Category Archives: 0502
“Let’s split this crazytown,” said Red to his cousin Grassy as they crossed the tracks and drove away from the scene…
… at the same time they just arrived.
“Whatup guys?” the amalgamation of figures in the center said in greeting, not knowing the difference.
“No I’m not putting up with that,” she doubled down, remembering the spectacle from the future.
“(The situation will) clear up; get better,” countered Baker. “First try.” After a pause: “We could simply *ask* Grassy about it.”
Wheeler was thinking the same thing. Red was about to change over to green.
“Aloha!” he said, garish Hawaiian shorts thankfully hidden by the table. He immediately starts staring at the book, the hand.
“Welcome back Grassy,” relented Wheeler. She looks over at Baker. She knew she would be called Flip at these meetings from now on as compensation. Or win a wrestling trip to fabled Muff-Birmingham in the far corners of space, whichever door she so chooses. She opens the door of the refrigerator to see which one.
“Coke, Grassy?” she called over while grabbing, but Grassy was no longer there. Sprite instead.
Several of them, in fact. “Here we are!” said the seeming leader of the three.
Listening through the walls and the coke machine is over. It’s time to find out who’s in the basement. Is it Rooster?
I think it must be Rooster. Smells like Rooster, even from this distance. We’ll see.
It wasn’t Rooster. He backtracks a bit; forgets about the end of the tunnel for now.
“Who are you?” he asks mildly.
Squeaky voice, like a inflatable toy full of little holes: “I am (wheeze) the answer you seek.”
Significant pause as he takes the creature in. “Where’s Rooster?”
“He is (wheeze) not here yet.”
Smaller pause. “Will he ever be?”
“(wheeze) No.” Slowly and skillfully the seated small being then moves a chest pin down to emphasize his pricked nature.
“Funny,” is all MAT could think of to say.
“Is (wheeze) it?”
Voodoo doll, Man About Time mulled over. Obviously related to Kactus back in the library — up in the library, just above him in fact. He tries to see through the ceiling toward it. Doesn’t work.
“Ponder (wheeze wheeze) the nature of the peninsula, another (wheeze) sticky outy thing (wheeze wheeze). I am (wheeze) running out of (wheeze) air (WHEEEEeeeeezzzee).”
The final prick did him in. He shouldn’t have done it, MAT realized. Like
Conception Concepción Conception, he’d made an error between his legs.
He moves on beyond the deflated being, encountering himself in the first of two cells off the passage.
“Hi me,” he said nonchalantly to himself.
Should he wave back? Or is that how you become trapped in the first place? Acknowledge that you’re here already? MAT decides to ignore him(self) and walks down to the final cell, the end of the journey that has become this post. Is he ready? After seeing himself down here, what choice does he have? No going back.
“What is it?” he asked, out of his cell and sneaking up from behind.”
“I think you should go back where you came,” the other requested, pointing down the passage over his shoulder while he finds himself waving at *it* for some reason. MOA he knew, but that was just another puzzle inside a riddle inside a cypher. The foul smell was starting to become overwhelming; not Rooster indeed. “Let me handle this now. I’ve been waiting for you after all.” STOP
MAT understands the current photo-novel, 31 in a series of what-ever, is weighed heavily to the western side of the continent. So following leads he slides over to the east — Sliderule to be specific — and finds these colored letters, which seem to indicate the next step in the development of newly rented land in Collagesity. TILE, obviously, he thinks at the time. The heart speaks; the star listens. 31 began around New Years or just after. Now we’re almost at Valentines, Christmas and its star studded trees behind a window in the past. Gone but not forgotten, because we still have a tree. Let’s switch the colored lights to white and take away the Santas and called it Winter. 3/1: Winter over? First things first, though…
Next he boogies with new friends in neighboring Kryophelis and decides that Boogie will be his new nickname for a few, maybe for more than a few. He counts 7 friends he’d like to explain the theory to. Naive, I say. Overcount. Go down to 4, like the 4 colors he should be focusing on instead of just dancing away the night. 7 to 4. You know what needs to be done.
*Town*, Boogie (ha). Man About *Town*. Not Time.
Myrtle flies out of the Valentine Garden of Love and Fairies to tell the Moss Queen where he is. They’re always keeping track.
Turns out she wanted to see him this time.
(to be continued)
Biff Carter looked up from the red book he was always reading, wondering where they were. Keith B. was to his right, talking to Cubby the bear cub about his lost mother. “She’ll show up soon,” he tried to reassure, but Cubby had seen her wander off into the Hunting Zone, confused in the twilight’s last gleaming. Many of her kind don’t come out of there, she said earlier to the young bear, her third in a litter of two, although she didn’t know that fact at the time. A magical bear he was; able to talk and converse with the humans — like Keith B. here. “In the meantime, you just stay put here with… sorry, what was your name stranger?” he asked over to Biff, sucking on a piece of lettuce between his teeth left over from supper at Rusty’s. He couldn’t handle the beef stew what with the state of that kitchen in back — he’d seen the health inspector’s
rating writing on the wall. Better stick with salad, he decided. No meat.
You know my name, Biff wanted to say back, but instead just said it for him. He looked over. Did it ring a bell? Dirty diner? Always redding the read book? He could tell by Keith’s expression that it didn’t. He felt abandoned by the older guy from his childhood ever since the death of his grandmama, who was practically like his mother, raising him up after the death of his dad Dirk, who had already lost his wife, his mother, to another kind of virus long ago, not long after he was born actually. Dirk thought that the birth may have done her in, or at least weakened her to the effects of the virus, but this wasn’t really true. Or was it? Anyway, Dirk kind of blamed the boy for her death. Her name was… right on the tip of my tongue….
Elizabeth, he decided, thinking back to the book. He raised it to his eyes again and continued. Paper now. Rock earlier. Scissors coming up soon. His mother had some and she contemplated doing his father in once more. Because of the boy.
(to be continued)
Star trees, he called them, because they had little stars in them, all white of course, add in a little pink.
This was handy, but what about the box that was suppose to be here?
She wore the Pepper blouse-shirt and the Pepper blouse-shirt wore she. The apples inside were hers. She always lamented they were too small. They were exteriorized before she met Lichen. Stalin she was after that. Fern Stalin. And then they found Wendy who turned into Red. They’d analyzed her. They knew what she was. Mirror. And: the cake is a lie.
“Lisa, it’s time to come inside. Mom has finished baking her stack of potatoes. And afterwards: turkey — for the rest of us. Come on and be a good girl and go clean up.” He leans his head down. “I’m sorry for what I said before. You can skip the turkey, we’re all okay with it.” He saunters back around the house.
He had followed John down to the Ravine (bar) but he was no saint. Lamb equals Ram; he sees himself in his own face, the user power.
I was a beautiful little girl before becoming such a handsome man, he thinks, still changing, still metamorphasizing.
“I’ll have what John’s having, please.”
Brother Jack the bartender turns. “Yeah, what’ll it be, *John*??”
“Tennessee, pheh,” she uttered, staring over at the fake, flat snowy mountains standing in for the real ones just behind. “Come on, George,” she urged to the meditating youth gazing out in the other direction. “Let’s go see what this *Abyss* is all about.” She starts walking toward the stairs, still talking. “Nothing to be afraid of, George. So says TILE.” Was Clare losing her faith? Now that she remembers the whole of the Wheeler existence? Do we even need to be asking this? I believe it is so.
“Come on come on come on.”
“Oh all *right*.” George was enjoying the meditation. He didn’t want to encounter the Abyss just now.
“Well, here we are at the mouth of this thing. You-go-first.”
“Me? But I’m just a kid.”
“You’re no kid. *Go*. Protect me if you must.” She sweeps her hand forward. “Off you go,” she commands again. “Come on come on come on.” This was not like Clare Nova, who was sweeter. This was the orders of Wheeler. Fully clowned now, she needed to find out what she was facing at the end.
“What do you see in there?” called Clare-Wheeler from just outside the mouth now.
“I don’t know,” replied George. “Skulls. Candles. Lots of skulls and candles.”
“That’s the Abyss part,” said Wheeler. “What else is in there? Look in the corners, along the walls. Look *beyond* the normal.”
“There’s nothing *normal* about this place.”
“*Try*,” she urged. “I’ll be right here, ready to help if needed.” She definitely wasn’t going to help. If the power behind the Abyss got George, then another one would fill his spot. Just like she did with Clare. George could die, yes. *Duncan* had already died, maybe several times — hard to keep up. But Baker Bloch will continue on. Along with herself it seems.
“Um. Oh yeah, Mother Mary. I guess that’s good. But then a, let’s see, Medusa Gorgon beside her. Not so good.”
“Great. Keep looking. Maybe something in writing?”
“Well, the Gorgon is holding a, er, book it looks like.” He stands on his tippy toes. “But I can’t see the cover… (strain) to tell what it is.”
“Get that book,” Clare-Wheeler commands. “Just *grab* it from her.”
“Will you two just *stop* with the arguing,” requested Inky Woman from the Falls, hair getting wetter and wetter. The water should be becoming blacker any time now.
Any time now.
What were the two frog-ish goldfish, Goldie and Grayscale, arguing about or perhaps just discussing in a loud way? Bodies of water, I’m guessing. When does a pond become a lake?; how many acres does it have to be for the name transaction to kick in? 100, Goldie is guessing. “100 *feet* or 100 acres?” responds Grayscale, trying to differentiate 1d from 2d, like any good mathematician. Goldie is a linguist, though, and his experiences with numbers is not good. Instead: letters are his numbers, as Grayscale would understand. If he grasped letters at all. “1 through 10: 100,” he exclaimed to the other in a voice that definitely argued for argument now. “Well, A-Z right back at you!” Yells. Definitely getting louder and louder. “75! 3/4ths!” “A-B-C-D; R!” “125!!” “R. RADAR!!”
Goldie turned to his left and Grayscale to his right. Inky Woman had played her card, avoiding a crash. Jenny Lind enters Pickleland from above. All are embarrassed they even argued at all as the Great Woman stepped out of the ship and onto the green of the lake (or pond) peninsula. Graceful. Like a butterfly. She told her entourage to wait within while she settled the matter.
She takes 1 step. She takes 10 and is upon them. “Lake,” she responds to Goldie. She turns (changes). “Pond,” she says to the other. Then, hair still not wet, she moves away.