I have found you again stone well. Well well well, as they say.
“Who is that girl over there,” said Zach Black in a low tone across the table to Lena Horned. “I’ve seen her before… somewhere. Maybe a fan?”
“Maybe,” Lena said between bites of food, not looking over for fear of *him* again. She knows he’s lurking.
“Yeah, they’re all gone,” explained Roger Pine Ridge a little later in the heart of Hana Lei. “50 years ago I guess by now — just missed them.” He kept toking, staring, his cracked alien skin no better for the smoke. But being alien and all it may not matter that much… lungs might be configured differently for example. Smoking may not hurt him like us humans. He continues. “Lamb, yeah. I know what’s in your head. You want to clarify what I’m talking about.” He coughs, he stares at the doobie almost shrunk to nothing, then tosses it away and shakes his hand vigorously like it’s on fire and he’s trying to put it out. “Where’s some pliers when you need them, heh.”
Jacob I. was currently taking a break from pot, trying to crack this whole Lamb conundrum with a clear head. So no cracks about Bogarting that whole joint thing to Roger, because Jacob I. asked him to. “No thanks,” he said at the time, then took a glance at all the pots and pseudo-pots strewn about the place and wondered how he ever survived with it. Lamb could save him. Dollie.
“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!”
“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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.”
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!
“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.
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
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