Category Archives: 0414
Right over there he was. My greatest creation: Harrison Ford Jett. I’ll never get close enough to call him Harry, but *Jerry* might. What’s her name again now? he thinks, folding his arms behind his head in a mimicking action. Sally?
Bluebird, he remembered later, descended from Blackbird. And he was a whole band on the run. Perfection.
He sat at the table outside the bamboo hut he’d rented several days back and thought about All Orange and what he’d lost. The phone rang (D Flat). The phone never rang.
“Hallo?” He was expecting someone jovial, not saturnine. He was surprised. He stared at the missing blue eye on the Book of Monsters before him as she continued to chatter. He dare not crack the cover lest the other one roll off. Especially now. Would he get a word in edgewise?
She hung up the phone. “We’ve got to keep an eye out on him,” spoke Jeffrie Phillips, glancing over at his bamboo hut across the water. “He may even try to off himself, say.”
“No he won’t.”
Her hair was now the green of seaweed but she was no monster, or at least Jeffrey thought. Was she?
“What next?” he queried about her appearance. “Your skin turns green?”
“Maybe,” she shot back quickly. Both knew that if this happened she was lost for good to him. Maybe even the mohawk would reappear.
Something was happening on this sim. A painter paints. A complainer complains. ART appears. A perfect circle. Pooh with his honey pot moves away from the scene with little to no impact now.
A perfect circle, eh? I thought, yellow included. I knew what this meant.
I wish I could say Jerry Lind found the Fortress but I’m not sure. A word of the day but perhaps not this particular day in the late of May. I wish I could say the 27th so I did. Jerry Lind was 2 years old, yet a striking young man with Asian Indian features and with red complexion like an American kind. It’s like he entered The Sphere at New Delhi or thereabouts with its American Indian street names and profuse graffiti and collapsing black hole style garages and then couldn’t find his way back out. It’s that way with the Fortress as well: one door in, no exit. You were one with God. Happy birthday, 2!
“It’s like I couldn’t touch him, he was so damaged with the rain pouring into his head like an inverted sky. He had the circular umbrella unfolded wide, yet the water came and came, shower ON.”
“I’m sorry, W,” I responded. “I know that must have been hard.”
“You don’t know the 1/2 of it. The *1/2* of the 1/2.”
“That must have been 1/4th as hard as I can possibly imagine, then.”
“You said it! Wait, what?”
I was on a trail again, per usual. A Yd Island profile led me to here: Fonzerelli Docks, a New Babbage location which seems to have seen happier days in the past. Former owner: C. Thetan of Nova Albion. Ahh yes. Our Second Lyfe just keeps pulling surprises on me. I figured it was this location that “Fancy (Dress Ball)” Sally (Nugent?) fled from her creator we talked to a couple of posts back, but I’d have to place her here if so. No problem! Let’s meet up with her at this Ruby’s Pub, apparently a popular local watering hole and just next door to the docks.
Turns out we met at Merryman Pub on the other side of the docks, I’m not sure why. Yoko Ona was there, talking about eggs and the whites of eyes. Linda Halsey showed up and they had a punch fight, one pulling for Salieri and one just pulling hair. Finally Sally arrived, declaring herself Sally Fancy and Nugent no more, and everyone settled down and became curious and started asking her questions about her new and also former life with Halloween Jack at Phantom Hill and perhaps some other places. And of course about who we might call Dr. Not Mouse, because he wasn’t, and who created Sally and Jack both and gave them a starter house next door to his Phantom Hill Castle where they raised designer horses and played cards until midnight every day, sometimes poker but also sometimes Miles Bourne the French road game. And that’s how they met the aliens who broke down over
on Highway 70, Bert and Jenny, as if the latter game had moved into reality, which is truth. They looked and looked but the most valuable card, the Right of Way, was nowhere to be found. The aliens Bert and Jenny suggested under the table, and then in the kitchen, perhaps where they were slicing bread between hands for sandwiches. The aliens got the association as well. Nowhere could it be found. Bert and Jenny were here to stay.
“We ended up playing Miles Bourne most nights,” Sally explained, “but it was like the German autobahn in there. ‘Fasten your seat belts!’ Jenny would always exclaim after the cards were dealt, and it also always ended in disaster. We were just recreating the wreck over and over.”
“Get away from me, get *away* from me!” But Elberta had only been dreaming. Something was after her, something that came up from the swamp, down that very path over there. She was in the middle of the swamp that use to be a lake and she couldn’t remember how she got here. She sheathed the knife she drew in the panic of waking up. “All a dream,” she said, trying to comfort herself and not doing a very good job. Something *was* here.
“Thank Gods that shaking is finally over,” Charlene the Punk declared to Harrison Ford Jett, still with those apples. “Getting on my nerves sooooooo bad, arrgh.”
“The sim below Brodovima we’re in presently,” Harrison recites mechanically. “And an expression commonly used in the famous Peanuts comic strip.”
“Arrgh,” she exclaims again to something different now. “No it’s not. That was ‘aaugh’. I should know.”
“Right. Being Charles’ brother.”
“I’m technically still a Brown. Jeffrie and I aren’t married yet. We may not even be engaged — hafta check. But *you* — you’re different sir, different indeed. She looks at his face, and then down at the apples again still in place in the blouse-shirt. “You’re…”
“Don’t say it.” He looks at her own blouse. He’s guessed what he is. It changes.
Charlene drinks alone now. Maybe she should wander up to the bar and talk to The Mann, also drinking alone. Might be worth a try.
And this is how Fern met fellow shapeshifter Lichen, with Wendy still in the future.
“Where’s the rabbit?”
“He’ll be up shortly,” Toothpick answers Supper Man. Both are getting married in 1-3 weeks. They have to decide what is first and who is marrying who. The latter should be easy.
“Dinner Girl wanted us to meet again, have tea. She thinks we can help each other. She doesn’t want a double marriage. She thinks we should go first. I say we should go second, see how it goes for you guys.”
“And Dinner Girl isn’t (also) your sister?” asked Toothpick, following up from earlier speculation.
“Listen, we’re not the same person.” He leans forward, but dares not touch any part of Toothpick’s body for fear of passing through. Invisible. Nonexistence, even. He’s worked too hard on his abs to fritter all this away. And now that his favorite restaurant has closed up shop it should be even easier to keep the lbs away.
Toothpick/Filbert looks left as a distraction. “The rabbit over there is indicating our old friend Certain Death, Supper Man. No running away from all that. But then there’s the 561 steps now leading from End back to Beginning and the 561 again. Through 24687531 we can be saved.”
“Bahh.” Supper Man even spits toward Toothpick a bit here while exclaiming his exasperation over the supposedly sacred (heart) number. The spittle indeed passes through Toothpick’s skin, muscle and bone, some reaching the back of the chair behind him.
“Why do you disbelieve the power of the even in a row and then the odd in a backwards row?” Toothpick then considered the 9th is involved. He’d seen it once or twice before. The counter to the Zero, perhaps the Zero Hero. “We are getting married in the Temple of TILE after all with the sacred book now open at the front for everyone to see. We have the story of the CITY. The CITY is TILE.”
Supper Man scratched his head. “You and *me* are getting married in the Temple of TILE?”
Back to square one.
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.