Category Archives: 05

October 23, 2023 · 9:43 am

blog post now

“It was a naval kiss but not that kind of kiss. From River — you remember. You almost put it in a blog post back then. Novel 39 I believe. Jack Benny the comedian-violinist would not be proud that you have moved into 40. He wished to remain (in) 39 all of his life!”

Once again Marsha started to ponder All Orange, thinking back to the research she did in her old room over in Meat City on the Omega continent, Mother feeding her free sandwiches and whatnot throughout it all. Probably drugged as well, she concludes as she’s thinking of it, reviewing it. Distracted by the computer, she knew she wouldn’t notice. Mother. *Mother*.

She bounced up out of the lounger. Mother put down her second apple she was working on, having thrown away the core of the first in the beach grass or bushes just over there. 1st green, this one red. She had progressed from better to best by the taste of it. Or worse to worst, depending on which way you’re looking at the situation.

“Stew dogs’ ready!” called Eddie from the red hot grill. “WELLL. I hope you’re still hungry after all that fruit,” spoke pseudo-daughter Marsha down to Wheeler with this. Wheeler, on her part, was going to see eating the latest apple through to the bitter end. She intended to eat the core this time. She was going to finish it all.

But not until after the dogs. Dogg walks up. “Rat you reating Reeler?”

“None of your business mutt,” she dismissed him out of hand.

“Rogg, actually,” spoke Dogg, thinking she just misstated his actual name. Moving on…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0040, 0502, Bellisaria, Omega, River, Sandfly, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island

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October 22, 2023 · 10:41 am

00400501

When Marsha “Pink” Krakow returned to what she knew was her true home now, Big Sandy on the oldest Bellissaria continent, her Mother was waiting. With a big surprise. “I bought this for you,” she said to her shocked daughter after she arrived, indicating the trailer. “Pink, you see, or as close as I could get to that hot variation you prefer.” Edward, her Eddie, was already blackening his patented vegetable stew dogs on what Wheeler told him was his new grill. He was already sold.

“Oh. And that pink scooter you’re standing beside! What do you think?”

Marsha was thinking of *price*, not necessarily money price but emotional price. And here it comes.

“I can see you’re speechless, dearest. Come sit beside me and we’ll talk.” Wheeler patted the lounging couch across from her and then pulled out an apple to eat. “Price?” Marsha wanted to ask her so bad. “Price price price?” And here it comes.

“Have you talked to Serenity since you’ve been here (chomp, chew chew chew)? Never mind, dear, I know you have. You told her about Shelley, my *actual* daughter.”

“*I’m* your daughter,” she wanted to protest at this point, but knew it technically wasn’t true — in a way. Shelley provided the body and added a lot to the personality as well. But Brown was also there inside. Conscience? Mere gestures? She wasn’t quite sure yet about the so-called 3rd component, the last of a trilogy. And then herself up front and on top of course, resurrected from what happened in photo-novel 19 that she doesn’t like to think about a lot. Cook for the Ozmo Devils. Dead in the head in bed like Jed. “Why didn’t you tell me about Serenity?” she actually said aloud. “That she wasn’t her cousin but her *wife*?”

“Oh it’s just one of those things that slips the mind (chomp; chew, chew, chew). Lots of important stuff going on up there,” and here she pauses in her apple eating to tap on her forehead. “I’m still the mayor of that damn Meat City and its dominant male energy. *I’m* more male than them, despite the body, the femininity,” she decided to put it. Marsha understood. Her mother had to put the town council (etc.) in their place or they’d gain the upper hand again, the blame misogynists. Dominant sex, *pheh*. Marsha had to do the same with her Eddie in a lesser way. It’s just how men are raised in our society in part, she figured. So she didn’t blame him *all* that much for his own, lesser brand of the disease of the mind.

Marsha had to ask this next”: “W-why, then, oh why… did you put me in prison? Turn me into a *doll* Feed me those drugs through my head to think that I *wasn’t* in prison but next door, singing karaoke until the wee hours of the night? With the fake doll looking on?”

“Rockaway Beach?” Wheeler started her answer, citing the name of the first place which was also its location. “Kenzie’s Korner in Kuradov?” she said the same about the second. Now the circumstances.

(to be continued)

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August 26, 2023 · 11:34 am

tale end

“How are your buns? Did they get good and done?”

“Sticky but delicious,” answered Tammy “Beige” Brown, Marsha’s best friend if it weren’t for Lelia, Kellyya. So: 3rd best friend. She sucks the cinnamony glaze off her fingers, irritating sound sensitive Marsha. Maybe Joey from marketing is her 3rd best friend after all, Tammy downgraded to 4th. But she’ll get over it; she always does.

“Welp, you better save some for work,” suggests Marsha. “You *are* going to go to work today? You didn’t forget?”

“No no no (lip smack; sucking). Just, let’s eat one more,” she spoke to herself. She scrutinizes the interior of the lunchbox, moistened digits hovering above. “*There*. You also seem to have my name on you this morning.” 3, Marsha counted. She’s down to the last one. Can she resist? Sucking; smacking. 4th it is.

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August 26, 2023 · 10:44 am

00390515

“My buns are hot,” uttered Tammy “Beige” Brown sitting on the oven. She gasped. “My buns are *done*.”

“Tale over, yes yes,” spoke Marsha “Pink” Krakow from the table in front of her. “How did you get home so soon? Work over already? It’s only 10:01 in the morning.” She stares ahead, like everyone else here except one. Evil out there, she knew. The one who didn’t stare out beyond the 4th said something to her. “*I’m* suppose to be Martha in this scene.” She rewords the same to Bob “Tom” Wassleburg offcamera (except substituting Pink for Martha), who just throws up his hands in exasperation. “It’s *Marsha*… stupid,” seethed the actor playing Marsha at the table. “We can’t let that one just *stand*. Can we?”

And so they knocked her over and additionally beat the crap out of her, scene over.

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August 25, 2023 · 4:26 pm

00390514

Something had happened. She seemed to have grown a little again upon waking up. She couldn’t turn off the lamp beside her. She stared at cow patterns on a shower curtain.


Probably asleep still — yes, that’s it. Mysteriously, no walls in the place she decided to bed down for the night, so no secrets. She could hear everything being talked about below.

“Well guys, I’m off. Wish me luck!”

“Luck, Wanda.”

“Tammy,” Tammy corrected.

“Right,” said Doris Lelia. Wearing pink on the green couch and turning a bit red. Kellyya on the flowery chair had said nothing yet, per the script of course, or so she hoped. She (the actor playing Kellyya) didn’t exactly remember her next line. She’d have to improvise. But director Bob “Tom” Wassleburg (Wassleburg?) seemed to like improvising in a role. Not all the time of course but sometimes, if the mood calls for it. May get away with the gaff. Unlike poor Alice Flowchart (Lelia) back there.

“And how about *you*? Kellyya isn’t it?” Tammy didn’t know Kellyya as well as Lelia, who she went to school with. “Aren’t you going to wish me well on my first day of work?”

Kellyya remained silent. The actor playing Kellyya figured that jealousy would explain the lack of a good luck wish. *She* hadn’t had a bonafide job in years. And her confidence suffered for it.

“*Anyway*…” Tammy turned from the two, one on her good side and one on her shit list now. Without another word she walked out the door which didn’t exist and got on her bike, intending on riding into the next room which was also the next town. Storybrook. We’ve been here before.

“Maybe I should take a hopper today,” Tammy contemplated aloud from the bike seat, looking over at the green blue red yellow in a row and forgetting about Lelia and Kellyya for the moment. Such confusing names!

Aah yes, better! She’ll show up to work in *such* a good mood, heh.

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August 25, 2023 · 2:05 pm

stranger

Suddenly, miraculously, she had shrunk down, her weight even closer to Zero now as she’s checking. Crocogator watched from atop one of the floating ducks in the distance, somewhat disappointed the tale hadn’t gone on. But Story Room calls. Residents.

The world becomes solid. The curtain closes slightly more, just a slither.

Suddenly we are in a different place altogether.


Hmph. How’d I get over here??

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August 23, 2023 · 6:30 am

00390512

She doesn’t think about it much these days except perhaps when she’s on the john, with a better view of the thing. F/A-18C Hornet BA v. 2.2-8, she learned and memorized for those who’d inevitably ask about it upon hearing where she lived. “No, no one was hurt,” also usually had to be said after a follow-up question, those that didn’t remember the details of the crash. “Yes, we’re fine,” sometimes had to be added.

They were on vacation at the time, more properly, a “staycation” — 1/2 and 1/2 (here we go). Chet stayed home at night to look after the dogs while Phyllis spread all her creative stuff out at the Holiday Begin motel in Myrtle. Chet drove back and forth each day. Chet was always dressed for the holidays so it didn’t have to be a full time thing for him, or at least that was his rationale for the 1/2 and 1/2 deal instead of just staying put with her at the beech, a 35 minute drive. Plus the dogs, he’d always say. But, in truth, he was delving deep down into the mythology of Willy Wonka, strangely called Willa Wonky in those days in late August Mays, before the advent of videotapes and widespread distribution. “It almost wasn’t made,” he said after arriving one fine morning — well, all days, she recalled, were superb during her stay. 70s for a high; not too hot, not too chilly.  Nary a rain cloud in sight. Just perfect. Room temperature.

Shortly after the staycation was over and all were back home together again (happy dogs!), he found the virtual chocolate factory, not come across before because it wasn’t attached to the search word “Wonka” he had been using in his Our Second Lyfe research. Then he found more in the same sim: an ode to a TV series called “Once Upon a Time” he’d strangely not heard of, despite its relative popularity as well as being created by some of the same writers involved in “LOST’, one of his favorites. He, per usual these days, sent Shelley in to explore further.

Upon teleporting into Chet’s earmarked spot, Shelley thought she saw a giant rat’s tail quickly slither into the hole in front of her. She had to follow; rules of the explorer.

She walked past the thing (just a *mouse*, she tried to calm herself, despite its enormity), trying to hide her fear and staying away from it and its food as much as possible.

Just by it, the walk turned into a sprint to finish. She was inside.

“I have a tale to tell, I have a tale to tell!” the mouse called after her. But didn’t follow. He smelled a reptile in that direction: danger.

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August 23, 2023 · 1:31 am

Phyllis

“‘No purple,'” I said from the side, quoting from the introduction of the world famous manifesto, *her* manifesto. “Yet you sit on purple.”

“Um hmm.” She nodded.

“Is this, then, about the boyy?”

She contemplated an answer for a second, then: “Yes, this is about the boyy more than anything else. And why I chose to avoid talking about the subject, the color. The gurl too, obviously. If–”

“Lisa,” I clarified, then regretted interrupting her flow. She was, after all, a master channel. So all the TILists say that count. But this was beyond (the) four. Hard to tell how many could keep up if all this was made public. Which was, I suppose, my job.

“If only (another pause), for a contrast. Say, priceless versus highly priced, very high indeed but still a certain amount — not infinite.”

“The boyy is a pure channeler,” I dared. I had to know.

Again the pause. She was in the spotlight, as it should be. Making shit happen per usual. “Pure as in 2 separate from 1. Let me illustrate.” She shifts her weight slightly on the latex ottoman, making it squeak but pleasantly, I noted. “Where *I’m* from there is a city of the land that is as central as a heart. Named for the founder of our great land. Brightonia is its name. Yet eventually, as a center must find a circumference to become circular and all encompassing and also reflect in on itself, a 2nd great city was formed, not as big or important as the first but still two. A balance; a sidekick if you will. Necessary: a role assigned. This is the boyy. And from those 2 come all else.”

‘The great scribe Nauty of Naughtilus has taken credit for the boyy’s channel. Is this correct?”

Pause. “All things being equal: yes. The pen was neither red nor blue.”

“Describe the gurl’s role.”

(to be continued)

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August 22, 2023 · 1:52 pm

Joker

“Amos T. Sandman,” I spoke from the side. “I kind of figured you’d end up in a circus.”

“Welp,” the colorful dancing clown replied, “I had no religion to preach any longer what with the demise of the Cheesers. What else was left for me? I have subjects; that’s the important thing. Right Fluffie, Spoilsport, Clyde?” he spoke to the various clowns around him presently. He danced in a circle (acknowledging each one?) toward the central top hat on a trunk, the cane, the cards.

“Turn it over, Baker,” he seemed to request about the mystery one before him.  “See what *your* next subject is. I bet it’s not an ace. That’s already been done; that would be heading backwards.” He danced back forwards. “Or sideways or something, black and red, clubs and spades, doesn’t matter.” He picks up the cane besides the cards to augment the dance in spots. Then the top hat itself upon a next whirl. Then, a final twirl and swoop, the mystery card itself, which became all cards when turned over, instantly halting the charade. He had shown his true face.

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August 22, 2023 · 9:04 am

I’m going to figure this out.

Why was he painting the roses red? It should have been white to cover up his mistakes. Yet Willa Wonky died and he has blood on his hands… and arms and chest and face and so on. No going back. He ate the chocolate.

An image flashed in his mind from the past. Wheeler did too! Or was it Shelley?

Anyway, suddenly everything switches with this and he’s painting red roses white instead of the other way around. Willy Wonka lives!

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