But Ruby (Fantasie) had already left the Borderlands and entered Rosehaven proper with the true coming of spring. She has emerged from between the tigers’ tails which are actually Tiger Tail. This was the true meaning of Eraserhead Man’s vision of the Tigrett in Vineyard Cafe, for they are one and the same, tiger tales both now.
The Borderlands Oracle, the *Mother*, is currently stuck on the figure of Morgaine, an ambivalent character from Arthurian legend who can take on both negative and positive roles. Red and blue if you will. Surrounded by 12 rounded rocks, this border also signals the end of our yarn or weaving, or as far as we can take it currently. Our 12th Collagesity novel.
Borderlands has greenly homogenized with Rosehaven as a whole. There’s no need for a tale now within. We are done with it. Same with Fruity Islands, End of Time, The Waste. All put away in the creative closet, perhaps pulled out later for further play.
The Brachiosaurus which doubles as a sea monster here seems to be telling Baker B(loch) goodbye.
But what of Mssr. Gold and wife April Mae Flowers of Snowlands? Herbert Gold will keep dreaming of these lands for certain — he is stuck as well. April Mae will keep seeing the gardener Steve on the side and visiting her ex’s grave over on the Omega continent. The mysterious Bauerbridge dune will remain an obstacle in her way.
Despite the end of perhaps a cycle of Collagesity novels, Collagesity itself also goes onward, up and away and beyond the effects of any storyline. For this is home. The anchor. From here I can enter any world I dare to penetrate with a certain style of wizardry: Stonethwaite, Tugaske, Avebury. All the “satellite” realms. But one has to have a center to return to.
So I, Baker B., Baker Blinker and Baker Bloch both, will say goodbye to you my loyal reader while sitting at home sipping on my Starbucks 4 shot latte and enjoying the relative warmth of an early spring night.
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2018-2019 WINTER”!
In Jethro’s dream, the peak of Bauerbridge had rejoined the rest of the Mountain Lake summits to celebrate the return of Timmy, reunited with his war torn family at last.
In a related story, Trojan-Durexian War vet Sam Bee lounges at a Fruity Island public beach, wondering if this is finally the year he’ll be able to return to the land of the living.
Friend Duncan says they’ve found a door — not yet opened, though. Sam knows voodoo; he can remedy that.
They had finished their meals and were eating dessert by sunset. Hardly a word had been passed between the husband and wife all the time. Finally, after several spoonfuls of gelatin instant pudding: “Who’s in the cave with Mabel and Tessa, Herbert?” No immediate answer from her husband, so April Mae ventured some guesses. “Could it be… Jethro? Bauer?”
Monsieur Gold set his spoon down rather noisily on the table with this. No, not *Jethro*… *Bauer,* he thought, but also admitted to himself that he was blocked in that direction.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
They ate in silence for a spell again. Then: “I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow,” spoke April Mae. “I haven’t been in almost 3 weeks.”
“Suit yourself,” came the quick followup. “Make sure you fill the narrow boat-plane with gas before bringing it back.” He dare not request the other thing in his mind; that she *please* *please* be careful with it this time and don’t run into that God cursed dune again, which just happens to be jutting up in the middle of God awful nowhere for some reason. Away from the rest of the Omega continent peaks.
“I think I’ll take the gardener with me this time.”
“Why don’t you do that.”
April Mae Flowers had always been clamped onto husband Septimius Felton during life. But death freed her. Was she the same as Misty? Sorry to be asking so many questions, but we are at the beginning of something new. Different. Notice the narrow boat again in the background of this post’s first picture? That kind of thing. But quickly masked over by snow and death and gloom. Back to AMF…
Something different came to the sim of The Sand Seas today.
Nearby, spatially and temporally: Patrick still likes cats.
“I like cats. Man.”
But who was this man he speaketh to, just emerged, dusty and dingy and gritty, from The Sea of Sands to the immediate south of here? Jethro?
No, not him. Although he may play a part in our play later on. Instead: Monsieur Gold. Looking high and low for granddaughter Tessa. Searching near and far for step-children Lisa and Bartholomew. Dealing with the connivings and machinations of Madame Silver and fellow evil villain known as The Parasol all along the way.
“Any other place to sit here?” he implores to Patrick the crazy cat lover across from him, not wishing to presently accomplish the function his tire seat was designed for. Disgusting.
“No,” responds Patrick, attempting to smooth out a cowlick on the back of a cat.
Nearby (spatially and temporally):
“God I hate murders. Despises them.”
I think it may be Jethro’s brother/cousin. Baer? Bauer? I believe I’m onto something…
Something different came to the sim of Bauerbridge today.
129,127 — close enough.
“Could it be… could that horse be eating — sniffing…
… blue roses? Yesss!”
“I’m so close.”
But Casey One Hole quickly learned he was banned from the 4096 square meter property dominated by the giant tree and its topping house, speculating that someone else higher up was reading the Baker B. blog as well. He couldn’t get beyond the blue roses. For reasons yet to be understood, he would not suffer the same horrible fate as Dixon One preceding him.
“Alright, Brevin. Show me where the treasure is.”
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2018 EVEN LATER”!
The bridge is derezzing behind me. No time. No time!
It’s my worst nightmare.
“He should’ve stayed, you know. We would have gotten him some linden plants around here. He didn’t even ask.”
“Shush, Jeffrie. I’m reading. The book is being written again.”
Of course the treasure is here, fools, escaped prisoner Casey One Hole thought from his perch while staring toward the simulation. One comes with a snowy peak, one doesn’t, duhh. And now it’s all mine to find since the Klancaster Dixons are out of the picture.
He peers upwards. Hmmm, snowy from a distance, but even higher up close. Artificial rock on top.
And between the decoy treasure and this peak is that treehouse over there — an actual house in a tree. Perhaps that’s where it is. Simple as that.
“I don’t *need* the treasure,” he says to himself while descending toward it. “But I certainly *want* it.”