Category Archives: 0110

a type of Central Park

“I remember it like it was still there. I can see it now, actually. Collagesity. Just over there beyond the wall, spreading north and south for quite a while. Almost a sim long at the end it was. I miss it.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“It will be there for us. In perpetuity. I will keep working on it.”

“That is appropriate.” Wheeler-as-Franklin starts wondering when Baker-as-Albert was going to leave. Best to get back into character as soon as possible. Breaking the 4th wall is fine and all, but has limitations. If you break it down all the time then there’s no story to tell in the end. It just gets shoved back in your face as you stare at the computer screen. Maybe they should talk of Newt; Wheeler’s own marriage. How Shelley was made on that spaceship which sucked them into the sky over 3 decades ago. How Newt is now a Whitehead in Da Woods and retired and relaxed and comfortable now, within his limitations which is, in a way, the same as the boundaries of his Real Life county which affords so much hiking and outdoor activity. Haze County we may call it — we’ll see. For its mountaintop fog, some will say in partial truth.

“Unch and Apples should return,” says Wheeler. “We should get on to the story. Why are we hiding here in the most obvious place to look which is also the least obvious place, given that Collagesity is no more and there’s no reason to keep hanging around? Hidden in plain sight is another way to put it… are you writing all this down?”

“Yes,” I say back. As Baker Bloch in the moment in the form of Albert the prevert. She stares at me. I stare back. I realize she means *now*. I look in my outfit inventory. Apples is near the top but I have to dig back again for Unch. Should have moved it up with the rest.

“Hold on,” I say, still searching.

She tries to stay calm with deep breaths. So disorganized, she can’t help but think.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0110, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

That’s a Moray

It was the last outing with her friends before the big event. “George,” she called over, “do you… do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Funny how her best friend Debbie also married a George. Were they happy? Let’s just say there was always room to slide between the two. Like here.

“I don’t know, Shelley, sounds like a Debbie question.”

Yeah, right, Debbie thinks.

“But you’re a man. You know The Musician pretty well by now.” George again wondered why they always called him that. He plays an okay guitar, specializing in Lennon and Lydon, but he’s not a professional by any means. Instead he’s a cookie cutter at the local bakery. Why not Baker, then? Odd thought, he realizes.

“He loves you and that’s all I know.” George Smithson rattles his paper, a sign that he was eager to get back to it. Debbie was absorbed in her phone, checking the latest bets on the local dogs. One named Red Spider is 10:1 odds to beat another called Arrow. She might place a bet on that one for a particular reason we can’t quite reveal yet — perhaps never will admittedly.

Only Shelley is left without distracting entertainment right now. So she looks around the Real World, sees a woman selling flowers down the way, sees a fisherman standing behind her who had just pulled his boat into the docks, perhaps contemplating buying a rose for his sweetie who he left behind when heading to sea, maybe hours ago but maybe weeks, years even.

She sees a woman taking a selfie with her dog while a fish flops wildly on the back of the tricycle in front of her.

And then, further down the docks, birds flocking to a man reading a newspaper for some reason. Perhaps he just fed them in a pause in his reading. She wonders if he’s reading the same paper as George here, and then why George never seems to go out of his way to feed birds or really care about anything in the world at large, including his wife of course foremost of all. Does George — her George — care about me? she wonders once again. Will our marriage quickly — *devolve* to this?

She decides to test this George. “Looks like that nice man down the docks just fed those pigeons.”

George glances over. “Doves,” he says. “They’re doves, Shelley,” then back to the reading.

“Still, it’s a nice gesture.”

George doesn’t say anything to this. He’s checking the stock market. Maybe he’ll buy into this company called Red Arrow coming up fast, a crypto-currency organization specializing in tax evasion. Eew, a spider suddenly walks across the figures! He quickly swats it away in one motion.

Shelley looks from one to the other, having her answer. She needs to talk to her dad, maybe her mom and dad together, about this whole *arrangement*. She plots how to get out from between them asap. “Guys, I think I’ll go back to the motel. My stomach’s feeling a little queazy.”

“It’s those grapes,” Debbie says to her, placing the bet.

“Yeah, the grapes for sure,” agrees George, hitting the buy button on the screen.

“Grapes,” mutters Shelley. Where have I heard this before? she thinks.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0110, Nautilus, North

00340110

“What did you do to him Jerry?”

“What did *you* do to him… Gerry?”

Pause. “Well whoever did whatever I’ve got to go on patrol. You can stay here and bare the stares — figure it out.”

“We could just go talk to him.” Both laugh. Jack would have no useful information to give the pair of security guards: what he’s apparently pissed off about with one of them or perhaps both of them, or anything about Ontario in general. He’s a bad ass, in a bad way. He does the bidding of the Big Boss and that’s it, period. Doesn’t share anything with no one except for the highest level, the Mayor, the King, perhaps merged now as the Mayor-King. Hafta check; hafta think about that. New angle. Maybe Mexico-Canada related.

“He’s got that gun shop, you know,” states Gerry before he goes to punch keys on his rounds. “He could be toting one right now, ready to go on a killing spree.”

“Nah,” offers seated Jerry. “Wouldn’t come to that. He’s a company man. Doesn’t want to ruin his standings in the hierarchy.” Jerry leans in closer to Gerry. “There’s a potential slot opening for no. 3, you know. The guy in the middle.”

“Not North not South — I’ve heard,” he says back not far above a whisper as well. Mayor-King it is.

Meanwhile, a duck-man on a neighboring rooftop had more useful information, but no one knew how to reach him, least of all Jem, who could use it the most right now. 3 more days and ticking.

Even John had forgotten and he invented the anthropomorphic fellow — let the SOB loose unto the world at large. Repeated cloning comes with a price, but I can’t remember what it is right now (wonder why).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0110, Canada, Mexico, Wendy-Ontario

GO halfsies

“Gentlemen, I was wondering today if you could talk about what happened in A54?”

“Wellll,” started the first under the A. “Fiiiiiiinnne,” the other said to end.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0110, Bill Mountain, Frank Park

golden opportunity

Sister Debbie left him in Stoogle to contemplate why a waterfall would be situated in the middle of a wetland. She had to get back to Tyrrell — two “r”‘s you’ll notice, bringing it closer to home North Carolina.

Jerry was there. And he knew how to put out the fire.

“Frying Pan Village,” he spoke over from his position of power on the couch of the centerpiece bar. Dome of purple hair he had, cluing us in to who this really was. “It’s the only way to further this mystery.”

“Frying Pan Island,” she voiced, testing out the sound of the overarching location. Could he be The One? How to break it to Dickie? We were, after all, husband and wife. Before we decided to instead be brother and sister. He’ll take it hard, she decided. He’ll have to go too, she realized.

“There’s… someone else in my life right now,” she ventured.

“Bring him along,” he shot back, all up for a more than 2 relationship. “Or her.”

“Him,” she quickly followed. Would this work?

—–

Besides, he had a friend too. A best friend. A foursome it is.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0110, Frog Isles, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Yd Island^

the artist dreams (in back)

“Tell me about the tree, W.”

“This is it!”

—–

“Ah, yes. I see: TILE again.”

“Markings.”

“Of the modern?”

—–

Another gallery on Nautilus, W. A new one. Left leaning,” he added, looking at the inworld map.

“This is me.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0110, Lands End, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Wild West

more black and white

After visiting Blue-Yellow and attempting to watch his sun rise, I hop on a passing trolley and head downtown…

… soon reaching THE Cave. Or at least A Cave.

It strikes me that it would be wrong to keep calling this character Axis-Windmill in a town created by an actual German. So we’re going to go with a new one. Not reverting to Windmill Man — too easy. Bronze John looks on, trying to gauge, trying to help. He was so successful with the Beatles with an A naming.

The Beatles are such archetypes, penetrating many synchronicity systems.

All bands can be related to them. For example, Pink Floyd are the psychedelic Beatles, Firesign Theatre are the comic Beatles, and The Residents are the bizarro Beatles. Frank Zappa with his Mothers strongly reacted to them; the Rolling Stones…

I was told by fortuneteller Esmerelda a while back that the answers lie in a cave. In the related collage, cacophony musician Charles Ives pokes his head out sideways, wondering if he’ll have anything left to say. He’s sorry about Cowell, he speaks through the entrance, the mouth. He’s sorry about Connecticut and Danbury and the clashing of bands. Connecticut forgives, but he’ll have to make them laugh, make them suckers instead of seekers, and get small in the exchange. Thimble Islands’ General Tom Thumb might know, if he’s paying attention. Misery becomes Mystery (up to date).

I wonder about New York’s Central Park in the Dark, and the Unanswered Question. I think back to the Amazon jungle and the Indian who becomes a Spaceman, search fulfilled; “aliens” found — this would represent the end of the 4th. Concord (Sonata)… maybe that’s next. Oh, and Karl finding the waterfall (Rainbow) and reading the scrapbook and discovering a new ending, leading him to set aside the old life and the attached house and move on. I thought about Charles Ives today in perusing my table of tiles, wondering if I’ll get the chance to tell anyone about it besides the wife and a best friend. It’s pretty remarkable.

Here is where I’ll be reborn, or at least acquire a new name.

“Who are you?”

“Helmet Newton?” he or she answers as a question.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0110, Jeogeot, Sunklands^

Cass City > Horns of Hatton?

“You know, she really is the complete package, brother Jer, this Lena Horned.”

“I hear you brother Ben. I hear *her*.”

They listen to the completion of “The Ballad of Stormy Daniels,” preparing for their pitch. Come with us, they’ll tell her. Come back to the capital of all of the South, not just the Deep South. Help us make the South great again, that’s what they’ll say.

“Thank you (applause whistles applause). Thank you very much (applause applause applause).”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0110, Cassandra City^, Horns of Hatton^, Maebaleia/Satori

deja boom

Hank Graphite rode into town yesterday’s tomorrow for this important meeting and brought his ghost gorilla for protection — just in case. “Take me drunk I’m home,” he recites upon turning around and facing his competitors again, the “Lost Boys”. “Hadn’t heard that one.”

Ted 02 sat at the bar taking it all in. He’d been here before. Omega continent comes to mind, bartender himself.

“Whatilitbe, bud?”

He’d said that before as well. Many times.

“Gimme a Bud… bud.” Familiar too.

The establishment exploded.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0110, Paper Soap, Soap

solo

Often while waiting on one of his fantasyland clients to show or not show up, Marion Star Harding revisits the past through these series of pictures along the southern wall of his Southern Cross Airport hanger. Flying Cowboy, my first plane, he ruminates here. Star meant a different thing back in those days before the coming of newspapers and accompanying coffees and cigarettes. Simpler times, where the only reading occurred when you were perusing the assembly instructions for the latest flight device you’d just purchased.

Speaking of which: his still uncompleted bi-plane. Didn’t come with any paperwork. “I’ll finish it one day,” he speaks aloud to his completed plane just behind, thanking the Gods again that at least the old Flying Cowboys gang chipped in to help him finish that one. Else: no business! No flying fantasy people *anywhere*.

He then moves to the southwest corner of his hanger to check progress on that crazy, upward spiraling road his neighbors are building. Not much accomplished since last week, which puzzles him since he doesn’t know about the whole young’n vs. oldie war they’re going through right now.

Back to coffee cigarette and paper at his desk.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0110, Nautilus, Upper Austra^