“In-depth; I don’t know the meaning of that. Is that the same as in deep?”
“Oooooooo. Looks like Alice is in *trouble* again.”
“I don’t like the looks of him, Richard.”
“Noo,” he agreed, daring to move his shoulders a bit in the recognition. “Looks like my mother.”
“Another coat check, over.” Reply.
“Check. Checking the overcoat.”
But Agent Orangetang found that he too could not hardly move a muscle in this place and had to send in his partner Boris who was a spider and undetected and perhaps undetectable in the Big Freeze. The coat check would take all night, and by that time Miss In-depth and her accomplice Mrs. Ordinary had long fled the scene, taking the goodies with them.
“Get my gum,” spoke Sarah only 1/2 to Rosalyn. “I’m going in.”
So she went back to another place in the Morgan sim, still intact, and spoke with the dog, or spoke *toward* the dog because it was a one way affair this time, no mysterious chanting of magic numbers, no nutt’n. Because the deed had already been done.
“What *are* you?” would be redundant, so she added to it. “I *know*,” she started, “that you did all this, the creation of the treasure down there (because they indeed were way up in the air here, about 1/2way to The Void at the 4000 meter level). You just wanted me to *see*.”
Stares from the dog, but, like I said, no real replies. Shelley thought the sombrero atop his head disappeared at one point but wasn’t certain. Could be a trick of the eyes in this rather dark place, this Tesseract Tavern in the skies. But we happen to know it wasn’t.
We had to go through Gold City and Barry and Stinkerfoot to get back to Zapppa and the Big Woods cemetery. He dug up the truth about Franklin. It wasn’t pretty.
There was no body; there was nobody.
“Black Jack,” psychic Donald said in a related scene from Towerboro.
The TV went to snow.
Hucka Doobie looks up into the Blue Feather Cube and imagines seeing Mr. Tom “Spilly” Bean emerge from the center of a triangle of 3 white stars, falling or perhaps even plummeting to Earth in a beam of white. Must be white.
Now to bring him actually to life.
She recalls the day she gave up her blackness, all ears now. In the opposite direction: red. She became the Controller after that, some say Morgan the Hagg returned from a watery grave, even. She picked up the phone. She gave him a call. Pepi “Can” Kolya was no more in her life. Until now, which was actually then.
“Herbert, it’s me,” she remembered saying into the screen, waiting with baited breath for a reply. Was that even his correct name?
“Herbert. I mean, *Newt* (sigh). Can I take off the ears now?”
“Not yet, babydoll.” He reaches over.
He’s done as much work on the library in the skies as he needs to tonight. Now to crack the back of the book before him while Swanie’s on lunch break.
Chapter 1: “Marbles Fall, Marble Falls”. So much to learn. Oops. There goes the other marble, rolling away almost through the wall. Swanie will not be pleased; have to try to stick it back on before she returns.
Maybe I can just use one of my own eyes, he thought crazily, but then did just that. He stuck the blue eye marble in the now empty socket and started to see the future, the North beyond the South. Miss Ouri! This must be kept top secret.
“I know this is only our second date,” Jeffrie Phillips began again. Eraserhead Man had decided to move the location of the shoot to nearby Antares Isles, just northwest of Fio Fum. The Giant For A Day post title can wait. Or can it? “But I’m a marrying type, I’ll warn ya. I want to marry you. I think, I *know*… I love you.” He turned toward her, Redd For A Day. She of course wasn’t expecting this. Blue script; in the white one she would have slapped him, knowing what he did on that filthy yacht just yesterday while she was with Thomas getting her tattoo. He promised to stick to the clean one from now on. And that’s where they got married. Just back there, in the background. And then they lived in the submarine home a little closer, on the largest and most northern of the 3 or 4 isles in the chain, right near the yacht, pointing toward it like a time bomb. Julius was born a little while later — well I guess it would have to be at least 9 months later. Jeffrey named him while she was busy reading her current furniture and fashion magazine on the far isle again, just where they are now, in the present. A black child for a white couple but that was just part of the magic.
They set a date. March 1, 2022. The day the music died.
Ironic that while perusing black and white photos in that fashion and furniture magazine during Julius’ illicit naming event back there she was thinking about Newt. And Annaberg — why did she ever leave that Sunklands burg in the first place?
This boat has nowhere to go. It’s landlocked.
Hidi is both red and blue at once.
She is not alone.
Later they travel by a different boat and head to the open sea.
Here be Creatures….
“I’m just saying she mentioned your name, Duncan; said you need to stay away from those woods and that your karma is done there, along with George’s.”
“Interesting,” he says back to me, still keeping one eye on the tulips, which he then notices that I notice and looks away — for a minute. I’ll check all that out later.
Fish Head wasn’t in for some reason. He’s *always* in. He’s on his own again, at least for a little while. Probably one of those improbable bathroom breaks, he guesses. Fish Head usually just absorbs it internally but it eventually builds up, he reckons. Have to let go sometime, despite the dangers.
As he keeps stumbling and bumbling, he spots Soupie down a passageway. Soupie can help me, he realizes, thinking back to what the old Chinese cook told him last year about, who was it? The owner of the place. The one with the master map. “What you need to keep from getting lost, young dude, is a *plan*,” he said. Also: “Follow the pipes if worse comes to worse. Always follow the pipes.” He’d forgotten about that bit of advice until now. And he was sleeping right below them. Density, yes, but in his own brain. He figures he needs a refresher course. Fate he meets him.
“Good, eh?” he spoke over while still stirring. Always stirring his patriotic soup this one is. Hence the name.
Guy nodded. “Good, yes, Soupie,” and took another slurp. 10 lindens. Very reasonable for a nice hot meal.
“Musshroooms. Fresh from Wonderland.” Guy recalled that Soupie called the fresh market down the street Wonderland for some reason, although its real name was just plain ol’ Fresh Market, or at least that’s the only official one he’d ever heard. He starts to feel a little funny in the head. He decides to tell him about his recent dreams.
Todd A. was next. We center the picture in the middle of the triangles sort of framing his head. He is like an infinite game of roshambo, hand on top of hand on top of hand. Pact with the Devil. Atomic Suicide. Todd A. was smart, management being his specific, chief skill, to add to the others’ two. Todd A. knew a lot about triangles and how they fit together. He went over to Billie Jean Kidd down the bar, recognizing talent when he saw it.
“That’s some kind of balancing act you got going on there.”
“Thank you. I also do cards.”
“Well…” He rubbed her head playfully, like an adult to a kid. Which she isn’t of course. She let the gesture go, knowing that Todd A. was old fashioned in that way. Because she knew who he was, even if he didn’t know her. She could see into the past present future. She knew this guy with his infinite seeing mind was trouble in a bottle, troubled water without a bridge, just blub blub blub. He later turned into an alcoholic to match his drowning mind. 1/8th of the brain cells gone, then 1/6th. Soon he would not be able to manage a diverse collection of bugs drawn together through a common plant.
“… aren’t you the clever one,” he finished, and sat down beside her, relighting his cigar. Billie Jean Kidd was use to cigars, being a stogie toking man in the assignment before last before last, the first without Philip and Marion. She had to admit to the new partner, a chain toting robot dominatrix, that she kind of missed them. “They were like… totally inept dads.” “Gay?” the mechanoid questioned back. “Hard to tell,” came the answer. “Extremely close *pals* at the least.” If only they didn’t bring out the worst in each other, all 3 of them together, she then bemoaned. It could have worked, perhaps. If only their promised Clyde was real.
“We better get you out of here, child,” spoke Todd A., seeing the warm up act appear on stage and knowing Certain Death was not far behind.