again. Falsities!

“Be a dear and bring me the book, April Mae. The one where I’m a star — I need it to get to sleep.”

Well, she certainly wants him to get to sleep. So she can sneak out again. Tommy Pajamy over in cabin B might be willing later tonight. She’s been prepping him for weeks, bending too far over while shoveling the sidewalks, climbing too high with her dress on a ladder to prune the snow laden trees. She knows he watches. She has eyes in the back of her head.

She retrieves the book from the shelf and then hands it to Satan Santa, not looking down.  It’s a 1989 mystery novel involving a cooperative venture between the US (US) and USSR (THEM) that gets screwed up because a woman’s death is broadcast on the net. Then it turns up on a VHS tape that lands in the wrong hands. The woman is named Kat. Eartha Kit Kat Moon. And I believe she’s Chinese. Or Japanese. And she may not be a woman either.

(to be continued?)

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