Category Archives: 0504

September 9, 2022 · 4:22 am

assimilations continue

Long Islands’ Benvolians love their solo artists. Here’s Prince and David Bowie, perhaps the 2 greatest such acts in musical history in terms of just raw, pure creativity.

Then of course Mama Cass (top), along with Elvis and Ol’ Blue Eyes Frank Sinatra. David Bowie has blue eyes too, but, as I think I’ve relayed here before, one appears brown or darker because of a condition called anisocoria (enlarged pupil). And then there’s Wilson Wheeler, I mean, Wheeler Wilson modelling another purple outfit, this time one of her harper dresses. Wheeler actually is afflicted by the same eye discoloration, seeming to have 1 blue and 1 brown eye. No mere accident there.

She stares over at Bowie, wondering if she has his anisocoria or true heterochromia — actual mismatched blue and brown hued eyes in other words. Doesn’t matter, she decides. The effect in this same. In the moment, she’s actually, come to think of it again, a mixture of Bowie and Prince, the latter famous for his purple garb. Interesting they appear together here in this most famous of Benvolian locations called Brazen Head, claiming itself as Our Second Lyfe’s oldest Irish pub. I think the owners anticipated the coming of Wheeler. She’s very famous as well, moreso in the future than the present. She’s working on it. Might be a modelling or fashion designing career that leads her there, might be something else. Desire creates reality, and she’s very determined to make it into that exclusive circle.

Maybe she should take up jazz piano.

—–

Ho ho, she can play!

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July 3, 2022 · 9:12 am

on a line 04

Three new toys in [insert name] as of today, 6 legged blue-green horsie in center. Didn’t realize they lined up until I stood back and took a gander at the whole.

And boy did *these* kind of holes get me in trouble. Still unknown type of hissing creature! But I escaped to tell the tale. Luckily I didn’t come directly face to face with ’em.

Best guess right now: an owl or a possum, possibly a badger. Too large of a hiss for a snake. Not growly enough for a mountain lion or any other type of wild cat.

I’ll be quarantining off these tiny fissure caves until further notice. Maybe dead of winter I can revisit. My Mt. Tom is certainly holding surprises (!). Will go back today and take a couple of more toys with me for the fledgling rock village. Report soon…

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April 17, 2022 · 9:46 am

Frenscent

The white block shoes were not ideal for walking on rocks but she had to find something on this beach, perhaps a discarded *Can*.

There!

But how to kill that man who found it first and then dispose of the body? Issues. Always issues.

Pincushioned Nauty hid behind a nearby tuft of grass ready to run interference on this beachcombing chump if needed. He’d found MOA and that called for protection. Because *everyone* still in their right mind was looking for it, good or evil. Miss Ouri: probably evil since she’s emphasizing kill over kiss, death over love.

Whatever you seek with focused intent, there it is. Fear (tentacle emphasis) can bring you to this point as well.

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February 12, 2022 · 11:16 am

00310504

While he was waiting for her, this Moss 03 who goes by Alysha, he decides to prepare a Valentine letter to her professing his new found feelings. ‘I looov…’; ‘I luvvv…’ Strangely he can’t get himself to write the word ‘you’ after a drawn out version of ‘I love’ or ‘I luv’. He looks around at the beige landscape instead, and the objects scattered all about the place. Crypto, he thinks. And this is where they live, all three of the Mosses, Alysha and the 2 others, the black and the blonde haired ones. Alysha: pure red. Red itself. ‘Redd,’ he thinks here, and then writes that down instead. It works!

Alysha Redd comes up from the main house, finished with her shopping. She couldn’t find the new tattoo she wanted inworld. Disappointment, but it may have distracted from the ones she already had, the tree, the orange and the violet. Sometimes she dreams about them: they are as much as part of her as her fingers or her knees. Not overdone but not underdone. To add to them at this point may be stretching it; and tough to top the tree. She’s heard tattoos don’t age well with the stretch marks that inevitably come. Nervous about meeting MAT again, she gently nibbles at at the silver metal ring in her lip. When to tell him she’s actually married, if separated? Probably best to do it sooner than later. And I suppose I’ll have to wake him up at some point as well, she tacks on.

She reaches the table. “Okay, I’m ready for our second date.” This one should be a doozy if all goes well, she thinks to herself. The apartment above the citrus fruit shop is all prepared, including another writing desk. He can pen all the love letters he wants after we’re through. MAT keeps on writing. ‘Reddd, Reddd.’ “Ahem, *now*? This evening sometime?” MAT wakes up.

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December 13, 2021 · 10:10 am

Mother.

He read well into the evening with Cubby still by his side, still waiting for his mother to return. Although he didn’t speak any longer — the magic had worn off for the time being — it’s as if the cub’s thoughts were transferred to the pages. Magic was not good here at night, thus the return of the virus symptoms for poor, confused Keith B. over at his cabin just beyond the woods, across the road. He had taken the paper pills but they didn’t seem to do him no good. He sniffed the air. No odor from the outhouse, although he wasn’t able to clean it due to lack of suds. Tamatoa the tamed wolf hound had spilled the product trying to put it into his mouth to obey his master’s command to retrieve it for him from the washing machine just over there. Oh to have an actual human servant around for such chores (!). But he wasn’t suppose to think such thoughts. Not after Alvin [delete name], and the beanstalk they found that went all the way to heaven, some say the Moon, some say Uranus. But it ended up being a compromise: Mars. Halfway between the fuzzy warmth of the full white Moon and the bitter cold of Uranus, only perceptible to the sharpest of eyes if they know exactly where to look in a blackened sky. So one could say the Moon and Uranus were opposites, like Keith B. here. He doesn’t even remember how the preservation started. END

START

Mother.

I’m right over here, son. Just out of sight. I haven’t eaten in several days, but I’m certainly stuffed to the gills. I’d laugh if I wasn’t crying. I’ll be with you, though. Cubby. Dennis. Warren — we never decided on a name, just kept calling you Cubby. My bad. Maybe that new guy you’re with, Biffy or something, can give you a proper name. But stay away from Keith. Keith did bad (as well).

(to be continued)

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October 20, 2021 · 6:58 am

expressions

Lisa was such a good writer there was little to correct for Alysha. The one truth, she thought while staring at the end paragraph of her newest text. “Cowabunga” was first uttered by her brother and used commonly after that. And *Bartholomew*… more corrections, much more. He laid in the hammock outside while waiting, eager to get the news about his own stuff. He knew there would be red line after red line, but — more time with Red (!).

“Bart,” she called through the open window, tired of having him follow her around like a little yellow puppy. “Why don’t you go see what *Lena* is up to today. This is *not* your day off, you know.”

“Oh, *pheh*, she’s looking at barns, saloons, anywhere that could possibly act as that studio she wants to make her comeback album in. And, anyway, Zach’s there for her.”

Zach, of course, she thought. Lena has Zach, I have Bartholomew. Two dogs for two masters. “I just finished your sister’s. Could be a while is all I’m saying. Why don’t you go prepare the sink. I want to dye my hair again this afternoon.”

“Blue?” He was eager to see that if it happened, but it was only red again.

—–

She was done. Bart had hardly started. So much red!

3:15:

“First off, Carumba is not a word. It’s *Caramba*. And that’s the title (!).”

“Okay.”

5:00:

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September 10, 2021 · 8:38 am

(wo-)man in black

He unfortunately found himself on the opposite side of the Greek village from the parish, staring into a mirror and admiring himself. Typical.

Later he went down to visit John. Jack was now playing the preacher, churches over liquor stores. A marriage was taking place. John was not allowed to perform marriages. Not after Reno.

“We need to *talk*,” he hissed over as the “I dos” were spilled out like fine wine.

“Meet me at the bar,” he whispered calmly back. Bells rang out. It was over.

(to be continued?)

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July 25, 2021 · 9:06 am

merging tracks

“New bar in town, Chief.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not an Indian any more. I’m an *American*, dammit.”

“Sure you are Chief. Anyway, Gus and I…”

“Gus? Since when did you start calling yourself Gus, Ben?”

“Since, I don’t know, yesterday?” Distant but distinct.

“*Forever*,” countered Stan, formerly Stu. “You’ve always been Gus.” He turns to Chief. “He’s *always* been Gus.”

—–

Slowly but surely, they traced all the confusion back to that birthday party where they summoned The Devil.

“Oh yeah,” spoke Ben at the time. “Guess that could have done it.”

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May 30, 2021 · 3:51 pm

loop

From the top it looked like 2 giant, naval style oranges frantically trying to merge. But from the bottom: 2 dancers (with All Orange highlighted), obviously having a good time with their parachutes.

Where did they drop in from?

“Questions,” warned W, still observing from somewhere nearby, perhaps behind that palm tree with the woody woodpecker pecking up the wrong, Yelloo upward.

“More dancers nearby,” spoke observing George now, hidden at the bottom of his small pool. Big George, small pool. A Lake he just proclaimed it ironically enough, but more firmly aligning himself with TILE. MUST STUDY.

“Channeler,” I observed myself. “TILE.”

—–

And now: correct upwards.

“Oh, I know. Blue blue blue!” George cried, knowing we were one short in that category. But which one? Michigan: above and beyond them both. The 26th. Where was this photo-novel, 26 in a series of something, taking us?

I could feel W frowning behind that left-behind tree.

Younger George now: “I always wanted to play this game. Richochet.” He tosses another marble, perhaps a blue.

“This is your time, George. Enjoy the game! Soon you will be 13 again and forget about all this.”

“No I won’t!” he protested to the big eye, and gathered up what he tossed while marking the spot of the furthest marble for future reference.

“We are almost done here, George. It’s time to find your future place in the spheres.”

“I won’t let you down!”

Back down.

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March 28, 2021 · 6:25 am

and he had tried so hard

Tessa Doom opened the book before her at random and paper butterflies flew out. She wasn’t surprised. She leaned back, letting them do their thing.

“Think hard,” I implored from the other chair. Whoever I was. Wait, there I am. Not Jeffrey Phillips but someone new. Not Robert Drake Johns, the lime green robot she had restored to be her third best friend which has become the first best friend since the other two, Mabel and Carolin, were either dead or had disappeared, perhaps for good. Not Sandman, since he had left this particular part of Pickleland, the Moon part. Better figure this out, then… to the scene… Let’s just go with Devil Dave tonight, to limit the amount of characters we bring into this here photo-novel, 25 in a series of 1.

David from the well polished palace! Devil Dave and David A.B. are one? He continues: “Is that or is that not your grandpa up there on the balcony?” he reinforced.

The butterflies kept coming. “No,” she said, shutting the book on the lot of ’em.

“Rats”, he exclaimed, settling back as well.

—–

Tessa had long gone before God or God-like David A.B. exited the scene. The church; Sally, he thought, staring straight at it while walking out of the Once Upon a Time bookstore. Maybe he’s over there still.

But: no. He remained in the wrong time. Devil Dave had not been invented yet either.

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