Category Archives: 0207
“It’s over, Sandy,” Baker Bloch said from the bench in front of the canvas. The search for All Orange: done.”
“I know,” he speaks over from the game he and Wendy and perhaps several others are playing. Not Carcassonne, but close, because tiles are involved, jigsaw shaped ones in this case, which they are sitting on as well as playing with. They are playing with themselves.
“Whose move, Wendy?” he asks.
“Yours.” They switch jigsaw pieces with each other while Baker continues to stare.
“She was my great great grandmother and she liberated this city,” continued Dinner Girl after Lt. Tanner indicated to her the likely next target. Dr. Baumbeer also got his answer from same. “Along with the pig, of course.”
Ahh, the pig, pondered the wise bat-rabbit, looking over from the armed, winged statue at it instead. Another thing in the center, albeit in a corner of this roped off area, almost an afterthought to most. But not Dinner. Supper taught her that. Supper was her part time brother, part time lover. Depending if she’s on the clock or not. “So we’re on for 4 o’clock tomorrow (more resonance)?” Baumbeer was hugely looking forward to analyzing the destructive girl’s brain. Maybe he’ll read up on some Adler, Fraud, and Young tonight in preparation, take some notes on the mother archetype. Or great great grandmother archetype in this case, perhaps. He wonders if there is such a thing.
“Can you believe gun toting was illegal before her time, mm mm mm?” Dinner Girl says while recocking. She freed all us women. We got rid of the men who weren’t needed. We made alliances with like-minded in the Amazon basin and elsewhere. *No* one… tells us what to do now.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Baumbeer wasn’t paid top dollar to disagree with a wedged in hatred. You’ll need a crowbar from Mars to do that.
“If you get stuck at any one point, you can always go back to the Old Country to regroup,” the Man About Time softly spoke over to Newtonia Kashkow, who could barely hear what he says across the circle. Is this another time distortion? she thought. No, it’s just *him*. So mellow and meek for someone so important. Must be the effects of the travel.
“Collagesity,” he spoke more, “should become a focus again.”
Newtonia Kashkow took this in. “I know you are the same as Marcus Fox Smartville and so we are related.”
“True,” Man About Time admitted after a small pause.
“And you are *not* a sucker.”
“Only in the mind of the beholder. On this turf (Our Second Lyfe): no.” He sat confident in his tannish/goldeny brown, throne-like chair. This was his moment. He steps in to become the knight in tan armor. Or was that aroma. The smell of something hot. And unpleasant. No, that was just an anagram. He sits back up from a naturally slumping position, mind focused again away from the morass. That particular sometimes light brown substance will not play a role in this.
Oh, if she could only see what he felt. But the War between Mind and Senses wouldn’t allow it.
I reappear. I attempt to get more information about this place from a computer terminal.
A man appears out of a blue box wearing a blue rose when I press the letter “q”. A doppleganger.
He kills me. I have not been the first to attempt to understand.
Luckily my true head remains to reconstruct me after the murder. Perfection makes up for failure. I kill in turn, decisively this time. The threat has ended for now.
“You think he’ll go back?” asked Philip Strevor to his partner in crime Marion Harding, wearing his Gaeta V shirt for this particular shoot.
“He has to,” quickly came the reply. “He has to find that demon that killed our little girl.” His voice was becoming anxious, murderous even. Philip had not smoked any pot to take the edge off the racier drugs he was currently imbibing. Marion, in contrast, only did the marijuana. So much here! Mixed in with red wine per usual; balancing the red and the blue as he liked to say. Easier said than done. Like tragedy and comedy in life as a whole.
“Philip,” Marion tried to calm him, “have you ever thought about how we got from Gaston to here. I mean, *really* thought about it. The chain of events that leads from one to the other.” He looks around, at the other hippies milling about the place. Well, *he’s* a hippie. Philip definitely was the odd man out in this bunch. So much pot, so much booze. But the racier drugs were few and far apart. This wasn’t Philip’s place in the end. Corsica really wasn’t his continent. Gaeta V suited him better. But Capitol City and its Capitol Hill were no more. Returned to the swamp they arose from. Flattened back to the pancake prairie it started as. Pancakes… Laboratories. Marion suddenly had an idea.
“Philip, how would you like to return to Gaeta V? Just for a bit.”
I’m just going to have this red wine but you eat as many pancakes as you like, Philip.”
He heard someone over the waves. “Aww, you got me, Baker Bloch. Remember Mabel? Your old Martian pal?” The voice faded, to be replaced by another. “And me? Tessa. We’re still in the cave! Find me, find me, find me…” the second voice echoed, as if in a, well, cave.
He was ready to step off Dog Island and come back to mainland.
Or at least the bigger, less isolated island in front of him currently.
Then he found *her* as well. The ex. She spoke without turning while dancing on a west facing patio. “You find *them* or I’ll find *you*. And you know what I’ll do to you when I do!” She faded as well. He was starting to sweat coldly.
A smoking gun dropped from the sky, barely missing him.
Still hot to the touch, he picked it up. He realized he would need this gun to get to the cave. A person would be in his way. And that person was…
It’s a strange place for certain. And big! It *could* work — that’s why he’s here. Especially given that he’s just found his long sought for All Orange. I started to write “seemingly”, but, no, he’s found it. The Rose but also The Thorn.
“I’ll *make* it work,” he says aloud to no one in particular. “I have motivation now. But where to next?”
There was a simple answer. Home. Just in the back there.
I must do something with the place, he ruminates when entering. Especially since he has a bonafide assistant now. Joy!
“Soooo. Herbert Dune — that’s his name?”
“Yes,” answers Baker Bloch to Hucka Doobie. They’re back!
“He’s in one part of Apple’s Orchard. And his girlfriend — *assistant* — is in another part, more to the north. South and north.”
“That’s our limits (!) For the present.”
Meanwhile, in the Faux Rhino Club across this sim, Breeze, reverted to plain ol’ Merry Gouldbusk for the afternoon at least, had just heard out Herbert Gold’s profession of love for her. Two in two days! she thought to herself. When a woman is in demand, she’s in demand! “H-how did you find me?” she asked innocently. She knew the larger answer to that. Destined couples have a way of getting together, no matter how the surface odds are stacked against them. But she has Herbert Dune now. Confusion! Good confusion, though. She is wanted! And… another *Herbert*. What’s with that?
“It was your last letter to me,” he explained. “About half a year back. You mentioned NWES — New WES I think you called it at the time.”
“That’s right. I remember. I said I wanted a change, a new life. Ingo can run Rosehaven by himself now. It’s *his* kingdom, yes.”
“As opposed to your queendom.” He looked her over good. “Soooo…”
“And he basically asked her flat out if she had decided on a sex for herself. He’d touched her in two places before; knew there was some mixed up boy-girl confusion going on up here… and down here.” Hucka Doobie was fondling the appropriate places on her body.
“I know what you’re talking about, Hucka Doobie. No need for the grabbing and such. Welll?”
“All of a sudden,” the bee-person continued, “she didn’t know again. It’s when she first laid eyes on Herbert, walking down the street beside her apartment on 108 Rib Lane.”
“Actually, I think it’s Serpent Avenue.”
“Whatever,” Hucka Doobie quickly followed. “But the skin came back, the *mask* came back. She was all glinty goldeny again, much to her dismay. She thought it was over and that she had found true home. Home with Herbert. But there was *another* Herbert to deal with.”
“Maybe *he* should just steal her golden skin. His last name is Gold, after all. And — what about April Mae? Is she left behind forever down at West End in, where was it, the Irish Village in that Fi sim?”
“Well… the 4th had to be reached. Rubedo. End of Work.”
“We’ve got to get into this place, Kevin E. Kevin A.’s depending on us(!).”
“Yeah,” responds the other Kevin at the registration table. “If only — we could read like him.”
“We’ll have to fake it,” answered the somewhat smarter Kevin C. to Kevin E. after glancing back over his shoulder at Baker Bloch (a.k.a. Arnold). “Uh, you take the straight letters and I’ll take the squiggly ones.”
“Um.” Kevin E. didn’t recognize the first 3 letters on the application form.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Uh. Yeah.” He spots his first one. “‘L’,” he mouths, jabbing the appropriate letter several times with his finger. “That’s definitely an ‘L’.”
“Very good.” He pats his hatted lover on the back.