Category Archives: 0316

Fife

“Carrot… radishes,” Ruby Alien recites for Alysha down below, perhaps at roughly the same time as the Dr. Mouse-Jeffrey Phillips interaction one floor up but perhaps not. Maybe later in the day. Wait… Dr. Mouse was thinking back there that the shooting day was almost done. So let’s go with the “roughly the same time” framework. The light (Still Life) seems similar, etc.

“Yes, in Space you can play around with combinations, not worry about Earthly standards. And over there, a tomato pepper.” She points to the far array of plants in this particular greenhouse enclosure of the Mars or Mars-like base.

Ruby Alien glances nervously out the window into the surrounding dunes. The nearby big red mushrooms have dissolved into irresolved triangles. “The… fidgety one. He will — return?”

“Yes, don’t worry about him, Ruby my friend. My *alien* friend.”

“*Fellow* — alien,” Ruby corrected in her measured manner. She was slow but certainly not dumb. She knew she was safe — for now — in this airy place in the sky above the Angels airport. She was not lost now except to the ones she was suppose to be.  Alysha had reassured her several times that the nervous policeperson outside was merely a prop, and a buffoonish one at that, ready to shoot his foot off for a certain number of guffaws. “He comes with the territory,” she said. “This airy hill or mount.”

“Cut!” Ronald shouts from the side. “Done for the day!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0316, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

time barrier (morning to evening)

“These are powerful people,” spoke Buster in my head. “They control *portals*. Portals between realities. And once you cross the line you may not know which is which.” Wise words from a small vampire man, still living in VHC City near Duncan for all I know. Still frequenting that bakery where Duncan was inducted into Pot-D, until the cursed, bloody Yelloo sun comes up at least. Give him the light and dark side of the moon any time. Give him money procured from criminal actions deep in darkness and shadows. Give him… well, we’ll leave out the third. In fact we’ll chuck the whole dark triad, for Buster Damm is now full of light and goodness, thanks to the blood transfusions combined with the positive energy of Pot-D itself. Yes, the story of our small vampire friend, best buddies with fellow and much larger (or regularly shaped) vampire Pitch Darkly, will have a happy ending. He has his wife Betty now, who can appear tiny, like him, but also larger — to allow the couple freedom to move about in the world of regular joes and josettes — are also born again TILISTS. They’d studied the sinks of Maebaleia and other continents extensively. They’re convinced of the 3d hyperspin of Maebaliea and Jeogeot separate from the rest of Their Second Lyves to create the sinks in the first place. And above and beyond this, roosting on it like a demented OWL… but I’ve said too much here. ROOST is key.

—–

What did Duncan see on the other side of the 300? He observed the observer, almost hidden in a small wood of trees behind a barrel here.

He had dominion over his compact, changeable kingdom-queendom at 200 E Locust, he and his wife. But the wife also observes, 2 1/2 years in the past, an overturned chair on a porch just to the west. The lawn deer’s baby has moved back into its womb. Stars appear.


May 2018


Dec 2015

And a blue sphere moves from one side of a small garden space to the other to emphasize its importance. I think we know what *this* means.

Better shot of the observer.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0316, Eveningwood, Illinois, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

00250316

I suddenly found myself in Hucka Doobie’s White Palace in De Skies, as if I was summoned. The palace place looked pretty big; I decided I better avail myself of one of those touring huds in that big snowflake-like object over there — but it just turned out to be a cinematic frame, as if the whole thing were a film or something. Crazy ol’ Hucka Doobie. Always wanted to visit his or her White Palace and here I am. On film.

I was definitely not alone.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0316, Hana Lei^^

another

“I just want a place to disappear to, Jeffrie. Maybe this *twin* to our NWES City will do the trick…”

“For a while,” Jeffrie Phillips reinforced from his position opposite Charlene “Punk” Brown at the Static Social Lounge next to the *other* local Red gallery besides the Red Umbrella. This was another indication that they were in the right spot. “What are you going to call it?”

“The City? Oh, I don’t know, I’ll think of something.”

“*We’ll* think of something.” They sat in silence for a while after that, taking in the new sights and sounds.

They even had a view of the harbour (Canadian) just beyond the gallery.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0316, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Harbourtown, Jeogeot^^

Dewey 01

Okay so they were the same avatar at the core: Wheeler Wilson. This black haired Fern Stalin, this yellow or blonde haired Lichen Roosevelt, the ditzy one — the “Yellow Kid” — and then the red dooed Wendy, closer to Wheeler than any of the others in the moment because she was being read. It was a newspaper situation, then, black and white — well, yellow — and then the thing being scrutinized, the alien, the intruder onto their lands. One Wendy Wilson from Arkansaw, Kansas, they determined. Yellow journalism all around, because this was not as advertised. They made it into a way bigger deal than what it was, or at least Lichen did.

“Tell me more about this nephew Stumpy,” requested Fern later at the interrogation, 3rd of the day (Friday) and 15 minutes after she ate her last supper (chicken). She was ready to end it all. She hadn’t talked but she knew they would break her down. Pain wasn’t her ace in the hole. Instead: pleasure; hole in one. If the year 1898 gave us the first silent Oz movie (Star Wars Negative 10), then 1948 ended it all. “Tell me about TILE, about how you came about getting *here*. We’ve been here for almost 10 years. Why *now*?”

The pills manifested in her mouth, 1/2 red and 1/2 blue. Purple, then: dare she go through with it? Her sentence was almost over. And so on the 5th day (swallow) she…

—–

“We were so close, Lichen,” expressed Fern afterwards, staring at the bovine remains. “This explains a lot. I’m ready to start studying that manifesto with you in earnest. Let’s go to this Stumpy’s next meeting; tell him about his loss and what we saw.”

“As much as we can.”

“Right. And get Herbert to clean up all this mess.”

“Yes ma’am.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0316, Hana Lei^^

Temple tales 01

Harry stares outside the picture at the Earth and sees it is good. What an oddball.

On the same floor, Baker Bloch bangs out the entire organ version of Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” before raising his hands from the keyboard and realizing he can’t play. That was vampire alter ego Pitch Darkly’s talent, who hasn’t been seen in a number of photo-novels. I lose count. 18 — that’s it. Or was it 12?

Ahh, *there* he is. It was Pitch all along — should’ve know. Just had to turn the camera the other way. The lack of a reflection in the organ’s strangely placed mirror should have tipped me off. Along with, of course, the deft keyboard fingering.

“Play that other Russian ‘sky’ composer I love so much,” listening wife Mary Tyler requests. She wanted Moore. And Pitch complies by belting forth “The Rite of Spring” to her great pleasure, although early on she was knocked off her perch on the organ by the heavy vibrations. Good vibrations, though, and Mary still grooved to them while laying on the floor.

She took the opportunity to also stare at the static filled tv placed nearby she was edging closer to with each crashing chord — temple must have been tilted a bit in that direction — and fell into a trance, dreaming about a trip to the Beach. Except it was The Beech. Here we come!

Upstairs:

“Iiiiii… Iiiiiii…”

“Almost got it,” Carrcassonnee adjusting MAT (Man About Time) declares hopefully but perhaps also futilely. We’ll see soon enough.

Excuse me. I have to contact someone.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0316, Marwood, NWES Island^

new Diagonal

Hmm. A triple number: 173 173 173. Carpe Diem, huh? Seize the day. Seize the night!

Better head over to Harrison’s place.

166 166 (173): “Rome Italy: Montage 5” by Kyoko Furse-Barzane (L$350). Hucka Doobie naturally thinks back to the “When in Rome” collage and her role in that. Trapped! (Gastonite!) But what does “Rome” mean now? Carpe Diem: a Latin term.

I suppose Rome would have to mean Teepot itself, and the ability of the Greater Baker family to fit in. Starting with Bake’s Bakery: it all centers around that now. Do as the Teepoters do.

161 161 173: Sake server.


Silver Sake server

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0316, Teepot^^

sickness

Teddy had seen it all coming and had tried to warn his master Baker Bloch about the impending event. With his hoof he had counted to five this day before the bay but purposefully stopped at six. Marty was not who he seemed to be. *No one* was who they seemed to be, not Marty, not The Mann, not Peter Oesso, nobody. Here they were all variants. The numbers one through five represent the time before the peak, when Penny Lane was a memory and not a song, when Strawberry Fields was a place as well. After the release of the double single — and accompanying album — something happened to The Beetles, indeed the world as a whole. Arnold Lane, another place that became not a place, played a role in this as well. I’m here to tell you: something happened.


Storybrook’s deserted Arnold Lane


Marty’s nearby, red-topped, bible-less church

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0020, 0316, Heartsdale^^, Storybrook^

Barry? Come in, Barry.

She was just finishing up Movement 3 of the Platinum Prune suite of songs, popular in Corsica Prime these days. Her hands lift from the keyboard after an ending chord of complex expression.

“There. 3 of 5 done. Or is it 6? Jeffrie, be a dear and pull up the big fat map of the continent for all to see where we are presently.”

Listening Jeffrie on a nearby couch complied.

“*4* of 5,” exclaimed Audrey, looking beyond the facade of Our Second Life into the frame of it all. “Lordly I must have been on the wrong movement after all. We’re at Drane Hill!”

She peered remotely beyond the juxtaposed black and white statues outside toward the hill above the cabin they rented last night, all out in the air and exposed and without any attached Big Inside at all, unlike the story with Storybrook and its Kraken Hill. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and her family, kin and extended, should be arriving soon to breathe in the fresh air of a new location, feet grounded again.

And I suspect wannabe famous novelist Barry X. Vampire is around as well, given the red beam and all.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0019, 0316, Asha^, Corsica^^, Pennsylvania

penultimate?

When I stared over at White Elvis, I realized I had his hair and got rid of it. The older doo, not the younger one (pictured) here. But still — a reminder.

I am now more The Man(n) than ever.

I turned to red, white and blue Cpt. Americus downing yet another piece of yellow chicken from his magical, chicken piece producing bucket and ask him where it went all wrong.

He mentioned something about Wheeler f-ing things up. I didn’t know who Wheeler was. He said she was the ideal woman, the Venus Da Milo. I said, “*de* Milo.” He said, “whatever,” and chose a breast to eat next with his free hand.

I thought back to the story of lusty Jack the Mallard on Fruity Islands for some reason. Probably because I was looking for the same there. I must go back sometime. Eden…

As he kept vociferously munching and crunching, I considered I was dealing with a Southerner here. Hence the chicken. Hence the White Elvis; black nowhere to be found in this recording studio. No Lena Horned, for instance. No “Ballad of Stormy Daniels.” I then realized this could be the studio of Your Mama. This was *the* room. I decided to ask.

“Who’re you recording today, Cpt.?” I didn’t say the full name on purpose. I was testing how far I could go without falling back.

Cpt. Americus glanced into the studio, as if someone was there. “Oh, the usual. Local gal.”

“White, I assume,” The Man(n) wanted to say, but instead said, “good that you’re developing the local talent.” And then more information spouted from the Cpt.’s masticating mouth full of chicken. Disgusting. But – must – keep — digging. Further tonight.

“Yup,” he spoke. Then the girl returned from her break, beautiful in a black gown.

—–

I decided to go back tonight. The place (with the beach chairs) Da Womann and I sat and chatted and some other stuff was gone. Maybe it was all a dream? But the statues were still there. Adam and his Eve.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0018, 0316, Corsica^^, Fruity Islands^^, Instabar^