The weak, ineffectual Miss Crumplebottom had been replaced by another teacher named Jill. Winona. Something.
But she too ended up waving at the cat, seceding power to its more central or middle position. And so it goes.
“How the hell are you Hucka Doobie?”
“I’m doing fine *Wheeler*.” She wasn’t playing the Venus Flytrap game here. Not now not ever.
Venus/Wheeler nods toward the 2 men in the room, trying to make a divide between here and there. “Those Bozos, eh? What are we doing hanging around with *them*?”
“Can’t live with them nor without them I suppose,” answers Hucka, still busy slicing the mushrooms and carrots. Can’t Wheeler *help*? she thinks to herself. What a lazy woman! And she’s working while the men talk about the blog. *She’s* an owner too. Both Wheeler and herself. We’re all core, she wanted to say over to them. How about letting us in on the action.
“Axis is such a tiger, though,” states Wheeler, revealing too much for Hucka Doobie. She knows she won’t have any similar stories to share about Baker Bloch. *Both* know this.
“Yeah, well that’s good. Tell me all the details, Wheeler. About the positions and such. Do you do aerial?”
“Maybe,” Wheeler replies quickly then hops down off the cabinet and walks toward the table. “Aren’t you guys finished? Can we all become one again now?”
Hucka Doobie couldn’t watch. She cut mushroom after mushroom then carrot after carrot, not turning around.
“Let’s talk, Venus. About Philip Marz and his role in all this.”
Oh *brother*, Hucka thinks, shaking her head while still slicing away. Mars again.
Jeffrie Phillips is in Lexicolo tonight, following up more leads. The Larch rode this train, he meditates upon. Before he became The Man. Car no. 1 here, then no. 3 in back. Plane 003 (wall) to the side. We must think of planes, trains and automobiles but also birds, planes… Jeffrie harks back to perhaps The Man/The Larch’s most prominent nemesis, the arch one: Super Duper Guy. Faster than a speeding bullet he was claimed to be. More powerful than a *loco*motive. Take ex and i out of lexicolo and there you are (nuts?). Hmmm. There’s that cleft rubbing again — deeper and deeper. Yes this assignment, obviously a blue rose one (recall the blue rose in killer Arthur Kill’s lapel), may turn him bonkers. Lip trilling finger land.
Oops. He’s off! Let’s see where this loco ride takes him.
He spots the elephants, large and small, rolling away but can’t get a good pic of them as the train rounds a bend. These will have to do for now.
There they are!
We watch him from beyond the wall. He was on a journey. Lamb was taking him somewhere. Along the way he picked up two traveling companions who might have been figments of his imagination. Probably were. “Who are you?” he decides to ask despite this when they first came alongside him. “Space,” announced the larger being with black jacket and matching black pants. “Star,” came the piping voice of the smaller, blue hooded one. Both some kind of cartoon cats, assumed Guy, looking them over from the side. All traveling through the heavens on Lamb toward — something. How long before arrival?
Along the way, Space fleshed out a backstory of how, many *many* years ago, he spilled ink from a bucket or can, while Star had spilled milk from a smaller container. Together, hand in hand, this created our galaxy, he claimed. “That’s why Milky Way is here with its neon coat of white,” Star furthered, obviously reveling in the mixture. “We are travelers of the Lamb dimension now.”
Facing forward, the cats were suddenly gone. He was alone in his journey to what he now understood was the Answer to Everything, with only a looming, translucent wall between him and it….
SLAM! Guy Benjamin woke up. He excitedly relayed the details of his dream to fellow “Lamb” fan Grandpapa the next morning.
“Ooo. I *love* it,” actress Cathy A. coos. “So you’re Gabby Truth as well. Splendid!”
“Thanks. But let’s see what we see inside my crystal ball. Here. Let me turn it on first.”
“Ahhh. The *Moon*. Didn’t recognize it in the dark.”
“The New Moon is a false Moon,” Gabby Truth (Greg) states cryptically while beginning to stare deep into its glowing, cratered surface.
“Interesting. We will remain Marcus Fox Smartville and Cathy A. instead of Greg and Dharma. Pencil Man wishes it that way and says we already have a Greg (with two “g”‘s) and also Gregg (with three “g”‘s) in the production. *His* production, because Phil has yielded to a stronger, *living* entity now.”
But Marcus Fox Smartville currently playing the role of Gabby Hayes Truth doesn’t answer Cathy A. and instead begins speaking of Gregson or whatever name the small Northern town will ultimately annex. “The 66(6) sign was just that — a sign. Owner: the Red Devil indeed. Here’s a quote I’m seeing about the him… or her: ‘Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth — and taste. I’ve been around for a long, long year….'”
“‘Long, long year?” Cathy A. quotes, snapping Gabby out of his trance. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Now let me *concentrate* again — don’t interrupt unless absolutely necessary.” Gabby (Marcus) stares into the lighted Moon again. After a moment: “Devil… yes, I’m seeing it again. An establishment was there (on that parcel). Southern, not Northern, although within the North.” He pulls back, still staring into space. “Red Devil was a Northerner.”
“We *all* know that,” replies Cathy A., new memories suddenly snapping into place via The Magic. “It was a hidden fact, but now the townspeople want to embrace this noble past. It’s in all the local papers, duh.”
“It is?” Marcus behind Gabby then realized this was truth. New memories had snapped in for him as well. “Ahh, yes. His *establishment* there. Southern — but a disguise.” He had no need for the Moon now. Scrying information had become real information for all to see and remember.
(to be continued?)
“He’s gone. Our leader is gone. What do we do now?” Archibald Duke had just spoken 10 times as many words as he’d ever said before.
“I’m going to explore more of the BEH dimensions,” offered Dollie quickly in her high, thin voice.
“I’m going to go hop around that nice creek behind the lodge,” added Piper in his deep, masculine tone.
“Hmm,” said Archibald, looking at both of them. “Suppose I *could* go to this Black Lake I’ve heard so much about now. Fish for demons.”
Jennifer M. Friend woke up, went to the main room, looked around. “Hmph. Where’d everybody go?”
Teebestia kindly and graciously led him to the correct entrance for The Underground in the Lapara part of town, not Astarte. In the process of crossing from the latter sim to the former, Paul became a black man again much to the astonishment of the lawyer lady, but definitely still American. “Water,” he states, standing before the portal. “I wonder why they decided to drown The Underground. Did they want to drowned out *us*? Our voices?” He was considerably more lucid now because of the changeover. It is easier getting away with being high when you’re white than black. Prison awaits for many of his present hue. “Is this a prison as well?” Paul ponders, thinking along the same lines. He lets the dark waters take him once more.
A faster moving train trolley soon comes up from behind and then passes through him.
He watches as it continues rattling down the tracks. When he reaches the main underground station the stopped trolley is still there, but, as usual, with no passengers getting on or off. Yes, in the main this is a ghost train, like Second Lyfe has been ghosted overall. Including Collagesity. Only the Linden wood saves that similarly aged berg from complete extinction, a life support. Here it seems to be something else.
Paul decides to hop on board the train to take a look inside but quickly stands up and exits after it begins moving again. He had been warned by his faith long ago not to ride the fun fun trolley into The Void looming directly ahead — or anywhere else for that matter. “Walking is the light, the way,” the holey book says. “Worship not the road nor the rail but the path itself, always expanding always contracting. This is the path of the heart.”
He thinks back to Teebestia with the exposed heart in The Above now, already far north of here in his mind. *She* led me to the correct path this time. She is a manifestation of spirit.
And then he found another gift on the people-less platform as he walked back to rest his heart a bit. Another tale.
“Grassland,” he said, looking at the cover. “The story of Grassland!”