Category Archives: 0309

June 7, 2018 · 7:56 am

Spliff Village

Shirley Boot returned to Yd Bay on Wednesday, ostensibly to sail her FB Lollygagger Raft 2.0 around the northern shore of New Island again. Secretly she was hoping to see the nice nude man again which caused such a different kind of itch in her the week before. But to her amazement, little Yd Isle out in the bay where the man had been standing was on fire today!

Shirley pondered calling the island’s fire department but then decided against it. Yd Isle was surrounded by water, of course — the fire would not spread beyond. And the 3 linden palms, the only things growing upon it as far as she knew, were obviously already goners. So she just sat on the shore and watched, but the flames never seemed to die down. Eventually she became bored and went back to her house on the other side of Mt. Sondra. She didn’t mention the spectacle to her parents for fear of getting in hot water trouble.

Today Shirley scanned the morning edition of the “New Island Gazette” for any news of the fire. Nothing. Did anyone even *notice*? she wondered, sipping on Earl Grey tea and taking another bite of one of those fresh cheddar biscuits brought down by nice neighbor Ms. Frame last night. She read the paper more carefully, front to back and then back to front. Still nada on the fire, but the blurb about New Island Studios she kept running across then began to strike her as kind of queer in itself. 3 palms again  — did these stoner guys Marty and Jay get the inspiration for their blurb’s isle from Yd Isle itself? Maybe *they* would be upset that the trees had burned down.

So on a whim, Shirley Boot decided to give fledgling New Island Studios a ring, since the number was right in front of her. 709-576-8220. Leaving off the area code since the call was local (in fact, all of New Island belonged to 709) she pecked the number into her smart phone.

“Hello, ‘New Island Gazette’,” a friendly female voice on the other side of the line spoke. Shirley hung up. “Stupid stoners,” she muttered. “Gave the number of the paper in their blurb and not their own business.” She decided to make a hike of it this morning and go directly to their office, since she knew the physical location. Behind Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village, near the center of the island; not more than a 15 minute walk from here. That way she could pick up more pot spliffs from that Corsican gal Laverne Glam who should be working at the Village today, and also thinking a, um, business warming gift, ha ha, might be appropriate for the likes of two self professed stoners. Then Shirley considered:  Maybe it was just the pot the day before making the bay isle burn, hmm. But she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Pretty sure…

… until she revisited Yd Bay on her way over. The 3 palms still stand! It’s as if nothing had happened, nothing at all. And perhaps, she decided, it hadn’t.

Still, a visit to Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village and then New Island Studios seemed to be in order since she was already about halfway there.  And Shirley needed Laverne’s spliffs more than ever now!

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March 24, 2018 · 10:02 am

like a rose 02

“Ahh. A nice hot coffee before a nice hot fire. Doesn’t get any better than this in Our Second Lyfe, Robot Derak Jones. But take a seat.”

“I’m glad you found your hearing aid and stopped yelling, Pencil.” He remained standing. His hemorrhoids were acting up again.

“Me too! I mean: me too.”

“You are truly David now.”

“Well,” adds Eraserhead Man. “I’m a giant pencil pretending to be David Lynch for the purposes of this story. Novel 8 is it?”

“That’s right, EM.”

“Kids couldn’t stay around a while longer? I kind of miss them since they left, what was it, this afternoon?”

“It was a sudden departure,” agrees Robot Derak Jones in his metallic, echoed tone. “They found a house on the other side of the island. Baker Blinker had it in her inventory. That’s the core avatar for Karl.”

“I know who Baker Blinker is,” declares Eraserhead Man. He sips his coffee, then smacks his lips pleasingly. “I understand they found out that Karl is blue. Blue Rose Case, of course.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

—–

“Well… let’s see what *this* does.” Eraserhead Man abruptly throws the contents of his cup into the fire. Both watch as someone else forms in the room.

“Look at that, Robot. A demon. How about that? A flamey little fire demon. What’s your name, little fellow?”

“Gus,” came a small answer from the fireplace after a pause.

Eraserhead Man turned to his friend Robot Derak Jones. “Gus, he said, Robot.”

An erratic wind began to blow outside. One might say it was gussing if they had the guts.

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January 7, 2018 · 11:24 am

“Slim to none.”

“South YANKTON!” Eraserhead Man shouted toward the bleached face Norris. “We need INFORMATION! A man named PHILIP STREVOR has returned from there! Listen and this is IMPORTANT! There’s a giant BEAVER there!”

“Don’t look at me,” Norris demanded in a normal register. “Are you looking at me? Because you’re suppose to be looking straight ahead and not at me. Don’t look at me!”

“I WON’T! I’m NOT!” Eraserhead Man rummaged around in his pockets and procured a cigarette, lit it, and proceeded to smoke.  “You don’t mind if I SMOKE, do you?!” he asked while emitting his first puff.

Norris didn’t answer, remained motionless. Eraserhead Man continued his grilling. “He goes by the name of CASEY here! Sometimes Casey the ALIEN! Last seen in GAETA V — get this — like GTA V! GTA I Said! Grand Theft AUTO! One of our INFORMANTS tipped us off! KEDAR! Use to live over in NAUTILUS!” He stopped there.

“I may have heard of him. We may have shared a drink!” Norris piped up.

“Had a GOLF club! MOTIONLESS FACE. Said, ‘I’m yrev very happy to SEE you old friend.’! I don’t have to tell you what color ROSE we’re talking about here!”

“You should leave now,” Norris suddenly demanded. “The holiday entities could be up and roaming about by now. There’s a chance they may come to this lower plane… just a chance but not worth taking it.”

“CHANTS?!” shouted the hard of hearing Eraserhead Man. Norris forgot to pipe up at the end this time. “What KIND of chants?!”

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October 28, 2017 · 7:11 am

small

Mr. Babyface arrives at his apartment entrance after a so so meal of perch at Perch. He had but a small word to his (headless?) garson about the blandness, so small that it passed unnoticed.

Speaking of which…

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August 17, 2017 · 2:22 am

“Aim” (new collage)

—–

In related news…

… Peter SoSo was resting on a bench near End of the Line after a particularly difficult day of working on the Lapara train system: trying to smooth out some pesky car turns and pondering what to do with The Void, as everyone seemed to like calling the pitch dark link between the town’s upper and lower realms. He then fell sleep and dreamed that a second, somewhat smaller top hat appeared on top of his own, and then a fishbowl with two clownfish atop that.

He woke with a start, suddenly understanding how to fulfill the train system. It involved pitch perfect balance.

But the realization would take time. Luckily he was a patient mer-man.

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May 21, 2017 · 7:56 am

here and there

“So you’ve decided to play the role of Clare Nova, Wheeler. Third Nova sister.”

“Third *found*,” she said. She takes another sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon wine. “Somewhere in this store is the appropriate avatar. A step up from (Summerhill) and (Golden Bee-ing), true. Something with a little more meat and flesh. Maybe the ancient alien.”

“Study up more on the real Clare Nova,” Baker Bloch suggested. “Find out additional stuff about her land and its relationship with The Diagonal. We’ve already discovered that obelisk tucked in the southwest corner of Hooktip right on the line…

… and then an accompanying leaf screen in *Leaf*roller to the immediate south.

Synchy stuff still going on.”

“And the multiple rose pictures The Musician found in Sister galleries,” reinforced Wheeler. “In his dreams.” She turned toward her Musician, now fully awake and tinkling the ivories of a nearby piano. The tune for the day: David Bowie’s “Alladin Sane.” Third take was the charm.

“Where’s Baker Blinker?” Wheeler suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Bloch responded.

“Oh yeah. Chilbo.”

—–

“Where’s Wheeler?” Karoz suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Blinker responded.

“Oh… yeah.”

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January 26, 2017 · 6:32 am

Swinging but not driving…

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A sunset swing helps Old Mabel prepare for another potential rough night of dreaming.

At the appropriate moment, she slides off and looks for Unch. The sun had just disappeared under the horizon.

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“Can’t quite spot him from here if he’s there,” she says to herself in a low voice. “Or her,” she tacks on dutifully. Seven o’clock: time to meet Baker Bloch at the Joker’s Wild. Much to talk about!

—–

“Hmm,” Baker Bloch says, landing just north of the mall while attempting to teleport directly inside. “Old Mabel clearly said this graffiti read: Soos.”

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—–

“You’ve dreamed about Chesterton the Librarian before haven’t you?”

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“On a number of occasions,” answers Old Mabel, She swirls her lemonade around in its glass. “Night before, he was in a corner of my living room loudly munching on some delicious puffed cornmeal product.”

“In the Small House or Big House?”

“I’ve started to call them Old House and Big House. Because one was born 5 minutes after the other.”

“Ahh,” Baker responds, understanding this is a reference to her, Old Mabel, and her slightly younger twin brother Little Big. Nothing to do with the actual history of the houses in all likelihood.

“But it was Old House. That was the dream I talked to Spongebill Triangleslacks, Snowbob’s great uncle. Did you know he called him grunkle instead of great uncle? Another bleedthrough from that show.”

“Which we need to talk about in some detail, Old Mabel,” Baker says from his stool. “Map the comparisons out. But whether you believe me or not, the concept of The Bill predates finding out about the show. I didn’t make the link until early November, I believe, when, um, I retrieved that diary out of the library for Wheeler. Number 3,” he clarified. “The original find.”

“Just like Dipper first found the 3rd diary in, er, his *own* show. Not *inside* a tree, but the mechanism triggering the release of the trap door in the ground is found in the tree. It’s metal in the show. I don’t think Unch is made of metal.”

Baker pondered what Old Mabel had implied. “Unch is the source of the diary — I suppose that could make sense.”

“Maybe all 3 diaries which are actually one conglomerate work,” Old Mabel adds. “Three-in-one.”

—-

Meanwhile, Unch tries to listen in from the the woods but can’t quite spot them.

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