At the top of the long series of stairs I began to hear the music, celestial in nature. I knew it was Baker Bloch, but also that this would be impossible. *I* am Baker Bloch. Yet there he was, bathed in golden light at the other end of the nave or whatever this is. I could barely make out the figure in the distance, but — I knew.
I decided to ditch the cinematic frame hud for better shots, blog taking precedent over film. This also made me think of the ditch I needed to complete down in Collagesity. Soon I will return to my own realm.
I moved forward… took a while still.
Turned out Baker Bloch was so far away that he was in a completely different sim, sitting at his piano and playing what appeared to be a Schumann piece. Should’ve known. Music of the Gods. “Sonata No. 2” I believe.
The lights grew dimmer as I crossed the edge of the sim: threshold. I was alone again, just the music and me.
“We reached a dead end in NWES City, my love, future present past.”
“We did,” agreed Charlene Brown the punk beside him in the car at the center of the new city, whatever he or she or they decide to call it. Maybe just New Town.
“Oh… look over there, dearest. Another Happy Travels office, just like in…”
“Don’t say it, sweets. Let’s put that name behind us, move on to the new. New Town?” she then guessed, mirroring my thoughts.
“Anyway, there it is… again. Probably the portal to Gaston once more as well.”
“Don’t use it,” wisely advised Charlene. “Seal that up too. Let Barry X. Vampire the writer and, heck, Barry Deboy the artist deal with it if they wish.”
“Are the Barrys still around?” I ask through Jeffrie Phillips, borrowing his voice for the moment.
Charlene shook her head, but not as a denial. Instead: “Not our problem.”
“And a MacDonald’s,” Jeffrie joked when looking more behind them. Funny.
Official Guy Linden Temple in “New Town”.
200 200: another threshold.
But Hucka must *really* get over to Harrison’s before the night is done. Daylight in a little over an hour. Magic opening closed!
144 144. Maybe I better call Baker over here instead.
145 145 and 144 144 respectively.
“I was just going to tell you that The Boy was not at Stranger Creek. That’s all.”
“Good enough. Let’s see what else we’ve got on this Diagonal. Maybe it is all planned.” Both laugh.
203 203: “Let me help you out here old timer.”
204 204: Mo guest. Missouri? Mizzou?
Mount Lemmon, Arizona
203 203: “We’re just missing the mark now, Hucka Doobie. Can you hear me?”
239 239, 240 240:
240 240, 242 242: Uh oh. Something’s going on. “How can you be in 2 places at once?” I exclaimed, flipping back and forth between Baker Bloch’s and Hucka Doobie’s viewers.
Certain Death was playing on the turntable below the “Big Open”, beckoning them forward, the white twin obscured. Blackness. The End. Starless.
Marsha “Pink” Krakow watched as the moving van gradually filled up with their possessions. “Drane Hill,” she said aloud, testing the name. A rather ugly one, she thought. Doesn’t roll off the tongue like Storybrook. Bad sign up front.
She’d looked it up. It was a mistake appellation. Drane *Lick* use to run through the area, and perhaps still does. That’s a stream — lick equals stream. But the small knob directly above the village wasn’t Drane Hill, at least originally. It was Pleasant Hill, a descriptive name. Somewhere along the line hill and stream had gotten mixed up. A confusion was created. But from where? she pondered as her father, The Man, waved her toward the now packed truck, black hair queerly flickering on and off from her present perspective, grey revealed in part.
“Time to leave, honey,” he said rather hoarsely, voice weary from commanding the movers all afternoon. “The ugly yellow living room couch your mother loves so much was the last item. Come on — get inside. We’re going for a drive.” He then beckoned The Dogg to jump in the back with rest of the furniture and boxes, now all locked down. Dogg perhaps strangely was reluctant to get up from the pavement. Another meaningful sign for Marsha “Pink” Krakow, if she was paying attention. Which she was.
She too could stand her ground and not allow the van to escape. She didn’t have speak down and say goodbye to the Big Inside, trading a closed hill for an open one and a known commodity for the unknown. There was still time to talk. She had an ace in the hole. She and SEAN had been watching her mother’s comings and goings for a while now.
“Daddy?” she said, not budging an inch. “Do — do you know that fellow Charlie Banana in town?”
“Bandana?” he queried back, getting hard of hearing with his advancing age.
“No — Ba*nan*a. Yellow. Um, like that ugly yellow couch you just loaded in the back.” And here comes the zinger…
“Geez I miss the old country. But I must get back to Instabar for the neighborhood watch meeting. Might be the last of its kind!”
“What about *us*?”
“You’ll just have to wait.”
After work, Fish Head removed his fish (tattoo) and became just the Head.
From his perch in the sky, he saw *everything*. All 100 of it.
Melvin (Melville “Peepee” Todd) kisses similarly dead Melvin on the head to finish. “We’ll make this better,” he promises his little demon doppleganger. “We’ll – make – this – better.”
“Wanna grab some lunch over at the Faux Rhino, Stewart?”
“Um, sure thing Marty.”
“Personally I don’t like to look at the thing,” she spoke, facing way from the map. “But there it is. The Maebaleia blue galleries of lore. Notice — and I’m not going to turn around for this — that Cassandra City near Bluestocking is closest to The Moon here.”
“I know,” cooed the staring Heart Queen, thinking back to the previously examined map on the second floor of the House of Truth. “Barracuda. Just like in ‘Moby Prick’. Gypsies. Karoz! I’m remembering. He was there!”
“He has been disguised as (similarly blue-green) Tealy for the current run of Collagesity photo-novels,” admitted Grey Scale. “Waiting to reveal himself.”
“Now’s the time!” requested the queen.
“Not quite yet,” tempered Grey Scale, who was still in charge despite the niceties. The Heart Queen, like Chesteria before her, was learning when to keep in line; bend her own will. “Don’t cross Grey Scale,” urged Chesteria as newly appointed executive advisor. “She knows what she’s doing. Despite the purse.” They both had a laugh about the yellow handbag after that — so unfashionable, both agreed. Doesn’t really go with any of her earrings, for example.
“We have to determine the identity of Tillie, the accomplice. She may be Baker Blinker, the wife in Our Second Lyfe. Or she may be…”
“Very close.” Grey Scale turned to the Heart Queen. “Very close.”