Category Archives: 0408

March 22, 2021 · 6:27 am

reverse mode still

I got out of the car the black dog was driving. He exited too, went over to the skeletons playing cards with themselves to sniff for more clues. I was told to touch something. I tried and tried and finally found the right object. Everything swung into place.

So that’s where the magic will happen, I thought while staring over at the chair. Or un-magic; removal. They’ll start with the head, they told me. Remove the black until I am white as a flower, menace no more. But did I believe them? I could call the black dog back over from the skeletons and high tail it out of here if I wished. I still could back out; I had that option.

—–

“Jenny,” he exclaimed, looking over at the crashed ship in Wallytown. Better phone up Wheeler and tell her the bad news.

—–

“But Speck and Crazy *saw* it,” the tinny voice came just later over the phone. “It landed at Castle Town.”

“Nope,” I countered. “The witnesses were wrong.” Just like with us.

—–

The wrong one walks into the Castle Town bar to meet her mates.

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January 21, 2021 · 6:09 am

butterflies 02

“I feel like I’m at a dead end, Wheeler.”

“Hold still, please,” requested Wendy Wilson Wheeler, painting flowers instead of Baker Bloch but not telling him this.

“It’s just…”

“Are you not happy that I finally found my husband?” Significant pause. “Because I lost him for a while.” She decided to paint the blooms the same color as her skin this go around. *She* is blooming. Is that good?

“Sure, sure, er, Wheeler.” Wendy had stopped asking him to call her by her character name. She is Wheeler, true. And she’s found her Axis. “What of, um, the other one?”

“You know who the other one is, *blog leader*.”

“Sure, sure, eh, Blob? he he.”

“Listen, I can keep them both. I’m a big girl. I can have more than one [boy].”

“Is it fair to *them*, though?”

“They’re the same. What do I care?”

“What *do* you care? I mean, you already had Tr-oop. Opp, Tropp.”

“I like to play one off the other. It makes me feel… important. Needed. I am Queen of Our Second Lyfe. But you are not the King. You are like… a Prime Minister, yes; with all the useful stuff, the power. I am more a figurehead.”

“Can I move now?” Baker Bloch’s neck was beginning to hurt. He’d stood in the same place too long. 156/156. Right on the Diagonal of the sim they’re in, and the only place in the room it falls on. So he has to stay, and Wheeler tells him this.

“You are at a dead end,” she reinforced after a while, washing her paintbrush of pink in the turpentine jar. “It’s time for the witches to take over.”

Earlier:

“Okay I’m done with this one. Let’s move to the other side. More light.”

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December 12, 2020 · 8:27 am

Mercury Rising

She stares out from the hot pink bed to the spinning Ferris wheel, wishing she could fly. And soon she will. Hideout no more.

“I’m coming Tropp.”

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October 11, 2020 · 9:03 am

gravity

Toddles hated to drug up her grandma to explore The City at night unless absolutely necessary. But she had to go back to Boos without her interfering *negativism* to investigate the first floor collages more and the perhaps clues she saw in them when they both visited the other day. Poor Grammy, the prescient (and precious!) toddler lamented. So fixated on the collages over at the Red Umbrella that she can’t see the advancement of all that interesting energy into the Boos series (exhibited) here above the Temple of TILE now. Toddles ganders at the toy action figure she knows later turned into Casey One Hole, another a-hole of a man, although she’s not suppose to say that word aloud. “Grammy be *damned*,” she dares while staring and glaring. “He *is* an a-hole. And what does he look over at in the other hand? A seed. A license plate that is a seed. A tiny car of a thing held by someone named Olive. Olive something. Kimball something… Oliver.” She was tuning in better, eliminating the rest of the static. “Oliver Wendell Douglas,” she speaks clearly. “And ‘A Dirty Little Wet Seed’.” We know what that is.

She thinks back to the rest of the series just viewed and how it progresses to this *point*, this seed.


Another seed? (comedy)

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August 16, 2020 · 10:12 am

self

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.

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June 26, 2020 · 9:44 am

Triad (‘nother one)

Lavender, Poetry, (a) Sprite.

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May 5, 2020 · 9:24 am

This Violet Sphere

“Hucka Doobie, I think we must explore the idea that Katy Kidd, at least when she was a kid — Kate McCoy, then, I’m talking about…”

“Go on,” replied the wise bee person beside him in the White Palace.

“Well, I think she may be deaf, blind and dumb, like Tommy. Or that other person.”

“Helen Keller.”

“Yeah: that one. Anyway, that may explain a lot of her problems. Like mental illness, when she’s all grown up as–”

“–Kate McCoy,” finishes Hucka Doobie for Baker Bloch. “I *think* we should explore the idea that it’s *both*.”

—–

“Now I want y’all to *feel* the sphere around you, the tension, the *weight*. Now: breath out! Let it go.”

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March 11, 2020 · 7:51 am

angles

—–

“Don’t turn around Jeffrie. You’ll draw suspicion — eyes everywhere here in Fearzum.”

“Okay.”

“Just listen.”

“I’m listening.” Jeffrie Phillips was patient that way. That’s why they paid him the big bucks.

TronAxis continued, leaning in a little closer. “There’s trouble in Urqhart, Jeffrie. The story there ended too soon and Baker Bloch has to fill out the rest. *Your* mission, if you so choose — and that’s why we’re paying you the big bucks (Jeffrie Phillips nods here) — is to find out who lives in that Gothic House on the edge of Centre Sink. Just a little over there in front of me. He stares toward the small, granite topped mountain in that direction, knowing the central sink lay not far beyond.

Jeffrie Phillips, from his angle, was looking toward a larger version of the same, intuiting that the answers they seek lie in that direction as well.

“I’ll get on it as soon as you pay for my breakfast,” Jeffrie requested, knowing he was well worth it. Later researchers found the tab to contain 3 eggs, toast and waffles, although they weren’t sure who ate what since it was all in one bill.

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January 3, 2020 · 8:44 am

more connections

He turns away from her on the bed while she is talking, much to her relief. She’s tired of looking at the thing. He claims their sex is hot, hot, hot, but to her it’s always lukewarm! And he’s not tea so no reheating; one and done. “Santa,” she calls back toward him.

“Satan, please,” he requests, his voice booming even when projecting the wrong way. “Santa’s a last name.”

“Oh, right.” April Mae knew full well what his name was. He had to use the most obvious anagram possible. Might as well stick 2 horns on his head and prod expectant children with a forked candy cane or something. “He knows about you,” she then offers.

“I’m *not* the maker.”

“He knows that too.”

“I am Satan!” His tone was more defiant that ever.

“You are the Red Devil, true,” she agreed. Where did all the legends get that hot fire and brimstone stuff? she wonders again. Falsities!

“Be a dear and bring me the book, April Mae. The one where I’m a star — I need it to get to sleep.”

Well, she certainly wants him to get to sleep. So she can sneak out again. Tommy Pajamy over in cabin B might be willing later tonight. She’s been prepping him for weeks, bending too far over while shoveling the sidewalks, climbing too high with her dress on a ladder to prune the snow laden trees. She knows he watches. She has eyes in the back of her head.

She retrieves the book from the shelf and then hands it to Satan Santa, not looking down.  It’s a 1989 mystery novel involving a cooperative venture between the US (US) and USSR (THEM) that gets screwed up because a woman’s death is broadcast on the net. Then it turns up on a VHS tape that lands in the wrong hands. The woman is named Kat. Eartha Kit Kat Moon. And I believe she’s Chinese. Or Japanese. And she may not be a woman either.

(to be continued?)

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October 26, 2019 · 8:00 am

South again

“Look gramma. A bunny rabbit!”

“Nice, Toddles. Are you ready to go to the next museum? Grampa wants to buy him some guys at that record store next door.”

“Guys?” Toddles turns her head briefly to stare at her mother’s mother.

“Gunn(s) I meant there.” Alice Farrowheart wondered about the mistake, though. She had studied Sigmund Fraud in college and didn’t think all of his theories were bunk. Like tongue slips.

Toddles swings carefree toward Sam Parr Collage 09 again, arms restless. “Why is his *brains* leaking into that rabbit?”

Alice walks toward the collage to study more of what the child was talking about. Indeed, the “brains” of the green figure in the collage seemed to be leaking into the “rabbit”, and from not one but two directions: from the west and also from the south. And what was this landscape? The Heartland? Looked like The Heartland.

The next morning, Alice Farrowheart read about the death of young Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer in the NWES Gazette and wondered about the synchronicity with the likewise rabbit spied by her granddaughter in the Red Umbrella Gallery. She’d also studied Carl Young in collage in the same course. Did she think: collage?

She went back to the Red Umbrella in the afternoon. And the afternoon after that. And then a final time on the 3rd of November, when she decided to phone the local police department about the matter. Synchronicity can perhaps solve crimes!

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