After work, Wheeler returned to the theatre to watch more of Kane, studying each clap closely. Stu Umbriel mosied in, and seeing Wheeler down front suddenly had a hankering for a frozen one. Kolya (aka Ben aka Gus) came in immediately afterward — they either walked or drove over together — and then the last of their party sauntered inside as well, a person they derogatorily called Chief, because of his Indian heritage. Thing is he sat down on *top* of Kolya and kind of merged with him, Devil power showing its pitchforked ways again. Stu didn’t look over, just glad it wasn’t him this time. Chief had been taken over for sure. Maybe it’s the common redness, he speculated while woofing down another popped kernels. He watched Wheeler pop hers. Maybe they could pop some common food together sometime, he thinks, seeing something different in the claps as well. Just keep studying, he said to himself. We’ll compare notes later. As soon as I can ditch the Devil Boys.
Category Archives: 06
(News)papers whirls together with leaves in a perpetual dust devil down at the tracks near the tunnel, reminding us of yellow journalism…
… in association with perpetually clapping *Kane* at the all day all night theatre just on the other side of the square with the “Pooping Pigeon” statue, as some locals have started calling it, blocked from our view by a mossy double oak with ivy in that picture up above. Or make that here:
And here’s Kane’s hands in the theatre, not to be confused with canes in hands, as in Dr. Mouse’s.
Checkered face Wheeler with him now, out on break from the banana, Mouse points again, making the connection.
“Oh he was one Black Hole of a guy, sucking everything in in his way,” he spoke despairingly later about his much more famous sibling of sorts. Some say they are the same — he begs to differ, this *Kelly*. History changes and the Whites don’t like it. Buildy Bob assumes a cone position atop the truck again, showing his true colors. He cusses like a mo fo and doesn’t turn red, because there was only black and white for him. And he smelled a skunk. And he could read the newspaper headlines in front of his crude face with his rude mouth. “Dewey (F-cking) Wins”. It was all a big fat (circular) lie — yellow journalism. We better get back to Paper Soap. But first…
“Hey, watch the f-ck out!”
“We meet again Yoyo or Dada. Better let me speak with Claude or Claudette. We’re getting kind of near the end, need to start wrapping things up here so we can move on to the 28th. Some months — well, February — only have such. We’re becoming a whole damn month Yoyo-dada. Better move aside, let me talk to the golden cow.”
“Assure you here he not is,” rasped YD. Dr. Mouse hit him with his own cane to sweep him away, clear path ahead.
Buildy Bob assumes a cone position atop the ice cream truck. “You don’t belong the f-ck here, I’m sensing.”
“No,” she stated plainly. BB was about the only character here she trusted. Crude and rude, true, but that showed his true colors, rainbow exposed. Diversity. No white out.
“Where’re you from, then, Pinhead?” He’d been calling her Pinhead ever since he saw diminutive Mary PipPIN land on her HEAD from the perspective of his roaming camera eye. Most, maybe all of the other characters in this here Land o’ Dreams don’t roam like that; stay fixed in their position inside their head and body. Not BB. He wanted to know the bigger perspective.
“I landed in a balloon,” she decided to say. “From Kansas,” she almost followed, but then remembered Omaha was actually in
Oklahoma Nebraska. Or was it? “Nebraska I’m from,” she finalized. “World’s Fair.” State fair she meant there but she let the stated mistake stand. She should have thought things through sooner, maybe written down her lines beforehand. At least she had the (built in) black hair for the ears. And where were her ears? There.
“Oh we’ll get Oz don’t you worry,” he said a little later about another potential assimilation, using “we” in an ironic sense. Why do they put up with him? she wondered again. Allow a breathing, walking Achilles Heel right in their midst?
“It’s too early,” she corrected. “The (Baum) books are copyright free. Plumly is different.”
“Don’t start with me about *Ruth*.” And where *was* Ruth, BB thought bitterly, looking around as if she could appear magically in their immediate vicinity. And perhaps she could. This was a Magic Kingdom after all; anything goes, as long as you worship the White. “Have you seen Willy, yet?” he then asked, thinking of the only other interesting *deviation* from this parade of madness. “Riding a steamboat. But I think he’s changed his name to Kelly to protect the innocent and all. Which means him — primarily. And me I suppose. He’s a pretty decent fellow, but scared and nervous, as he should be. They can’t fully assimilate him because he represents some kind of *ur* character, a primordial man-mouse of some sort. Don’t ask me how to explain all the details of it. It’s just they can’t fully *touch* him. He remains both black and white. Pansy knows.”
Pansy, thought Alysha here. I haven’t heard that name for a long long time. Not since childhood.
(to be continued)
“You’ve lost your supreme whiteness, Rabbit. Better get back to the dressing room and find that head.”
“Sir,” she corrected. Although a woman she was playing a man. Always.
Listening grown up Alysha was in disguise now. The black hair aided. See what I can do when unaided, she thought to the group around her, having purposefully misplaced the White Rabbit’s head with her mind. Ear Power go!
There was at least one more here around the table. Crude and rude, he asked where the f-ck the caterpillar went off to.
Calvin was soon replaced by Horace, a proper White and causing no trouble atall. The hands *are* the clock now. Time control. History revision.
I: How did you come to Paper Soap, Dr. Mouse. Paul, isn’t it?
DM: Yes. I came the way most people come. Through the tunnel. You have to find the G Spot to get in of course.
I: I think I see where this is going.
DM: Yes. It’s all Fraudian (laughs).
I: How did you become head of The Asylum? I know this has something to do with Filetown — helping you out there.
DM: Well I certainly had a lot of *files* to bring through the tunnel with me after getting the job.
But seriously, it indeed started way back in Pennsylvania as a file clerk. Filetown is what I personally called the place I lived. That’s where I met Alpha. And Wendy.
I: Tell us about your relationship with Wendy. And Alpha if you wish.
DM: They are (actually) one and the same. Alpha hides what Wendy is. She’s right here — right over there (he points out the window with his cane toward the conveniently placed big banana sticking up from the pavement next to the all day all night theatre, currently playing a “Spaceballs” loop as I recall).
She can serve you up a (frozen) banana quick and easy. We’ll go after the interview.
I: Sure sure. But — helping you along again — Wendy was your wife.
DM: For a little bit. She was an attractor to being here. (note: DM seemed reluctant to talk much more about Wendy and his relationship with her)
I: Alpha is, then, transparency I’m gathering. Like if I wore a full body transparency and took off my clothes, then no one would be able to see me.
I: Okay, let’s move on to the (town) Anomaly and your role in causing it.
(to be continued)
“You weren’t here the other night.”
“I wasn’t,” he admitted.
Both stared at the same spot for a while. Finally:
“Nope.” Clear and crisp from this stranger with new arrival to town Greg Ogden, free to roam now that Dr. Mouse had retired over in the Asylum where he was staying. But Dr. Mouse knew this of course; he was monitoring the situation closely. Currently he was seeing the spot too through his bug and was wondering the same thing that Greg Ogden was: what gives?
It actually didn’t take long for Greg, and Dr. Mouse through him, to figure out Brut, as he called himself, was part of the plasmic Anomaly that threatened to take over the town. He was indicating himself.
He recalls… a caterpillar.
*Now* what’s he staring at?”
The 2nd Gee Cat arrived too late to help the first with the toting and dragging but she had another mission to fulfill: find the sacred Hobo and return him to HOME. Tell him who he is. Eat his enemies if necessary. Drag him home. Not to the Asylum. For these 2 Gee Cats, very different in looks and nature, are actually opposites of each other, friend and foe or friend and fiend. Now to find out which is which.
“*Not* a witch,” she decides to say to the Pizza King.
The plug was blinking bright green, dispensing good vibes to the body. She breaths a sigh of relief. A *friend* approaches (phew!).
Gee Cat had doubts at first but then realized he was exactly where he was suppose to be. At this spot.
He waits patiently for someone to emerge from that tunnel, perhaps a friend but also perhaps a… fiend. Time will shortly tell.
A painter soon arrives. “I was just — Soap Lake,” he started with the broken sentences to add to the plot confusion. “Suds — Bubbles — took care…” He collapses at Gee Cat’s feet. Lordy, the big orange feline thought, have to drag him over to The Asylum for more rehabilitation. The body is back but the mind is still, let’s say, lacking. Dr. Mouse will fix him up, but he won’t be happy to see me.
Better get to work.