Category Archives: 0416
“One of us will have to go, twin of mine. And *you* are the one sitting sideways. I think it’s you.”
The Wendy who was sitting sideways to the observing camera spoke. “Don’t cross me. You can’t cross me.”
“This is *not* a Jesus situation. Just because we *originally* were in a 0316 post.”
“Before the user Our God realized the mistake. Another mighty cock-up!”
“… is our Lord,” non-sideways sitting Wendy tacked on. But they both were in different ways. “Paper?” one uttered.
“Scissors,” answered the other. She was the one.
On the sealed evergreen island in the middle of snow snow snow, Barry De Boy waited.
And then nodded off.
Rock climbing at Light of Aurelia and thinking about Lafferty’s Shining People.
In neighboring Hammerhead Light:
“One day I’m going to beat my vertigo, Wendy, and make it all the way to the top of that thing.”
“Sure you are Sandy. And I guess next you’re going to ask me *not* to change into that dress you like currently.”
“I didn’t say that.” But Wendy was right. He’d never make it to the end. Not without some serious help.
“I am glad we finally get to meet face to face, er, Other Sandy.”
“Sure ‘nuf! Have you read the fairy tale book yet. Allll this turns into a big fat pumpkin in the end, or in my case, an acorn!”
“Yes, I picked up a copy of ‘Fairy Tales’ from one of these zzz houses but it then disappeared from my hands after I read that particular page.” Dream selves, Sandy thinks to himself here. Synchronicity in action.
“Yeah, this is where it allll goes down, Mr. Other Sandy.” Southern drawled Sandy Chic with acorn wide cheeks was glad that Sandy Beech didn’t pee in front of her at the lake, although the bear, being less self conscious because of the wild animal thing and all, couldn’t resist. He put down the rod and pulled out his rod, hehe. Wait. She stared over. She was thinking the thoughts of both of ’em. Gosh darn shoot!
“I hear you are from Texas, Sandy Chic,” Sandy Beech speaks over, perhaps unaware of the total synchronicity between them in the moment while looking at maps in his head. “That’s a big state for a, um…”
“Big squirrel? Were you going to say big…”
“I didn’t mean–”
“Hiiiii YA!” Sandy Beech’s head was detached from his body by Sandy Chic’s mighty karate chop across the dining booth. Spongebub would be proud.
Yet Sandy’s bodiless noggin still thought. He realized he had really always been in this form. A talking head.
“Annnnnd CUT! That was great, Sandy. BOTH of you! I smell an Emmy the size of TEXAS awaiting us!”
“Umm. Is he alright?” Sandy Chic had assumed the body.
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)
“I wanted to show you this underwater gallery, Barry, to demonstrate that Paperville has gone through many changes, some resulting in the disappearance of the village altogether, at least for a while. The important thing is that the concept carries on. And this same thing should happen to Collagesity. I’m sorry. I cannot allow you to stay. You of course can take Poetry back with you. You have to find her sister for one thing. Please keep up; we’re nearing the end of this section of our journey.”
“You can look and you can look but you won’t find your sister in these series of pictures, Poetry. Axis, the New God of Paperville after all, said she hasn’t been here in a while — ran off with a fellow named Biker several years back now. Went to a place on the mainland called Iris, like an eye. And she was searching for an ‘I’. It went missing in a jumble of tiles numbering 25 down from 26. Now we are on a similar journey, Axis states. A search for center.”
“But we’re *in* the center (sim),” a disappointed, sad Poetry countered Barry, still peering at the people, still searching. That *could* be her in the far back with the white robe, she thinks, eyes squinting in an attempt to focus. Axis, although a
New Near God, might not know *everything*. There’s always the 5 percent chance out of 10 that marks it down to 9.5. He has a Diamond of a mind now thanks to Cat-Witch, a true return of David A.B. to his perch at the center of it all. To him…
“Margret,” he prompts, interrupting her reverie and saying her real name for the 1st time in a while. She knows she must pull out of the past…
end (of section)
After the body was found (by Mann’s Dogg), the funeral held (1st funeral after quarantine lifted (!), but still 6 feet apart for grieving parishioners), and the investigation wrapped up by Tank Ferguson’s team down at the station, TronAxis, now Peter again (Peter Esso, or, really, Peter Osseo if I can figure out how to transform the Esso t-shirt easily (see former Esso poster turned Osseo poster back at the purple Marz house in Tyranea)), stands before Gene Kelley’s old place, the town’s Mr. Fix It now 6 feet down in the ground itself over at Storybrook Memorial Cemeteries just off Little Miss Muffet Highway in Slabtown — a kind of permanent quarantine if you will. He’s saved enough money from recent criminal activity to buy, which he does shortly after the dirt is padded down nice and hard atop Gene’s grave. Greasy hands will be the order of the day for many to come. Wife Venus Flytrap (Wheeler in disguise once again) will have her hair slowly turn from blue-green to blue-black to black itself in following months because of the touching, the fondling. For Axis truly loves his sometimes on sometimes off wife, still running from the law like a virtual Bonnie and Clyde but always ending up on their feet. The lucky aspect this time is an inept police department led by a man controlled by his hips and not his head, just like his father before him — Jeep or something, Axis thinks here in his ruminations of victory. The gas station will be a perfect headquarters/front for further criminal activity.
He didn’t murder Gene Kelley/Mr. Fix It himself, but the death was handy for him nonetheless. He and Venus will be staying in Storybrook now for a while. But those pumps will have to be replaced, he thinks while staring over.
Peter’s Garage is born, selling fine
Esso Osseo gasoline.
He goes over to the town jail to thank former photography and calligraphy teacher Tom Banks once again.
Jeffrie Phillips had come to the end of the book. Arthur Kill eyed him keenly from the piano which he had no ability to play. His music was death. Death to Big Black Smoke, death to Cathy Love Peace Hippie Child, death to perhaps Jeffrie Phillips too. If he so chooses. The eyeing continues.
“Well… what did you think?” asks Marty from a nearby stool about the tome detailing the history of the bar and Urqhart in general. Spanking new girlfriend Linda Halsey, fresh from a broken relationship down in Adgatetown on the lower coast, was by his side,
holding his arm even preoccupied with her own thoughts at the moment. I wonder how David Newton Jasper is doing, alone with his Chalcedony and other progressive math rock albums? Fine, she then thinks, imagining him playing air guitar again. How many times? She had to leave (like all the others), looks be damned.
Jeffrie Phillips decides to answer Marty since Linda’s internal monologue seemed to be over. “It was… interesting.”
“Do you understand now why we have to eliminate ‘Love Peace’, eliminate the smoke screen that was the Summer of Love, ’66 or ’67 take your pick? There is no Love. There is no Peace. This must be *revealed*.”
Arthur Kill nods agreeably from the dormant piano. This is why he sticks with Marty. Through thick and thin, the cynicism always shines through. It attracts him like a dim moth to bright light. I think of the bug again here…
Jeffrie stares out the dappled window beyond the bikes in the parking lot into the heart of the Indian Lake/Sox Pond basin. Started right here in this bar, eh? 1919 huh — double 19’s. Scandal. Black. Indian… red. White.
Phillips rezzes a local, vanilla style paper without any red atall to take his mind off the quandary, which gives Arthur Kill his cue (*pop*!). Our story must continue elsewhere.
But something still doesn’t add up. Or multiply. We have another on the rooftops quite near the Bird — staring at it even — leaf umbrella in hand shielding his *head*, if not necessarily the rest of his body, from the localized rain surrounding the whale directly above him.
He has a different tattoo on it than Fish Head, but, otherwise, the same body it seems. A bird instead? Dry instead of wet?
And, to be specific, the rotating Bird he’s peering toward only has the head of such. The (white) body is instead that of a female human, outstretched arms sort of giving the appearance of wings.
If only I could translate the native languages better inworld, Chinese and Japanese. Because both are used here.
Maybe a trick to understanding all this is start seeing through walls. For example, we find a mysterious *hole* using this method directly below Fish Head’s bar on the ground level.
Where does this lead us?
Underwater, it turns out. A more realistic abode for, let’s say, a fish.
The next night, Golden Jim returns to Baumbeer’s not to investigate the decontaminated crime scene any more but to just sit in the old wooden chair downstairs and stare at tv static, part of the doctor’s therapy for most ailments of the mind. What was he looking for? he pondered as shapes began to form then quickly vanished in the snowy noise. Lu Ellen Hutchinson? Gone, they discovered, leaving her inept frog cousins behind who didn’t know anything. Gill Alex and Blue Berry Girl: also exited, back to MISTY MO we assume. We’re still checking on that whole connection. Another ghost manifests and dissolves, teasing him once more. He senses it is time to return to Gaston, to go back to breaking up prostitution rings and busting drug addicts, more in his line of expertise, ha ha (being a former male prostitute and drug addict himself). Murder’s over his head. He’s grasping to stay above water. The static, the noise threatens to pull him down into the abyss again. One more shape forms and disappears. It’s time to go home.
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the Far *West* as the East likes to call it, Senor Green Jeans shows up at the Neptune Pool on a mission.
“I’m looking for a rabbit,” he spoke in booming voice, looking down at the the 2 people there taking in the morning sunshine. “Small. Wears glasses.”
Alice Farrowheart and Toddles both gawked at him.
“Maybe hangs out with a kangaroo. Perhaps a moose?”
He throws up his huge, hulking arms. “Anything??”
Alice later wrote the whole thing down in her new-ish “Little Book of Synchronicities”, complete with sketches.