Back at their rented house, the local servant boy was offering them some kind of regional soup that looked grody to the max to Gill Alex. He instead stared out toward the sea, which at least they can *see* from this spot, if not visit. “Rain’s coming in again,” he observed. “Had a brief reprieve…” “Between 4 and 6,” Rock completed for him. Always thinking about numbers, he observed himself about his brother-lover. Always 4, always 6. Like clockwork. The rain just cooperated with what was already in his split hemispheric mind. Thank Gods for the topping golden hair. He could always talk rationally with that; it operated the mouth parts and most of the nose and ears. The eyes he couldn’t control. Gill Alex continued to stare at the sea and become one with it. He kept thinking of the eye they spoke about earlier. Tulsa was typing out her notes on a (regional) computer-typewriter by now, getting ready for a splashy, stormy front page story in the NWES Gazette. Picture here:
Category Archives: 04
I am both the contrary motions of male and female in one body,” he spoke over to his brother-lover Rock Ramby, who was sure to go everywhere
Little Robert Plant Variant Vain and Artery Boy Gill Alex went. What a lamb. They were on vacation from Misty MO, like last year around this same time. “Always hurricane season for a coastal town,” Gill Alex groused about the location choice again. “Can’t go to the beach. Can’t lay out this gorgeous body on a sun towel for every passing boy and/or girl to ogle at.” He reflexively flexed his blue toned arm muscle with this for Rock. “Hard as *you*,” he added while patting it, making his significant other grin. “Shut up,” he waved Gill off. He knew he had to take certain kinds of pills now to be a serviceable lover. And Gill Alex liked to rub it in every now and then — when the opening occurred. They were playful and carefree like that. “*This* one,” — he flexed the muscle in his red arm now — “not as strong. Weak. Limp, even.” “Alright, knock it off Gill. Or should I call you… Alex.” Gill Alex shut up, then. He didn’t like his first and last names switched with each other, not one bite. He took another bit of his butterscotch topped doughnut in front of him so he could bite his tongue. He knew he deserved the come back. Then he got over it. Just that quickly. They were… well they were who they were. More Popeyes.
Speaking of which, Rocky Ramby was about to reveal to brother-lover Gill Alex why they were *actually* here.
Tulsa behind them was taking notes all the time.
“Oklahoma,” he started. “Oklahoma, then Olive.”
“Confederation?” expressed Gill Alex reflexively. When was the last time he’d thought about *that*.
They were here for the *eye*.
(to be continued)
It was pretty obvious who should come back next to NWES City. Little Robert Plant Variant. All grown up to become… Gill Alex? Vain and Artery Boy? Gold topped head dominating or directing the otherwise contrary motions of slightly shorter red and slimly taller blue within his body?
One leg must be slightly or slimly shorter than the other, then. LRPV needs to realign his center to preserve his back in his older age (59?). And here we are.
(to be continued)
Hi Mr. Baker Bloch!
I’m admitting it’s so scary to write you (insert wavery letters there!). I *adore* your Red Umbrella Gallery and all the ART within and am so glad it has returned to [NWES City] (!!). My psychic grandchild and I have already visited several times. You may have heard of the gallery’s relation to a murder last year in our fair weather city. That’s me (!!!). I was the one who saw the rabbit in the collage — let’s see, that was Sam Parr 08 I believe — and told the police about it. Ms. Tanner and her private dick friend Percy. You may know them by now. Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer I’m talking about here. His corpse was discovered in a sewer over in Apple’s Orchard. I don’t go over there much any more because of it. And to think at the time it was known as the “Mild East” of [NWES City].
*Anyway*, have to run. It’s *so* nice to write you, and a bit relieving as well. I’ve thought about your work *so* much since it’s come to [NWES City] and also visited your own village of Collagesity back in the fall while doing further research on the murder. The newest gallery of yours in NWES, Bogota, still, um — well, still exploring that one. But the Boos gallery beside it is prim-o! I love how the interpretations flow from one collage to another in [Sunklands].
Toddles is urging me we need to go to the store. I promise to write later (!!!!).
Your fan and secret friend,
Alice L. Farrowheart the 5th
Alice Farrowheart looks down on the letter she just typed on her old timey computer-typewriter and wonders if she overdid it with the exclamation marks. Perhaps so, but, after all, this is very exciting. She’s talking directly to a maker now (!!!!!). Now if she just has the courage to send it.
Can you spot the Kidd Tower here?
The Man About Time now has a comfortable place to stay. As perhaps does his former neighbor Mr. Babyface, who now may remain his neighbor. “I am your neighbor,” he might say to MAT the next time they meet.
We’ll see if the Kidd Tower can stay. But — I can’t imagine a better spot for it!
“And something about *this* one. That man at the top with the flowy hair.”
“All right, child. I’ll mark it down for later inspection. Here, let me take another snapshot with my phone.”
Alice Farrowheart again wonders briefly if pictures are allowed in the gallery but reinforces to herself that she doesn’t care. The study of *synchronicity* trumps all, since it is a bridge-maker. Important term, and one she’s been using a lot in her journal lately. The Little Book of Synchronicities. She’ll worked on it when she gets back to the apartment. Along with playing with the belt again, hehe. She’s been experimenting for days.
“We’re done, gramma. That’s the last.”
“Good job. Let’s go home.” Alice wishes they could take the subway back but knows that’s a way off. Walking is good for the soul, though. The belt can wait.
“Where are you again, Toddles? I can see the green (right) and the gray (left) but you’re nowhere to be found. I need you to be *somewhere* — and just not in my head.”
“Behind the UFO,” the small child spouted in her cute-as-a-button voice. So wise for someone so little, but that’s the psychic part working its way in. She can also see into the 4th dimension and bend her vision around things.
Alice Farrowheart finally understood that her grandchild, speaking directly into her mind at the time, was behind the saucer centered collage in the middle of the room on the easel. She decides to move around it to examine the bigger collage more, framed by the green and gray figures she mentioned earlier and spanning two of the 4 walls. But — right or left?
“Choose right,” uttered the magical child, sensing her thoughts and spacial placement again. “Then left till you get to the umbrella. She wanted to emphasize green over gray for a particular reason. She had already told Alice the Pooh (bear) holding a red parasol and pulling a blue cart with a honey pot was exactly halfway between (Phil!).
“*There* you are, child. And there’s the umbrella tucked snug in the corner, just like you said. Not surprising of course.”
“Right between the two,” Toddles reinforced, into her sight and out of her mind, to Alice Farrowheart’s relief. The prescient toddler pointed to the doubly displaced green “T” at the bottom of a Telephone pole and elaborated the connection with Colona, the twin city of Teepot in the Confederation. A graphic representation of what she said to her grandma for now; more later:
We end with a front pic of the Red Umbrella gallery itself, returned to NWES City as of yesterday:
“I’m going to go outside the city walls like this, Audrey. The Blue Thorn. *Not* the Blue Rose. ”
Audrey! she thought. *That’s* how he sees me. “But the rose and the thorn come from the same… Plant.”
“Robert?” questioned the secret superhero guise of Jeffrie Phillips, ready to be unleashed upon the world. Or at least the rest of the Confederation outside Teepot. “Nah. He’s over in NWES still. Never left the Jeogeot continent. Been there, oh, let’s see, 12 years? Xenosaurus (sim) I recall.”
“Interesting,” said Silhouette, only taking form when projected upon. Like now. Audrey she was. She changed to match what was there in his eyes. He changes, she changes. Both have superhuman powers.
(to be continued?)
“You are a doctor. Aren’t you?”
The doctor puts his arms over his head in a stretch. “I am so, my dear lady. And *you*… are a nun. We are both servants of the community at large. This, erm, *Teepot*. Is that what we lot decided to call it, hmm?”
“I’m afraid you aren’t a part of our lot, doctor,” spoke New Nun honestly. “You are not an inhabited soul. You are merely a prop. I merely ask if you are the doctor to see if *you* realize this.” She was truthful but not harsh. No need to get testy with this fellow servant, as he called himself. Good. He may be worth saving in the long haul.
“I *see*.” But did he really see? He made the queer observation again in his pleasant, proper British accent, as if he were repeating himself at a set interval. “You know, when I started this bartending gig here those statues over there were nude. I just came to work one day and they were suddenly clothed, out of the blue. I remember it being a clear, crisp morning. I had the same tweed jacket I have on today. In fact…”
“You never remove it from your body,” New Nun guessed about what he was going to say.
The doctor eyed her keenly. “Yeeeess. Me thinks you know more than you let on, madam.” He thought back to her earlier statement, absurd in the moment but becoming a growing, flickering possibility in his diamond-like mind. Although a prop true, he was such an extraordinary learned and storied one that he truly may be becoming alive in the moment. New Nun could be right about him being worth saving. Why would I doubt her? It’s in her business after all.
She looked at him squarely. “But you are not the doctor I seek.”
“No.” She took a final sip of her whiskey drink and was gone. The doctor vaguely waved goodbye before forgetting who she was.
New customer, one blacked out but with dangerous curves. She felt the cross and crucifix disappear from her hand beneath the counter. She remembers Rhode… second life. His head pivots toward her as the sequence begins again.
The Man About Time supposed this was his apartment now, what with the death of Carrcassonnee. He had no one left to take care of. Collagesity was done and over with. NWES is where it’s at; The Current.
I realized that MAT was me in the future. And the past and the present, I suppose. All the colors, well, one (current). Green, I guess. Lime. Olive?
“Why did I call him Jim?” he wondered mildly from his rainbow colored couch, too big for his apartment and probably something he would be getting rid of soon (along, obviously, with the bits and pieces of Carrcassonnee’s body). He has many options. This town is big and wide if lacking depth. But, then again, the town owner, a true neighbor of a guy, is working on the subway it seems. In the meantime: road system disrupted; north cut off from south. It rang a bell too close to home. He must hit it off with this neighbor and not be a (total) stranger. Because he thinks he knows this Guy. Met him on a RR once; talked about Azure Islands. But I’ve speculated before who Guy is. I thought he was Magellen and just gell’n. I thought he was…
The phone rings. Too close to home to answer. Maybe it was under his couch? He’d find out soon enough.