Fish Stew Boos finally installed an invisible fence on the other side of the road to keep her shopping carts from disappearing. Now they couldn’t take them through the hidden portal in the small hillock to do whatever they do with metal objects like that. Maybe build primitive spaceships for all she knows, trying to rocket off to whatever God hell awful planet they originate from. Truth was, they were trying to make another one of those giant shoes. They had enough metal. All they needed now was a large quantity of moss and an even larger octopus (or squid) and off they go. They’d get the moss after molting season. Shouldn’t be long. Martha went to all the trouble for nothing.
Category Archives: 0209
Shelley Struthers knew there were too many birds and other creatures in this *TILE* location to make an unified decision on the matter of Kolya and his holey head. She’d have to look elsewhere for answers. Her thoughts turn toward the castle that will soon perch on an important peak to the north. *Her* castle.
There’s already one in the area, and at about the same altitude on its own, nearby peak. Spacious and beautifully landscaped grounds surround it, which we’re eager to keep exploring. This won’t be the case with Shelley’s castle due to much more limited space to work with but we’ll try our best.
And in the past, another roosted on this higher peak to the northwest. The legendary Rust Never Sleeps.
Jacob I. the lawnmower is still on the same northern peninsula. “Wake up,” Shelley whispers while prodding.
“It’s moreso now don’t you think?” speaks Jeffrie Phillips to sometimes/always companion Charlene Punk Brown, perhaps the best of all his girls. She puts up with a lot at the very least. “The hair, I mean.” He points to his own hair here between bites of the spinach pizza. “Blue. Whaddaya think?”
Charlene also steals a glance, trying not to be jealous. This *could* be her replacement. Why did she arrive so mysteriously in the middle of the night, as they say, on a plane originally bound for Starfish Sea, or Starfish Lake as some call it? Jeffrey said it landed just outside the town over the sim line in Siliconicus. He said he’d been meaning to put a small landing strip over there if he could only figure out how to position the anchoring prims properly, since it’s not technically his property but instead abandoned land — a lot of that in Siliconicus, which is commonplace in the beige highlands part of the continent. She *is* cute, probably as cute as she is. She’d also look good in that pink babydoll Jeffrey keeps around, she suspected. Maybe she should dye her own hair blue.
“Are (bite) you going to answer me or not, woman?”
“Woman?” Not now she isn’t. “Listen *man*–” but then bit her tongue as Jeffrey hesitated to take another bite, waiting for a lashing, which he knew he probably deserved. Sometimes he slips into old world talk, as his daddy use to say. Poor old dad: he hadn’t thought about him in a while, nor ma-ma. They didn’t approve of his playboy ways so he had to leave the family hearth. So long long ago at this point. Seems like a different lifetime.
“I’m sorry,” he ventured, then finished his bite.
“No — me. And in answer to your question it does look a little bluer. Is — she really the woman of your dreams?” She meant *in* your dreams but she let the statement stand, too ashamed to go back and correct it. She flushed a bit, even. He stared at her, trying to figure out how to get past this awkward moment so he could finish his pizza.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her as they lay in bed later, bedposts not put up yet so nowhere to hang his tie and suit. They remained fully clothed. Charlene wasn’t anxious tonight to slip into that babydoll. She was just as worried as Jeffrey was excited. “What do you think she was looking up on the interwebs over there?” he asked his likewise restless partner. “Man About Time said she was a scholar of some kind, but he didn’t know what of.”
“*I’m* a scholar,” muffled Charlene, mouth to pillow. She moved so she could more easily speak to her partner. “Perhaps you got us confused with each other. Let’s try that quiz again.”
“Okay,” he relented, knowing he may or may not pass it.
“Alright, who’s your wife? An easy one to begin.”
He knew he shouldn’t say, “you” — that never seemed to work. He remembered the roses. He remembered the checkerboard face. Or chessboard face, take your pick. “Wendy,” he said.
“Right, and where did you get married? I’ll throw that in for a new wrinkle.”
“Er… Urqhart?” He remembered a house across the road from the Illuminati place.
“Correct. And *why* did you get married… to Wendy? And, say, not *me*?”
“Because…” He couldn’t remember that part.
“Yes?” She wasn’t going to drop hints, it seems.
He simply didn’t recall that he was recently dead and had been resurrected by the power of the vows. It happened a lot when he’d just returned home.
(to be continued)
I phoned up Charlene and told her I was back from the dead but I was married now and we couldn’t start seeing each other again despite the reborn part. She responded, “sure you are,” and hung up, busy with another man at this point, I believe his name is Stan. Stan Wallaby, a used truck salesman from Oakley. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, the return of the late great Jeffrey Phillips. Thanks to Marty, thanks to Jefferson Thomas, thanks to: The Bill? Apparently. The Bill had chosen him to return. Would he now have to wear that little hat Wheeler wore when ruler? He hoped not. He was very vain about his looks and a tiny, bobbing hat on his head would ruin the whole girl magnet effect, he thought. Uncool to the max! Might as well be wearing a diaper. Goo goo ga ga, he thought here, reverting to the baby he truly was, being just reborn and stuff. He reached for a rattler but it turned into a snake, one of those hissing lawn ones planted there by Joanie. Or was it Hidi? Yes: Hidi. His wife. His summer gal, who he would toss away in the fall to return to, perhaps, Charlene, maybe Lois, or limber Tina Pretzel down at the Freak Show Village even who could do that thing with her body and also her tongue. Which brought him back to “Twin Peaks”: he had to decide *how* he died in order to prevent it from happening again, and quickly (!). He slipped on that gall darn log on one of the outer rim islands — he can’t even recall the name of the place he died — wait: Corton (he thought). Queen and King. Spread and Widen. Glen and Gould — Goldberg Variations: spread ’em out, make them the bookends to a wildly successful career that raked in a lot of gold, a lot of accomplishments, a lot of acclaim. Freedom? Where we we?
(to be continued)
“How are we going to get up *that* thing, Mr. Archer?” Toddles said in her wee, cute voice, so full of hope just moments before. Then they heard the roar and remembered. They’d forgotten for so long. The obstacle.
“How are you with barrels?” Archer returned, thinking of a solution. Toddles would go up first and then lower down a rope or something.
Toddles suddenly had a growing spurt, then another, then another to make 3 total. She was 5’10”. Then three more to reach the needed height to simply pick up tiny Mr. Archer (to her) and set him on top of the reverse falls along with the car, then step up herself via a large rock pictured above.
“Handy you can do that!!” he shouted up when they were back together on another rock.
“WHAT??” she replied from a great height, and then shrank down again.
“No need to shout now, Mr. Archer. I’m right beside you here.
“Please… call me Peet,” he requested, seeing her quick dry herself as well. She had shrunk down three but not the remaining. She remained a pretty big girl. Pretty grown up. “We’ve been through a lot.”
At the “Picturetown 30 miles” sign he wondered if she was ever going to step back down those original three. She was not a toddler. In fact, she offered to drive after Niagara.
Not here, eh? thinks visiting Wheeler from over at NWES City. He said he’s *always* here, spinning around the place on that oh-so-handy skateboard of his. And I so wanted to thank him for the other day. Oh well… just have to tell the others here that I came by; leave it at that. Maybe next time. I’ll try to message the little fellow.
“We can pin whatever we want to on you — *thug*. We can pin, let’s see (he looked at the sign in the distance), the Candy Stripper murders down at the hospital. Bad one there — had to haul in all the personnel at St. Marys *and* the strip club over there to solve that one. And it still ain’t solved!”
“Stop torturing me, Burt. You know I’m only in here for the food.” He would laugh except he couldn’t. More mesh. His voice was like charcoal in a BBQ pit: deep and smoky.
“Let’s see…” Burt pondered more grand theft larcenies, manslaughters, but especially murders. “How ’bout the PIG killings.”
“But… that’s you, Burt. You’re… a pig.”
“Yeah. 4 men, all in their 20s through 60s. All between 4’5 and 6’3. All Caucasians or African-Americans or robots. Or none of the above — imaginary I mean there. One was see-through as I recall. And he wore a see-through blouse; very revealing. Apples a bouncing.” He thought back to when Harrison Ford Jett came into the station, all bouncy and see-through. He revealed a lot. The murder of Johnsons Howard was solved largely to his efforts. Then he took the apples out from underneath the shirt and went away. Burt remains disillusioned to this day.
“What’s the point of this?” Thug Jamison Restaurant was getting tired. He’d eaten a lot since he was locked up for jaywalking last Tuesday. The fullness made him sleepy. Of course he broke the law on purpose just so he could eat Mama Ruby Tanner’s home cooking, yum. Right in front of Burt. He knew he’d be booked on the spot. He had nowhere else to go, no place good to eat. “And could you bring my bed back? I’m going to have a lie down while you keep running your mouth.”
“Oh I haven’t even *started* with you,” Burt admitted. His mind scanned an overhead view of the city for more crime locations. Yes, one of ’em or maybe even several of ’em would fit Mr. Restaurant perfectly, he he. Ones we can’t solve otherwise.
(to be continued?)
Afterwards he left Charlene upstairs and came back down to write. He like to wear his facelight while alone here, and also switch on the little lamp on the desk to illuminate his manuscript even further. Bright ideas deserve bright light, he pondered brightly. Like ideas were constantly flashing in his head, giving the impression or at least a hint of the all consuming ever-light, his alchemical goal. Union with Audrey, union with the light, Dr. Nightwing conveniently sucked away into a midnight black hole — or something. The light is flickering more off than on again.
They ate leftover pizza for breakfast. “What’re you going to do today sweetest?” spoke Charlene the punk after finishing the first pie and sitting down with a second. Jeffrie breathed out. What *was* he going to do today? “We could go, I don’t know…” He couldn’t keep up the ruse. “*I’m* going to go walking — out in the woods around the town.” Charlene stared at him, tears forming in her eyes. “It’s never going to work between us.” “No,” came his quick response. She knew this was all about Audrey — he couldn’t stop yammering on about her last night. Okay, okay, she’ll accept this. She had a good time with Jeffrie. The sex was great! What a tiger. She voiced her opinion — her *certainty*. “Audrey?” he replied to this. “I guess.” On his part, he thought back to the highly illuminated manuscript and what he had written on it. I suppose one could equate it with a post of a blog type. Like this post here, actually. Yeah, that’s it. He was speaking to Charlene the punk and in the post at once.
“There’s — this doctor she met.”
“A new town has arisen beyond the revolving tire, Cathy Love Peace Hippie Child. We must attempt to match its energy!”
“Sounds *great*!” the chipper hippie girl said, eyeing the namesake tower from her vantage point while following Rhiannon to the table with the magic cards. But she said to call her Golden.
“Tsk tsk tsk. Oh dear. We better hurry.”
“Oh I feel *awful* again, Rhiannon.” Golden let the name slip go, given what just happened.
“Let’s start with a single.” She turned the just dealt card up.
She sat in the middle of 4 and realized this was matching the energy.