Category Archives: 0511

key wet

A trio of men: Cowboy, Indian, Black. And behind them: still fuzzy. Maybe someone named… Frank?

—–

“I’m remembering,” spoke Jennifer “Shelley” Struthers, turning into that Lane, seeing further than before, beyond the edge of virtual reality itself. Stinkerfoot.

Roll him over, look into his eyes. MENTION that the gnome had disappeared. Someone purposely took it. I looked all around the rocks it once inhabited in its 2 locations that we know of.

CRUX — think of relationship with Apostrophe album, the apostrophe itself according to Frank.

Did the Tigers get to him anyway, despite being taken away from the more prominent rock perch and tucked, hopefully safely, behind a nearby tree? The story of County Park basically ends there, as another location I had my eye on for a toy happening was blocked — someone else was already present, a nice enough bloke but obviously living off the land. I knew where he lived; he was telling me that, albeit unconsciously in all likelihood, unless he was an alien himself, ha. He filled my space quite effectively. He, in all likelihood, needs it more.

Back to virtual…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0511, Blue Mountain, County Park, Paper Soap, Soap

Earlier I had posed on green.

“You saw me today, Baker Bloch. No mistake.”

Baker looked across the table at Wheeler, whose face then changed. “Am Iiiii nothiinngggg?”

—–

This was in a collage called “Moon Landing”, of course deleted now from virtual reality since Collagesity is gone.

And then in a nearby collage of the former Power Tower gallery called “Victory”.

And, in fact, another one from the same series (Lis), facing backwards this time (“Cereal Characters”).

https://bakerbloch.com/collages/gilatona-lis-03/

Wheeler, herself now facing the other way, changed back. “Just so you’ll know I’m around,” she explained the transformation. “Now (slow turn). About that hissing…”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0511, Blue Mountain, City Park, collages 2d, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

Lind

He was behind glass again, writing to his superior officer. Summary: he fell for it, the whole Captain and rock art story. Man About *Time* won’t be snooping around his *islands* for a while. Signed — no *Love*, Zapppa, with an extra “z” 🙂 🙂 🙂

Time to put Jenny back out to sea and head toward Jenny.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0511, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

102

After “Mr. Body and Man” closed on Tuesday, the theatre’s marquee was changed, heightening debate about the monument becoming the priority for the town, this Mountain in the Air. Because a new option had been added to the first two: Cyclone Stone, spelled wrongly in the marquee due to, at least in part, the hastiness of the switch. Bradley Pitt said: get it out there asap, let the town decide, not 2 wankers playing chesskers in a cornfield. He closed shop for the night and left his assistant Stu to remove the old letters and put up the new, working overtime again but of course not getting due pay for it. Bradley would pay for his stinginess. Stu did this on *purpose*, he realized in the morning, still holding his resignation letter in his non-fist pumping hand before it. And he *knows* I have arthritis and can’t do the job myself. Bradley decides then and there that Stu would never hold a proper job again in town, and would have to move elsewhere. In truth he’d already packed his bags and was heading through Diagonal as Pitt thought this, soon to pass the northwest corner of the county. So many lost down through the years now. The glory days were, I guess, around a Century ago by now. Which makes the monument, the rock *or* stone, even more important, a new *beacon* of hope for the seat and the county as a whole.

Which brings us to Roger Pine Ridge again, still waiting under the Rock or Stone (You Choose), still hoping. “Marty. Where *are* you,” he mutters between white stick tokes, watching a beat up old Chevy move away to the northwest beyond the square.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0511, Iowa

bell

“We’re here today, dear friends, to choose,” Preacher Zoidboro urged, soon to be Non-Preacher Zoidboro to about half of ’em, friends turned to fiends (or foes). “We have, evidence #1, the ‘Text on the Mount’ shoved under my parsonage door by a mysterious black hand, the color of dark licorice. Evidence #2: the Mount itself, better known as the Monolith. It is the One to complete the Four, in my…”

“Blasphemy!” shouted Bill Bright from the back. Count him in the foe camp.

“Let him speak his say,” urged Martha Bennington in front of him, fresh from a shower and thus more relaxed. She didn’t even have time to dry her hair before the special Tuesday’s Wednesday’s meeting, but that was because she was up most of the night reading this blog. No, make that writing in her blog. Something about drumming… a man possessed by a circle within a circle design. Let’s make that a dream, which kept her awake thinking about it afterwards. She also woke up her husband John, sitting beside her, but never going back to sleep. He couldn’t choose between the 3 and the 4, he determined. Glancing at the Monolith while walking into the church this day in April’s May, he decided to remain neutral, let others do the choosing for him. He feared Martha fell on the side of 4, and the chiding of Bill Bright in back added to this theory of his. Plus the fact that the drumming dream was in 4/4 time instead of 3/4. She specifically said she remembered it that way, and mentioned the 2 times in particular. 4/4 instead of 3/4. “3/4 would turn it into some kind of, um, *waltz*… a joke almost,” he recalled her saying. Well, the Trinity in his book is *not* a joke, but we’ll see… let’s see what the others say. Bill Bright has voiced his opinion. Martha too by counterweight, it seems. Zoidboro is obviously on the side of 4. Old Preacher Benfield has shown up to stand, er, up for the power of 3. The battle lines have been drawn. But what of the church structure itself, built and kept up by the hard earned money of the parishioners who seem to be dividing into two now? Will we just, I don’t know, build a *wall* down the middle of it? John continued to speculate while the others had a pause to contemplate as well. Actually, it was more a pray, requested by Zoidboro and also Benfield. *Pray* on this division. Feel in your *Heart* what is true, they urged, which made about half of them think of the joke about a Spade walking into a bar with a Heart, at the top of the “Text on the Mount” just under the title. These were the ones who would choose 4. The ones that didn’t get the joke: 3. We have our camps.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0511, Paper, Paper Soap

job change every 3000 miles

“Fill er up, Burt.”

“You!” I exclaimed beside my old Papa.

Marion Star Harding stared into me while still strolling toward us, taking his time. I knew I shouldn’t say his real name. I’m remembering!

“You know this Bozo?” Papa also stared over at me, but with puzzlement instead of secret knowledge.

“No.” I looked between the two. “No, I was mistaken. I thought this was the man–”

Marion stares again. She’d said enough. She stopped.

“Thought this was the man what?” Keith asked, still with furrowed brow.

“I thought… this was the man who offered to drive me to your place,” she decided to allow. “Before you picked me up.”

“Burt?” uttered Keith B. “A *pilot*.” He stared to laugh. Jennifer join in with him a bit — nervously. Then Marion Star Harding: just a chuckle and a smile. Because Keith B. would only expect that from the silent type guy.

“Whadda ya say to *that*, Burt?” he said between guffaws. He turns to Jennifer. “I’ve known Burt since he was a little boy. He can’t tell right from left, heck, up from down. Right Burt?” Laughter again all around, Keith B. the most, then Jennifer, then Marion. “He… he he… he once tried to build a submarine on top of a mountain and fly it into space (giggle). You remember that old wooden sub, Burt? (grin).”

Marion Star Harding remembered the sub. And indeed, he got it to fly into space, deep into space. But only at night when no one was looking and the stars were out. Because he had a particular Star in mind. His own.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0511, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara

00280511

A rat scurried across the floor in front of red clad Greg Odgen. Mouse tried to ignore it but couldn’t. Anything bigger than himself, if only in name, spooked him. But it was safe here; that was the point. No one came down to this place beneath what they called the mayor’s house.

Norris spoke up. “You promised me information about the Red Room, and a “Return”. I haven’t seen the Red Room yet, not hair nor hide. The Red Room,” he insisted in his deadpan way. Face bleached out to disguise who he really was (mayor?), this man had observed a lot in his day from this couch and that couch; seen dancers come and go; seen prison schematics but couldn’t talk about them; observed maps of strange, unknown places — other ones — and memorized them as well. He had *information*. But the Red Room remained off limits. He wanted to know why. Casey One Hole was still tracking him down. He figured he’d go to the end of the galaxy to do so if needed, the far corners of space itself. This means even Muff wouldn’t hide him forever, disattached to Bermingham as it were. “I have the WIS map; I’ll trade you the Red Room for WIS.”

Mouse knew this wouldn’t fly, as a bat ran into the back of his chair and became like a rat, scurrying around once more with radar momentarily lost. He pondered again the palindrome nature of that word: radar. He thought of Norris hiding on Muff. Wouldn’t fly.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0511, Paper Soap, Soap

missing marbles

“Hi old man. What you got there (in the basket)?”

“STAY AWAY FROM MY CANDY!”

“Okay, okay.” He took a minute to let the scene reset to “normal”. “Let’s start again. I *promise* not to eat anything — there you go *again* (he waited for another reset). Now, I’m not going to take anything; just want to look.

Thaat’s better.” The demon inside the man didn’t return. Kolya was quite hungry but certainly wasn’t going to steal any of *this* food. Besides, sugar is bad for you. It will rot your head out given second chances. “Is it Halloween, old man? Or the day after?” Calm this time. He could hear the swamp bugs recede into day. He thought of Alysha, how she did the same. He was tempted to ask the old man if he knew her but decided he didn’t in his prescient ways. He looked for a door into the shack; didn’t see it at first because it blended into the drab gray-brown of the rest of the structure.

Did the person or persons within give this man candy? And candy is usually given to children on Halloween, hmm. Better just head inside.

Okay *this* is different.

“Arrr-kan-sawwww,” the eyes hissed in their mouth-less ways all around them. Or was it “Jerrrrry”? Let’s go with the former.

He remembered something: “Marble Falls, Marbles Fall,” he recited spontaneously. Nowhere to sit his own “I”. He’d have to leave the way he came in.

“GOOD LUCK FELLOW!” they said in unison as he made his way back out of the swamp and onto drier land.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0511, Hana Lei^^

lost and found

“So (the phenomenon) all started in this here diner. Pansy?” START Dr. Mouse looked around but no actual or at least anthropomorphic mouse could be found. Had he turned into Jasper the littlest formerly between his ears and scurried away to safety and obscurity? Possibility.

—–

“Theories, W.”

“Well… I think this diner is obviously the first Pooping Pigeon, start of a chain. Obvious, right?”

“Possibility,” I said again, not ready to pin down that particular reality to this here blog, 25 in a series of… I mean 26 in a series of…

“Probability at *least*,” she countered. “Probable reality. We must go down that path, that avenue.”

“Hot Dog, the 6th victim who became the most famous, on the wall in back, true,” I admitted, starting to see the light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

“Ketchup on one side,” also observing W spoke. “Mustard on the other. Two squirters who are also squirts. It was a great marketing tool.”

“Funny how they hold his buns instead of him… as Hot Dog I mean. Emphasis on the buns.”

“Right. See how this is working out? No need to stop.” STOP

—–

“I can’t name the Amazon Amazonia, W. I have a tag of that name.”

“Trivialities. No need to bother the reader with such. START You need to find the 12th (Source tile), like I pointed out before.”

—–

Wendy went away from the register and approached the counter again. “Who let you in here?”

“I let myself in,” replied Duncan, seeing the game beginning again. Long, long tunnel.

“Yeah, don’t lean into me like that. Pansy!” she called back to the register. “A little help over here!”

Ah ha!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0511, Nautilus, North, Slaashsides

different same

“Daddy he’s gone,” emitted Katy McCoy from in front of the static filled TV.

“I know, honey. He was a bad man.”

“Baaad,” she echoed from her position, hands still on the screen, hoping for a change. She *saw* him. He was here (!).

Keith B. tried to rouse himself more, make sense of what his adopted child was saying. They had lived here in this attic of the house on the hill, jeez, going on maybe 15 years now. All they had for entertainment was this TV. And the constant Halloween going on around them 24/7. Blood and guts gets old, though. She *saw* him. A clear space in the snow. The 7 and the 6 had merged, at least for a brief moment in space-time. The Oracle tells him so.

“Dear,” his wife of over 16 years says to his side. “We’ve broken the tie — that must be it. Jenny and I… were tied. Last I spoke to that bastard of a man Craighead Phillips we were both sitting in front of him, complaining about his running off and driving his car hither and thither across that blasted continent of his.”

“*My* continent too,” Keith B. defended his homeland of Maebaleia/Satori. He was pretty much fully awake with this. He sat up, trying to figure out how to unglue Katy from the boob tube. Might as well be the Great Mother to her, he thought. Nourishment, but not in a good way. A baaad way, as she just said about the thing within.

“But there was just *one* of us in front of him,” she continued with her important point, “a kind of quantum state I suppose. I remember… speaking… but not in my voice. Someone elses, at least in part. Half and half, yes.” She nods, thinking she’s finally got it. “Yes, Jenny and I were tied and were one.”

“Together?”

“As one.”

“Daddy. There he is! (*suck*) Heeelpp!”

“Aw, jeez, not *again*. Your turn to go inside, dear.” They had agreed to switch off. If only they could do the same with the TV.

Jenny appeared in a beam of light. Tied still?

Sepisexton was suddenly free.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0511, Pickleland