She dreamed she was in a grim place. She had to get to the head before the head got to her. She saw the head, the head sawed she! Little skulls littered the cell floor. Like hers.
“I need to find you 102.”
Two realities were superimposing themselves on top of each other, inadvertently (perhaps) creating chaos and confusion. He simply didn’t know; he simply couldn’t understand. In the moment.
I’ve created the bare bones of a consignment store on my Rubi property not seen since the very beginning of this here photo-novel, number 22 in a series of 20. The first thing I decide on to fill out the 4 square emptiness is a Volvo station wagon, which definitely does *not* have two handles on its back door nosiree.
Let’s just prop it up outside for now against the building’s unfinished, plywood exterior.
Then I add another image inside that has become meaningful to me today: the collage characters I call Source (Male) and Lake (Female) — perhaps another version of Adam and Eve and the whole Apples story — *hiding* something. Like we are seeing through a wall into another dimension.
And since the Tacoma consignment store the impossible station wagon is driving by on N Proctor Ave in that first picture above is named Megs and Mo, I suppose Cassandra City’s Moes Bar is related somehow. The transparent Source and Lake image comes from M & M as well — very important there. More soon.
“Phil had the richest, most complicated sense of humor of the four of us,” said his Firesign Theatre partner David Ossman. “He loved what he called ‘the stupid’ and he could twist it into surreal pieces of head-beating comedy. His High School Lunch Menus, the Irish guy who taught how to paint like the insane, the Funny Names Club of America. He had the whole range. Bergman and Austin were really the Lennon and McCartney of the group.”
It fits, but I don’t think it *fit* fits. That is, it slots — barely — into this side of the 640 square metere parcel I just rented in NWES City, but stylistically there’s something left to be desired seemingly. Back to the drawing board… the positioning still appears “meaningful”, hmm.
Maybe it does fit in there.
Using his shield as a camouflaging device, David A.B. sometimes liked to mingle with the commoners, the ones far far below him on a scale of 1-10, he being a 10 or a 9.5 at the least. Nothing to see here, he says in his mind about himself while looking around. Certainly no *God*, your creator, amongst you. No, just an ordinary Joe waiting on his train. Just like the lot of you. Joe was a good name, he then thinks. I believe I’ll keep it for this part of my journey. He turns to the Ordinary reading the paper to his left. “Joe’s the name,” he spoke in as ungodly a tone as he could muster. “How about you?”
“Ted,” came the fainter answer. “Ted Johnson.”
“Just waiting on the train, hmph,” Joe states the obvious. Ted returns to his funnies. ‘Hatfield’ — so humorous.
“Oop, there ’tis!”
Gazing Eric Gordon beside Ted exclaimed, “It’s like it just appeared — out of *nowhere*.”
Ted looked up from his cartoons. “Wow, that was super fast today. Usually I sit here for over an hour.”
Not on my watch, David A.B. says inwardly.
“Hmm, Hucka Doobie. Top of the bridge here in Kabu is where photo-novel 8 ended. It’s the lone pick of Uh Clem who has a 512 in Moork. Robin Williams (Mork) was a noted big fan of Firesign Theater, appearing on the 2001 PBS Special ‘Weirdly Cool’ celebrating the group. Uh Clem refers to a character on their 1974 album ‘We’re All Bozos on this Bus’.”
“Featured in ‘Pretty Bunnies’. Good night to you Baker Bloch.” Hucka Doobie appeared in front of me atop the Kabu bridge. “You are following the breadcrumbs, good. They will lead you to the center. They will lead you to the *egg*.”
“Robin Williams’ egg. Mork’s I mean.”
“Yes. In part.”
I point behind Hucka Doobie. “What about that big cube of cheese over there?”
“The cube is 64x64x64. On the ground, it occupies exactly 1/16th of a sim. It was created by GeneralFyad between Dec 15 and Dec 22 of last year, thus over 2 months ago. There is one house, a House of Mizu structure, fully inside the cube. 7 other houses are partially within to various degrees.”
“All of this is super important. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Nighty night.”
I’ll show Hucka Doobie I’m onto something. 2 1/2 months is a long time not to visit your house. *8* houses, but maybe the one in the middle doesn’t count due to fishbowl effect.
It’s not in the center of the sim but I’m also not in the center of photo-novel 18.
This Uh Clem 512 and its lone object has something to do with something!
She walked and walked, further than ever until the one track became two, as it always was. And always will be. She sat down in the middle of the split to remember who she was/is/will be.
I am Tessa from in or near Twin Peaks, she told herself. Old and yet young here. Between the red and yellow in front of me…
… and the blue and green behind.
Split. Like realities.
She will not move until someone comes and helps her choose.
But then a scary bug appears beside her and makes her choose anyway. “Shite!” she exclaims while jumping off the bench onto the wrong track.
The year: ’42. She heard distant bugles. A faint smell of burnt copper was in the air. She knows which reality she’s in. And it’s not the right one. The Realm of Fear.
End of Time was a *sanctuary* she realized. Once she stepped back in the light, all was exposed for what it is.
But she must forget all this and get back to the cave. It was only an experiment, see, a dream even. Trouble is, she was heading the wrong way.
“What do you think, Hucka Doobie? It’s the Red Umbrella in NWES.”
“I see.” Hucka shuffles her feet. “I thought we were, er, done with this town. Splitsville and all.”
“Well… decided to give it one more try. The rent was so cheap. Thus (he indicates with his hands), voila.”
“Should we go inside, then?”
“Sure, we can do that Hucka Doobie. It’s all the art in the Red Umbrella in 7 Stones, though. You know all the works.”
“Have I interpreted them yet?” Hucka Doobie truly couldn’t remember.
“I — think so. Most of them anyhow.”
“Hmm. Let’s go inside anyway.”
“*Actually*, I wanted to show you something in particular. Jar your memory a bit, perhaps.”
“Before I forget, Baker Bloch, I wanted to tell you that ‘Humanvillians’ has returned to Fal Mouth Moon (in 7 Stones). Herbert Gold and April Mae Flowers’ story must be resolved; Uncle Joe and Aunt Zoe entrapped in a 2-dimensional realm once more.”
“Cool, Hucka Doobie. Good to know. I wonder if (we should allow) Danny to come back to the Fal Mouth Moon as janitor/receptionist, then?”
“Oh no,” replies the bee being firmly. “Tronesisia *specifically* said: that couldn’t happen. Besides, he’s pretty happy in his Metal castle in Dewey. Herbert Gold and April Mae are still there too. The Irish Village over in the Fi sim didn’t work as an alternative for them. Rent too high.” Hucka Doobie looks up at the Red Umbrella and its trademark sign. “Unlike here, it seems.”
“Very cheap,” Baker Bloch reinforces. “Especially for an urban area. I even bought the building online, thinking I could just move this whole new version of the Red Umbrella over to 7 Stones to replace the one there. Didn’t work out. Not yet.”
“Hmmm, sir, I say to that.”
“Hmmm,” Baker Bloch mimicked back, thinking Hucka Doobie knows something that he doesn’t know (once again). He stares into her dilated pupils. “We better get inside. The night progresses…”
“Sure. Thank you for the AO, by the way.” states an upright Hucka. They walk forward in their different ways.
“Here, Hucka Doobie. The very first piece (of the gallery). See the jigsaw pieces?” The male Baker points.
“I see. You’re say that…”
“… I’m saying that this is NWES, the city itself. N equals North and green…”
“Blue,” Hucka Doobie corrects quickly.”
“Blue, right. Then *W* equals West: green; E equals East, which is red; and then, lastly, S: South: yellow.”
“Right. The city *has* a center. Just needs to be found still.”
“I doubt it, Baker Bloch,” opines Hucka Doobie, shaking her bee head. She then rubs her neck.
“Neck still bothering you, Hucka?” asks Baker Bloch, truly concerned about his friend’s health.
“Nah, I’m okay. As long as I don’t walk on cement or pavement much, or hard ground,” she adds. “Just leaves. Soft, cushiony leaves.”
“Well… don’t let your *head* break off from your body.” Baker Bloch immediately regretted the attempt at a joke. Hucka Doobie looked over with those eyes.
“I’ll never get through all these books, Chesteria A. Arthur. Conquerors draw the worse lot!”
“The whole assimilation process, yes,” speaks Grey Scale’s mate from behind. She thinks: we must get rid of this blue vase I’m leaning next to and kind of hiding, yes. And that one over there as well. Don’t have Grey Scale be reminded of her blue enemy in any way. The Big Blue Machine. Like a sleeping blue whale. So deep, so blue.
“You’ve become quiet, Chesteria my love, my dearest. Please keep talking to distract me from these confounded histories before me!”
“Okay. Just don’t turn around. I have something between my front teeth and I’m presently sucking it out. Keep at least pretending to read and I’ll move to you.”
“Alright.” She feels Chesteria’s hot, 1/2 cheetah breath against the back of her neck now. “Maybe I’ll read aloud to you. Then you will feel the weight of your eyes too. Listen: ‘In 1312 the village of Horns-on-Hatt was formed with 15 soldiers of the disbursed Copper Queen’s army. Items included 10 cows for milking, 5 golden rings, 25 standard issues of toilet paper bark, 50 bayonets, 22 rubber gloves, 14 fishing rods for the hobbit pond, 77 individually wrapped pieces of copper colored candy for the boys and girls, 88…’ well, you get the picture. Do you see what I mean?” She abruptly shuts the book without saving her place somewhere near its beginning. Dust flies from it, making golden-silvery glints in the air where the sun shines. “And, you see (she waves her arm around the table here) there’s maybe 20 more to go through. I’ve done 6 — *started* 6. I just can’t even get through the 1st chapter of most. If you can call these sections chapters. ‘Moby Prick’ did writing right. These (she waves again around her) are just ephemera, the flotsam and jetsam of dull, boring grey life. Soldiers’ lives at that in this case.” She pounds the book before her with a flat palm, as if trying to compress its three dimensional nature back into 2. “*Cartoons* would be more entertaining. *Much more*. In fact…”
Chesteria was reading her mind. She had the newspaper funnies in her back pocket, ready to whip them out to stave off breakdowns. Grey Scale Kimball eagerly pushes the “soldier book” away and flattens the funnies before her. Almost immediately she begins to smile. “Hehe. Hatfield. So funny.”