Category Archives: 0509

00340509

“The only Butt that’s going to show up in this photo is mine,” spoke up Silentghost, tired of the bog down, but also noting the deleted or unsuccessful profile pic involved yet another purple outfit. Fitting: too fitting. Supposed notorious outlaw on the run Wilson had nothing to say, since she was actually Wheeler. What kind of luck did she have assuming the name of a fugitive from the law?? What did it speak of her character to attract this person into her life?

“I — don’t remember taking that picture, I swear,” she said, plotting her defense. She didn’t. Not her pic!

“Com’on,” insisted Silentghost. “Ρùℜ℘Îē?”

There is another me out there, thought Wilson Wheeler both wrongly and rightly.

Observing Shelley had seen it too but she wasn’t shocked or damaged in any way. Instead: curious. Futuristic (outfit), she pondered. *From* the future. And so it was. She told this to Wilson who was actually Wheeler. Time is being confused, she added in her psychic manner.

She traced the picture back to last Halloween. The lone blog post published from that day, toward the last of photo-novel 29 which I am just re-reading now, was certainly quite purple in nature and mentioned a purple swamp shack in particular, along with Prince’s “Purple Rain” album.

https://bakerbloch.com/2021/10/31/00290608/

“I’m going back to that swamp,” she said to Newt on the phone later. Paper-Soap: he was there too. He studied the post while she spoke. Box… Borneo. They were not even really dating at the time. Perhaps they still weren’t, although they’d been married since.

Shelley contemplated the post afterwards too. *She* was there, at the resurrection beach with Cat-Witch who is… *Wheeler*. Just the day before.

Whatever happened to Liz?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0509, AF Subcontinent, Paper Soap, Sansara, Soap

in a name

Arthur Kill teleported over to Monty and the former location of his new-ish girlfriend Tessa’s motel, now abandoned or “razed” as she lastly put it. Thus the need for her castle, she said, more lies but twisted ones with knots of truth along the way. No indication of the previous owner’s name he was looking for in the land description, pheh. He decides he needs to kill someone later today to let off steam from this failure, perhaps that butcher over in nearby Bouncer who chose to bed down with a prostitute for a wife. Fits his (new-ish) code, Blue Rose style.

But then, below him in a corner of the parcel: a *blue ball*. Success? Will the former owner’s true name be revealed through this trace left behind.

When he flies down to its seeming location in the corner of the abandoned land he was investigating: nothing, though. Then he sees it again, one parcel over and considerably tinier. Impossibility!

That’s when he realized it was attached to *him*. “Radar,” he cussed, which is the same thing both backwards and forwards. Doesn’t matter where he goes, there he is. DELETE Not any more. But who had been tracking him in the meantime? Tessa? Butcher? Prostitute/wife even? Better get back to hq (castle) and make his report. Funny that the object was also owned by someone named simply “castle” according to the description. Probably a connection, then, he thought. But he didn’t want to follow that lead too far, didn’t want to color his report until he could catchup with the proceedings. He also decides to temporarily delete the blue rose in his lapel just in case. He can always retrieve it from his inventory later. Nope, he then thinks. Better delete it from there as well. I’ll ask [delete name] for another one. Good ol’ [delete name], he thinks, originator of the [delete name] team that investigates [delete actions]. He’s been meaning to [delete action] him as well. This will give him the chance — two birds with one stone, ha — after he gets the object he wants. Not *needs*: *wants*.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0509, Dairocha, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

West Hel*en*

“She can control everything in Lower Austra, once it is defined, boundaries and all. But outside…”

“Gone,” she realized. “Lost.”

“Like beach comber Pepi ‘Can’ Kolya. Saved by Nauty who has knowledge of the Big Picture. The complete puzzle, pieces all in the right place. It’s because he comes from…”

“Iowa,” she finished again.

Man About Time looked over. “But you’re not Miss Ouri,” he continued mildly.

“And you’re not Baker Bloch,” she said in turn.

“Hmm.” He pondered whether to get a coke to drink. K K Cola here. Damn copyright infringement laws. Wheeler had wine. He wondered where she got it.

“I have one blue eye and one green eye — damaged,” she started again after a guzzle. “I don’t have two matching eyes like Ouri.”

“*Miss* Ouri,” Man About Time dutifully wanted to say but held his almost always mild tongue. No need to bring Texas Pete into this, his mama always said about verbal acidities. She trained him well; he absorbed everything he could from her. Poor mama, he lamented. Hanging with the angels now.

Instead: “Where did you get the wine?”

“A barrel,” she said, and then winked. I think the green eye remained open but difficult to tell. All eyes looked the same to him. After Miss Ouri.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0509, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

peppery

“Hey loverboy,” she said, spying him spying through the limbs at the limbs. “Tree’s over *here*.” Marty moves his eyes from what Lichen called her sister to the now Santa-less tree. “Now all we have to do is change the lights out and we’re done, Christmas Tree to Winter Tree completed.” Marty kept thinking about the sisters, one blacked haired, one blonde, the one that less interests him strangely enough now his hair had been dyed. Ditsy was her name, she said. Didn’t sound like a real name to him, didn’t ring true. Yet they just showed up and got down on the floor and started talking to each other, giggling, whispering. The other one’s name was Zizzy; just as improbable. They said they were twins.

“Now you’re just looking in the air at something,” she said, still spying. “Come over here and help me take the colored lights off and put the white lights on. Say goodbye to Christmas.”

It was Valentine’s Day and indeed the traditional end of the X-mas season, just like Halloween was the beginning. It now stretched to almost a third of the year, Labor Day and St. Patrick’s Day soon to be threatened at each end if he was reading the signs correctly, which said “Happy Holidays” reduced to one. It was like the Nazis. It was like Attila the Hun. Soon it might be just Christmas and its polar opposite, 4th of Juli, standing. And then…

“*Dearest*,” she said more sharply. “Over here. *Now*.”

——

Soon they would reach the star at the top and have an important decision to make.

Niece Amanda kept carrying around her new uncle’s crappy Valentine’s bear present around, contemplating pushing him into the tree from this angle and ending the ruse. Might be what tips the balance in her favor, she thinks, sensing the building tension between the two. Zizzy, pheh. It was always going to be something new.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0509, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

00300509

Safe Zone — where had Keith B. heard that expression? Of course: *Marilyn*. He asked about it to Jim B., currently playing the role of Alvin Jr., son of Alvin Sr. who climbed that beanstalk in Wales all the way to… some say The Moon, others: Uranus. But, as stated, we happen to know it was Mars, an in-between compromise.

Alvin Jr. listened to the query, wishing that darn phone would ring for a change and interrupt this conversation, hopefully distract Keith B. to a different topic. And why did he come down here to the ranger station anyway this morning? Must be looking for more spots to hunt, Alvin mused. “Safe Zone?” he answered Keith B. “Oh, that’s just a map that came with the station. Has nothing to do with the actual park here. Just a generic map. I… haven’t even looked at it that closely.” He peers at the map he knows all too well, pretending to see it as with new eyes. “Echo, eh?” he says, pronouncing the map name below Safe Zone. “Overrun,” he continues in that vein. He thinks of the zombies here, the Germans, but also the Italians. Came in through the portal from the Great War. “Sounds like, eh, something from a game or something, dunno.” He shakes his head, convincingly he hopes. He’s surprised Keith B. hadn’t seen the map before but that was just part of the magic of the place, good and bad. You often see things when you’re suppose to, not when common sense tells you you should. Keith B. should have spotted this anomaly of a map long ago, inquired about the Safe Zone shortly after he arrived in Paper-Soap, say. But it was the same with Alvin. *Jr.*. People kept mixing him up with his  dear old papa and it irritated the *hell* out of him. He’d stopped going to church because of it. But he’d heard there was new trouble brewing over there. He decides to ask Keith — a presented tangent after all.

“Heard Preacher Zoidboro knocked the congregation for a loop yesterday,” he frames it. He knew the power of the 4 would come in eventually and attempt to topple the totalitarianism of the 3. And he knew the Monolith would have something to do with it — just didn’t know the details. Until now.

“Ah, yes,” Keith B. said back, prying his eyes from the map to Alvin Jr.’s relief. He’s going to subtly alter that thing as soon as the man from Nautilus leaves. Take out mention of the Safe Zone first. There *is* no Safe Zone. Thanks to Keith, pheh.

Turns out the congregation of the Trinity Church is split down the middle on the subject of 3 vs. 4. It’s the beanstalk all over again, thinks Alvin.

5 years ago:

“You alright up there Pops!!”

“Pops!!?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0509, Paper, Paper Soap, Sansara

Clarksey

“I was stuck,” Keith B. tried to explain about The Room. “I was caught.”

“Yeah, by *me*.” The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale. The flip style notepad and push style lead pencil remained unsheathed this time but Jenny knew. Jennifer now. The Mann emerged from a plastic cocoon. It was in all the books, a running motif. Keith B. was stuck in more ways than one. 29 now, beginning HERE.

“It’s just what The Mann does. When the Wo-mann is away. Look at Marion Star Harding, still dreaming of dead Heidi in his own way. When the (new) director does her shoots up at Cass City.”

Jennifer looks around, still confused about the location. This could be Cass City, this could be Pipersville… or Storybrook. But instead: Whiskey plus Clarksburg, Whisclarkseyburg, then (maybe). Whiskey *inside* Clarksburg. She was stuck!

She stopped looking around, spacing out. “What… is the name of this place..?” Should she call him daddy, papa, Keith B.? She decided the last.

Keith B. didn’t look around. He knew where he was. And it didn’t work. He’d been uncovered, as if from a secret space.

Former private detective Wendell “Biff” Carter, back on the beat, stopped redding the read book and looked over. That was her all right, he surmised, seeing the eyes. Mrs. Know-It-All.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0509, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara

00280509

“Public urination, Umbriel, tsk tsk tsk.” She wags an evil finger disapprovingly. “You should keep that yellow stuff private, just like this post.” Till it’s finished she furthered, glancing over at me. This witch could see out, beyond the frame of the location of the story. For she knew the secret of the cake.

“I want to show you something,” she then said, revealing what was mentioned just before.

“You’re a man!” Stu exclaimed while reeling backwards, stunned at the sight, deflated even. He had designs on her, true. He’d watched from afar while she sold her papers. He’d forgotten about Wheeler at the frozen banana stand. She had been replaced, blue hair instead of red. The cake is a lie. But now — all that *dashed*.

Fern Stalin enters the cell block, putting perspective on the scene.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0509, Paper Soap, Soap

switchers

He stayed close to the green phone on the bar the rest of the evening. Just in case. Smoking hot Trudy Trickster was studying the back of his head, wondering how the holes got in. Toby Tangerine was mixing up another drink, perhaps a martini, but if so, doing it wrongly. Trudy was definitely not having any of that. Although a brilliant neurosurgeon, currently out on bail from Prison Hospital, Tobias, as his friends call him, was a botch of a bartender and had trouble making cornbread milk for his oldest and least complaining customer, nonagenarian Margret Thatch, due to turn 100 in June. “I’ll get a proper bartender to make your birthday drink that day,” he promised, thinking back to mentor Ted Bruiser and his prediction that he’d save as many lives as a doctor as he took away with the drink. “Balance, my pupil,” he spoke into his eyes, deep as pools, taking it all in. “The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. *You* are The Lord.” He took his alternately skillful and skill-less hands from his side and held them up to his receptive face. “With these.”

Tobias Tangerine knew he wasn’t the Lord, but gosh darnit, if Margret didn’t enjoy that drink. At the same time, patient Gail Gordon died in Prison Hospital, operated on by the proper bartender who couldn’t make it.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0509, Paper Soap, Soap

recognizer too

“What’s the scoop on the poop?” It was the most logical question in the world, but Pansy didn’t have an answer. Yet. He knew it was still up to Dr. Mouse, despite the rain in the brain. What’s the rain in the brain? could be a follow up question.

—–

We were going quite far tonight, exploring the Amazon more. STOP

Looks like we’ll have to stop.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0509, Amazon

00250509

It was this sight that especially haunted him on this lower level of PickleSong, aka The Sector: a giant rabbit bunny with his brains *exterior* to his head, seemingly. And a diamond of a brain it was to behold, impossibly sparkly and shiny. How to get it back in the body? And after a time Sandman knew it was made of both carats… and carrots. How could this be? He suddenly had a flash of blue roses and another rabbit path leading to… he couldn’t remember. That particular sight was not with him. He stares down one more time before continuing to explore, not having even figured out the floor part of this place much less levels above. Obviously the red door remained closed. I’m not sure he even remembers it is there at this point. He rationalizes the spooky house on the hill is a central spot, but in truth it was more of a red herring, with false leads within and without. Nevertheless, that is probably where he’s heading next — once he figures out this 1st story, pheh.

Goodbye giant bunny for now. Probably see you in a couple of hours again.

—–

Another dead end, darnit. Good thing I have this bike or I’d be completely wore out by now!

Brunhilde knew.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0509, Pickleland