“50 thousand lindens. *50* *1000*…”
“I heard you,” Wendy spat back. “W-why would I want to give up my chance for stardom in this Popeye film and put all my marbles *here*? I’ve *been* here. I worked with Bob Waffleburg before — *we* did.”
“Just put on the dress and we’ll see,” encouraged Sandy Wannabe, still not fully character-actor Sandy Beech but getting there.
Wendy was thinking she *has* on a dress — but she complies. It was a lot of money.
“Hmm. Needs more blood,” he opines, fully transformed now with the sight. Inwardly he was thinking: this looked good! They were about ready to get down to some serious business.
She was trying to determine an exact year here in this place. “Hot Rod Girl”: she remembered that film from the early 60’s — maybe late 50s. But she wasn’t allowed to go to such a racy flick. Some said there was a bit of nudity involved (!).
A black lady in the nearby pink diner. Black people are not allowed in this diner. Not in the early 60s, and certainly not in the late 50s. She gathered she was about 18 or so, or about the same age as herself. Her profile picks led Poetry to this sign which she also didn’t understand, being from the past and all. A relic.
Well of course Black Lives Matter, thought Poetry at the time. That’s why we made them separate but equal (!). She wanders into the gallery of the woman, named Eight. Was Eight code for a gang member? A revolutionary? She’d heard of such people. The single name of a letter or a number came to her mind. She was becoming more ensconced in time. 1921 may be next…
She was looking for particular evidence that would support her now outdated slant on reality. Could she snap out of it?
Peter/Tronaxis checked the next morning. The Esso poster downstairs *had* changed again, this time to Oesso (from Osseo). But the Tiger remains. Him, according to Wheeler. He was both embarrassed and pleased with the title. He still regrets being Dr. Young Kane over in the Weird-o Islands instead of Dr. Young Harris. Weir did he go wrong? What path could he have chosen differently? Venus knows, but she won’t tell him. She’s always shutting her mouth when it comes up with that zipper gesture she found online. So he remains Mars — Marz. Trapped here in essence, in this Purple Marz house located in a sim dominated or defined by that weird-o color (like surrealism). Maybe Blue Berry Girl would know, having successfully removed violet from her own wardrobe, this so called weighty Purple Sphere that poor little Katy Kidd/Kate McCoy always talks about releasing as well in a more mental capacity. A mentor to her this Blue Berry Girl is, despite the continued nudity. Popeye-like, she declares, “I am what I am.” Bulging eyed youths obviously foam at the mouth with the gunn sight. If only Bullfrog would have had the courage to shoot her with his own, different gun when he had the chance back in novel 14, he thinks, taking the mindset of the current doctor. “I better get over there,” he utters while checking his oh so loudly ticking wristful of watch, also with bat wings. He stops looking at it just in time to avoid another catastrophe. Too early in the morning for BOOM.
“Your — sphere is back,” spoke Axis/Peter Oesso, stating the obvious.
Then the ghost of Dr. Baumbeer showed up and things got *really* interesting. He had a lot to say.
(to be continued?)
“If you take away the Fire Tree it all begins to make sense. We can peer back into a time when the deserted village was full of life and living. The days before Tully. The wonder years.”
“Was that before the mist or after?” Parasol asked, trying to be patient with Ingo’s historic ramblings. She had a meeting with Herbert Glenn Gold at quarter past 10. Yeah, she was pissed at him (hence the full name again).
“Before of course.”
She glanced out the window at the Fire Tree she couldn’t quite see from this angle. She couldn’t wait any longer. Time to *see* Herbert.
“I was wondering where we would meet,” spoke up Herbert. Wonder again, thought Parasol. It was here she realized Ingo was right about the Fire Tree, the village. All of it.
She jumped right into it. No time for niceties tonight. “I want you to *get* her here. I want to trap her like a fly in a bottle.”
“Erm.” He shivered as her feet dangled menacingly above him. As he stood on one. “*Who* are we talking about here?”
“You know who.”
George V. Norris, barely 2 feet tall, prepared to play the harp in his wee abode. “A Bach tune will do tonight,” he squeaked to himself, then reconsidered. “Or is it Buch.”
Roger Pine Ridge wasn’t home because Roger Pine Ridge’s home wasn’t, The Man About Time discovered tonight after another attempt to contact the progressive rock loving alien. Looks like he won’t be coming back to Collagesity. At least in the current photo-novel. Shame, MAT thinks. Wanted to talk to him about some things.
Suppose I’ll put a small park here or sumtin.
But it’s on to the main event of the night, perhaps. More attempts to contact Carrcassonnee in a meaningful, fluid way. Fluidity is everything, MAT ponders while crossing The Peninsula into *Collagesity* Eastside.
Looking back from the end of the bridge, he realized The Peninsula needed some palm trees to complete the effect.
On to Carrcassonnee…
“This Lena Horned is good, admittedly.” Older Keith B. looks over at the singer currently crooning “The Ballad of Stormy Daniel.” He then leans closer to Kate McCoy sitting beside him. “But she’s not as good as my little girl.”
A noncommittal Kate turns toward the dance floor. “Well… Zach and The Mann seem to be enjoying it enough.”
“And The Dogg too,” Keith B. laughingly adds.
“What do you think?” the Bishop asked the King in the middle no more. Out of the way.
“Cool. Half and half, right? The store is half mine correct?”
Bishop turned to face the Gno King squarely. “What game do you think we’re playing now?” he replied sharply. “*3* dimensional chess?” He spat on the sidewalk with this.
They took turns eyeing the building down the street. King went first. King also went last. Middle no more.
“Mamie and Esther’s house above the big faun statue is a cursed one, just like the duplicate house above the giant Jesus statue was a blessed dwelling. Another 2 fer 1: black and white; good and bad; masculine and feminine; Heaven and Earth.”
“Omit good and bad from the list,” suggested Hucka Doobie, sitting 2 down from Baker Bloch at the Blue Feather Table tonight. “We better get to the new land.”
[delete 15 exchanges]
“Okay, we’ll wait 2 weeks for that one. Wheeler’s tier will roll over into the next cycle by then.”
“Cool,” replies Hucka Doobie. “And Collagesity may live on in its present location after all. Things will happen. This *novel* will be finished or almost done by then. How to wrap up?”
“Keep focusing on BoB, obviously.”
“Better hop… er, get, um, go after it then.”
duplicate house above the giant Jesus statue, formerly in Siliconicus; note that Jesus faces *away* from the house here, and the faun faces toward the identical one in Fumb — seems to reach for it, even
More info about the houses and a lot of other Nautilus/Route 13-14 stuff here:
More about the related BoB concept here:
Another satisfying meal for Duncan Avocado in one of his many Fruity Islands hangouts. No way he could eat it all. Dog friend Barney was currently barking at some ducks swimming in a pool backed by several waterfalls.
A snake named Matilda lay nearby, as full as Duncan from gorging on a stray duckling. Mother Wanda will be inconsolable for days until her next batch of quackers is born, when she completely forgets about the existence of Little Arnold as babies Pete, Jim Bob, Orange, Tan, Smokey, Lila, and Bertie absorb all of her time.
Recent mother Abbey tells Matilda to stay away from her own brood, and emphasizes that there’s plump, juicy frogs and lizards over in the far corner of the pool. Jack the Mallard just wants to make love to either Wanda or Abbey again. It’s that time for him.
Trojan-Durexian War vet Sam Bee, watching Barney, Wanda, Abbey, Jack and Matilda in turn, has taken up fishing. But also, friend Duncan notices, drinking, a not deadly combination but one to perhaps worry about for later. Better get him into his gorgeous gorge as soon as possible. But Big Island is so peaceful. He wouldn’t mind popping open another brewskie himself. And, in fact, does so.
Life death is good.