Category Archives: 0508

triptych interpretation 02 of 02

Hucka D.: In 4b, like we said before, the boy at the tree with the Tintown sign looks down at the missing letter, the missing Y that makes it Tinytown, which it is. I should also say that Tinytown no longer exists, another victim of the pandemic. Like Sissy’s most likely.

Baker B.: Good. Mortons Gap is emptying of meaning.

Hucka D.: I think you want to bring up the 2 PLACEs.

Baker B.: I think that’s taken care of in the text of the photo-novel before, Hucka D.

Hucka D.: 2 PLACEs at once (Hucka D. presses). This is another pointer leading to the triptych. It all leads there.

Baker B.: Okay, good.

“Adventures in Tintown Part 4b of Tin”

Hucka D.: 4b, then. The people with the narrow woman from 4a, most likely her family, have their faces covered by white ovals. To their right we have a ring of ghosts, also with oval white faces or heads. You made the association, thus the triptych continues to the right and not the left at first. You insert the smallest Tintown sign in the darkness behind the ghosts and the whited out face people (in 4a), a mother and her child perhaps. Maybe the narrow girl is the same woman’s daughter.

Baker B.: One of the faces is round and not ovoid. Can you comment on that?

Hucka D.: This is the middle of another simple 2 part collage that you prepared in anticipation of the triptych, although you didn’t know it at the time. The middle head becomes round, and with two oranges eyes, it appears. That’s about all I can say about it for now.

Baker B.: Thank you. Then moving on, we shift from Mortons Gap Kentucky to Tin Town Missouri, from a batch of old photos by, let me see, Russell Lee, who is famous for such things.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell_Lee_(photographer)

Hucka D.: Pie Town, New Mexico, I note in the article. Pietmond.

Baker B.: Right. Blast from the past.

Hucka D.: Lets move to 4c, the last panel which will bring us back to the first.

“Adventures in Tintown Part 4c of Tin”

Hucka D.: Selves, you’ll notice, in the collage, not Self. There is more that one Self. There are 3 in this collage, according to size. The second is 61/100ths the size of the first. The third and last is 61/100ths the size of the second. Although these 3 come in 5 bodies, there are only 3 heads, matching the 3 Selves. Two have been cut off. You sure that Shelley is okay? She’s very important.

Baker B.: I know — extraordinary. She’s okay.

Hucka D.: What are these Selves, then? You find them in Tin Town MO which originally was named Gold. Ronnie Self the rockabilly wannabe star who didn’t quite get there. But he lends his name to the Triptych. He too is part of this (process).

Baker B. (after a pause): The ratios seem important. If we assume a steady reduction, the first is 100, then the second is 61, then the 3rd would be 37.21 almost exactly (checks). No: *exactly*.

Hucka D.: Extraordinary.

Baker B.: Then the simple 2-n-1 collage Barry Deboy holds in the last post before you showed up for our interpretation, Hucka D. (Mortons Gap sign/ “Does this look square to you?”), is the last element inserted here, cutting off 2 of the 5 heads…

Hucka D.: But adding 2 of its own heads (nutcrackers on sign). One obviously truncated (pause). You sure?…

Baker B. (guessing what the bee-man was going to say): Yeah, she’s all right. Anything else?

Hucka D.: I was going to ask you the same thing. Oh — Bat Boy. Zebrasil. Very important. Only the ZE remains (in 4c). Flying toward the First, the largest Self, the most immediate. You.

Baker B.: Thank you, Hucka D. And we’ll work on…

Hucka D.: … Amagon, yes.

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beasts

With her super sharp ears, one of her superpowers, not-so-ditzy blonde Lichen Roosevelt, who was currently masquerading again as ditzy blonde Marilyn the traveling bartender, overheard it all. The bidding, the threats. Albert was driven to have the girl he couldn’t possess — none of them could, not Biff Carter, not George The Musician sitting at the bar with her and oblivious to the subject matter being spoken about behind him. Because his ears were more between his legs; that’s how he composes, how he creates. It deafens him to other realities at times, a lot of times, heck, about all of the time, she surmises in the moment. They spoke about it earlier, before Albert and Biff showed back up again, sipping their crazy tea and talking about absurdities. Shelley was free — for the moment.

“She requested she go down to the beach every day at 2, so I let her.”

“Damn, Musician, that’s not good enough!” she protested, yelling because no one else was around. Boss Herbert Done had the day off, cruising for boys on the back lot, despite already having a man and 2 girls at home. George had already told her about the decision to use the powers of the Venus cage to trap her. “She was as much here that way as any of us,” he said. “We’re all in the same boat.”

“Don’t you see, Musician?” she tried to explain. “*Shelley’s* the boat! That’s why you’re all here in the first place.”

George knew that Albert was obsessed with a girl named Darla, a black haired and black clad beauty as he described her. And Biff — well, he hadn’t really talked to him about why he was here as well. That would come a bit later. He didn’t know about the overlap is what I’m saying here.

“She’s not your pet, your slave.”

“I know that.”

Devil instead of Lover, Shelley thought here, contemplating The Tarot. Gemini rules The Lovers, the 6th Major Arcana card of the deck, attached to the specific planet Mercury. That’s why Mercury-Gemilly, France is involved, a suburb of *Albert*ville of all names. The Devil, Major Arcana card 15, has the same two nude figures but chained instead of free, torch lit instead of outside in the sun. It’s good George let’s her sunbathe but, my God man, just because she was going to *jilt* you at the alter? *This*? Men, PHEH.

“I’m going to let her totally free soon,” George said. “As soon as I figure out how to take Arthur out of the picture. That way we can get properly married instead of those two.”

“After all this…” Marilyn said, then stopped because of the futility of it all.

And now, listening to Albert and Biff bicker, Marilyn decides to lay down all the cards. She senses a Helen of Troy situation and didn’t want it to fester any further. She had an aunt and uncle that had to live through all the atrocities of the Trojan-Durexian Wars over on the Omega continent. She wasn’t going to allow another seed to be planted like that.

The Receiver, she then thinks. I have to pick up the phone — wherever it is — and call him. That’s the solution.

She finally finds it behind the coke machine.

“Hallo? Claude?”

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progression

Let’s see, I have to fit the Duck back in here somewhere.

—–

“Yes, put on a robe, stay a while,” said Pauline Silentghost by her side, still assuming the pose of a master (channeler). “How’s your knee doing?”

“Fine,” Wheeler said, taking all the shifts in stride per usual. She doesn’t remember changing into the purple-ish robe but here we are. In… Sansara? Yes, but a special part, she realized. An artsy fartsy sub-continent to the immediate east and south. It’s a place she doesn’t think she’s ever been before until now. Thanks to Scroop, or Scrougeout as they call the Nautilus sim in these here parts. So says Pauline. The Oracle rules all in this out of the way, edge of the world type of location. Perhaps it’s just the distance from everything else that makes it so.

“You know who has to show up next.” Stares.

“Do I?” Wheeler tired of meeting the gaze and looked down at her robe, examining the texture. The finest cloth, she saw (and felt), perhaps cashmere. When she looked up: this.

“So who’s this fresh piece of hell?” she queried, but then knew the answer, which instantly became another question. “Daughter?”

It was Shelley Struthers with a, er, Scrougeout t-shirt, another duck.

“She is the owner of the castle,” replied Pauline, wiser than ever. Rust Never Sleeps becoming Roost Never Sleeps again. She turns. “Aren’t you dearest?”

“My name is Shelley,” she spoke plainly.

“Yes, we know your name,” replied robed Wheeler sitting across from her. She stared into umbrella eyes.

“My husband is George. We own the castle. Together.”

Shelley was much too young to be married. This was a future vision obviously, Wheeler realized. “Timeline, please,” she requested as politely as possible. “You’re a *child*.”

“I am *your* child.” Stares again all around. Awkwardness. Wheeler suspected she had a daughter for several years now, perhaps many years. The spaceship.

—–

“I’m telling you, Newt. She’s *real*.” He’d suspected as well. Black and white, male and female, on and off. Clone? Possibility.

(to be continued)

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00330508

She came across him studying the one fully in Corrigan and not split between that sim and Pixy (Pixy!). Eddy and his blue ball, she thought. He’s finally found it.

“So Eddy knows you’re here,” he asked after she spoke a while. His Eddy, her Edward.

“Yeah. Met him recently. We’ve been…”

“… traveling. Me too. Stayed in a place over on the Jeogeot continent called Towerboro — believe it was part of now extinct Middletown at one time.”

“Cool.” Of course everyone had heard of Middletown. It was taught in all the schools, young middle old alike. Middletown was legendary, like Atlantis.

“Interesting people,” he continued. “A woman who plays nifty tricks with cards for one,” he says, the memory of that night and her talent with fingers producing a smile on his (one pink) lips. “And then another person, a guy, who was psychic, who was always pointing at something and predicting things that were going to happen. The two knew each other.” He turned to face his 3rd cousin, 1 in a set of 3 and not a 1st cousin twice more removed; I can say this fairly confidently because they were about the same age. “And he went by different names, first Kactus, then Donald, then the last… the last…” He searches his memory for the name that Tessie then provides for him.

“Freddie,” she said. Remarkably, she had had her own encounter with him during a recent trip to Dub’s Jungle (or thereabouts), and from what Edward, her Eddy, described it must have been the same person. Pointing, predicting, like an Oracle. “‘Blackbart’, he said, indicating an empty space in the sea that soon was filled with a flying boat, a sporty one as far away from a sailboat as you could possibly get.”

“‘Blackjack’ for me.” Her Edward became the same as our Edward, identical cousins all around.

“Ever heard of the expression, ‘peeling a lemon’?” she then asked everyone involved.

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West Hel

I spotted the cacti I spotted the cops.

Then all became blinded.

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Kryophelis (to each his own)

Despite the overall color, the bar was dominated by blondes tonight, much to Marty’s disappointment. He had traveled so far… He decides to roll with the punches and chats up a friendlier one named Lichen, who said she use to be a Moss. Then, surprising him, she moved behind the bar and asked if he wanted a drink. “Break,” she explained. “Men don’t like to pick up their bartenders usually. Want to have more freedom with their time.”

“What time do you get off?” he ventured, having nothing to do but kill the same himself. There must be *something* here. The Pointer almost always indicates, he reinforces in his mind.

—–

She tried the emerald green table again because of the eyes and all. Maybe she’d have more luck with this… Redd, *bleh*. Perhaps she could talk him into letting her dye his hair beforehand.

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birthplace of TILE (‘nother one)

“Listen to these words,” Preacher Zoidboro commands from his pulpit of power, shuffling the first page back to the top. He’d been reading it all afternoon and then one evening and then another afternoon after a morning break for contemplation. It had been slipped under the door to his parsonage out back at 7:15 on Tuesday by the blackest of hands, as dark as licorice candy. “‘Four’s Company, parentheses, Three’s a Crowd, close parentheses,'” he starts, reading the title first of course. “‘Let’s make this,’ ahem, ‘shit happen.'”

Gasps from the audience, but not from the pronouncement of the word shit, deemed a cuss word in this here neck of the woods. They couldn’t hear that part the preacher said it so low. Instead: the inferred defamation of the Holy Trinity. It was in the name of the church! What in Hell’s Bells was the Preacher thinking, doing this? they thought as one.

“‘Let’s begin with a,’ uherm, ‘joke, quote unquote,'” he continues to read from Sepisexton’s text on the mount. Sweat beads on his forehead. Dare he go through with it? Alvin would be pleased, though. He always liked Alvin. “‘A Spade walks into a bar with a Heart,'” he ventures forward into a brave new world. “‘The audience says nothing.'”

The audience says nothing.

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3rd Hook

Whiskey… he said to meet him in a place called Whiskey. But I searched the sim of Whiskey again and again and: no sight of my father. My papa! I haven’t seen him… since that day. In The Room.

I went across the icy bridge into the next sim called Clarksburg, to the north. Not as icy once I got across. Snow had receded. Bridge across a great chasm of whitened granite. The place stank of coal or some other fossil fuel. Maybe just gas — I had eaten too much on the plane over. Landed at Hookton Enceladus several sims north west, which would be my introduction to the Snowlands. I wasn’t stuck here yet, but I was close. Just over this bridge: Whiskey into Clarksburg now.

Back in Enceladus (after the flight):

“So touching that that little girl might be meeting her father for the first time since childhood, Cowboy.”

“Stop calling me that… Indian. But: yeah.”

“Zach,” said the third one around the small table. “Call me Zach. Or Black. Whichever.” He was very excited. He thinks he’s found a studio for his beloved Lena, maybe allowing him to keep her forever as his own.

—–

Ahh. Whiskey! (stuck!)

Now to go inside (*shiver*).

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Boos (narcissist 02 (abcdE))

She finds herself in a place doing realistic things, like blow drying her hair. But this is the morning she finds out she is actually a man. She stares into the mirror, looking at them after the removal of the false, the fake. How deflating!

The mayor’s nose keeps growing. Guy visits the doctor again, still working for the resistance. A new strategy is being hatched. Stealing the golden goose egg *has* produced results. He’s straightened out, elongated: the I of TILE revealed.

(to be continued)

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Moon on drums

“Place the call, I.P. As — soon as you’re done with your soda.”

“Oh I’ll be done as soon as I dial these numbers don’t you worry.”

“Don’t — forget the 4.”

“Nah. Never.” All the numbers were dialed. Soda was running out.

“Hallo?” came the voice on the other end, a familiar one. Soda: done. I.P. could talk freely.

“Send them over (*click*).”

—–

Kolya hangs up the phone; moves from bar to stage. “Guys, I hate to interrupt rehearsals but you’re needed down at the bay.”

—–

Part of the band remained. The ones that weren’t real.

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