Category Archives: 0603

Birthplace of Bogota — BoB

“So is this it?” he asked. So innocent and mild-spoken, not like in the Big Dream I had. I’m reassured by his physical presence. This is not a monster before me (!). It was all imaginary; unreal. Like with that girl in the 1898 Oz movie.

“Yes, Man About Time — MAT.”

“Thank you,” he replied about me adding the way he likes to say his name. Like someone named Matt in our world — *your* world. “Welcome MAT!”, and so on. It reminded me of something else.

“Do, ahem, you remember Marcus Fox Smartville? I believe you may have met him on News Years. Not this year but maybe one back.”

“Of course.” He twirled around in place on the edge of the road. Highway 14, the compliment to Highway 13 on the other side of the peninsula we live upon.

“Explain your relationship — if you don’t mind.”

“I am he,” he said plainly, flinging his arms about again. He looks up at the colorful sign, continuing talk from before. “So this is TILE.”

“TILE indicator, yes. The gallery across the road pointed it out. One Barret Darkfold. Interesting art within as well.”

“And you’ve contacted him?”

“Yes. Because his is the closest registered gallery to Collagesity as I found out last night, and also that our names are alphabetically next to each other in a member list of the Virtual Soho group, which I just found out tonight in looking up something totally different. I told him I thought it was funny: these two found juxtapositions of ourselves in two nights.”

“It’s the bridge,” he suddenly said. “It points right to the sign.”

I looked north. “Bridge of the 7 Chickens?”

“Yes. It points directly to this… TILE substitute,” he reinforced.

The individual tile numbers are not exact but the colors match in two different ways, red for L and blue for E, just like in the letters of TILE. But this is LOVE, of course, so the O and the V don’t match the letters. But they match the remaining colors of green and yellow. This is TILE.

“Shall we go see the art?” I asked him after nothing else seemed to need adding about the sign.

As we started walking, 2 pods flew by us and pulled into a small station just ahead. We took it as yet another sign…

… then I found another pod across the bridge. I hopped in, leaving MAT behind.

MAT decided to check out the Darkfold gallery by himself. “Didn’t even say goodbye, hmph,” he muttered about my quick exit while passing through the multi-arched entrance.

—–

Ahh. Quito’s Garage. The place Karoz Blogger got married way back in novel 2. And I was just here.

—–

Soon I was back where I started. The pod had suddenly decided to turn around in its journey not far past the garage. As if it was all about that.

“How was your trip?”

“How was *yours*?”

“Colorful,” he replied over.

“Mine too!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0603, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

Four Corners

“Dum de *dum* de *dum*.” Riiiiinnnng. “Oh dear.” Riiiiiiiinnnng. “That’s the phone.”

“Where, honey?”

“Over… *there*.” Riiinnng.

“Over where, honey?”

“On the wall.” Riiinnnng. “Just over… *there*.”

“The wall… the phone on the wall?”

Riiinnnng. “Yes. Don’t you remember. The phone… on the wall.”

“The *pay phone*? The one that hadn’t worked for 20 years?” Rinnnnng.

“Yes. I think. Go check. I’m scared. I’ll be back in my room.” Riinnng.

She was so happy just seconds before. Now the world seemed to be ending.

Riinnnng. Herbert Glenn Gold walks over, answers the phone. Riinnnn– “Hello?”

—–

“You have become old, Stefan.”

“No… not old. I can still rock.”

“You are a classical man through and through now. Get up out of the rocker. You cannot rock any longer. You are an old man. You…”

“Pansy,” he said, trying to reassure. “I acquiesce.” Old Stefan steps away from the DJ equipment and the dance floor as a whole, walks outside, stands in the flower bed.

—–

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0603, Bellisaria^^, Four Corners

2(0)1

“Thanks for helping out, Charlene Brown.”

“I’m busy: but I’m here.”

“Okay, so there’s the two girls who must have seen Bart, yacking in front of the Giant Tiger painting. This would be caddy-corner to you standing at the intersection of, let’s see, Main and Elizabeth. Bart should be skateboarding by you right this instant.”

“I see nothing.”

“So let’s just swing the camera around and… Charlene? Where’re you going? Come back!”

I finally spot the pink dress wearing punk again just beyond the Rosehaven Yarn Shop, about to walk under the Regent Theatre marquee. But she’s way ahead of where she should be. Where’s she going?

“I see him Baker Bloch!” she suddenly exclaimed as I pull back beside her at Main and York.

Three Beatles were crossing the road in front of me and I knew this was a special, sacred spot.

“And that’s how Bart Smipson travels between Picturetown and NWES City,” I write in a letter later to Hucka Doobie. “Through that alley with the 102 graffiti. He’s indicating how he does it!” I sign my name with love and stick it in an envelope addressed to the White Palace.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0603, Apple's Orchard, Black Ice, Canada/Picturetown, collages 2d, NWES Island^

Barry 02 01

He woke up somewhere very different than before. Twilight. The lamp had not been turned off from the night. The cat Nappy purred beside him, half aware that his master had awoken. 1/2 and 1/2 once more, but I’m suppose to limit (that expression) to one per photo-novel section at the most, as prescribed by my word therapist Bob the Knob who I don’t really like that much so I may insert it more. Or less. Damn Bob. Recommended by Richard, who I haven’t talked to since session 3. Or was it section 3? NO, there was no Richard in the story.

I’m admittedly getting a little confused about all the names (finally! the reader might utter here). Barry DeBoy who just woke up here in a strange but then very familiar land shares a first name with Barry X. Vampire who arrived in our text in photo-novel 18 — and also *writing*, at least partially, said photo-novel. He was a creator like me within the pages posts of his own creation. Mirror within mirror, etc. But the mirrorings seem to be increasing lately. It’s time, for example, to face the fact and the music that the two Barry’s in our novels — let me check (checks) — yes still only *2* Barry’s. Anyway, they are probably the same, and my rational — well, I won’t go into it in detail but let it just play out in the text. Returning to the awakening DeBoy version, then…

Took him a minute to realize where he was after gaining consciousness but as he looked around at the tall, brown grass, the dilapidated buildings and signs, it dawned on him, as the sun, let’s say, gained height over a yonder horizon. Home. Maw may even be here, even older than before. Some called her Pink, some just called her Star, but her actual name was Marsha. Marsha “Star” Pink.  All three were correct, I suppose. But what am I doing here thinking about names? I must think about *action*. Barry tried to recall where this shed was in relation to his house where he grew up as DeBoy, who started as simple D-Boy (one who makes a lot of D’s, etc.) but then changed in stature within the community as he received the tie from… who? He recalls something about another Barry. Himself? he realizes. From the future or from the past?

Suisan might know. If she’s still around — or still alive for that matter. Always wearing that mask while growing up, always afraid of the germs and viruses swarming, she put it, in the air all around us. And now her fears have come to fruition. The Jasper virus, the mother, is here. He peers in the direction he remembers that his mother lives in. Home. She could still be there.

But then another whole series of memories locked into place. His mother had died! Along with Suisan, along with a friend named Brown. Along with another friend named Green. Maybe someone named Olive, even. This was a land of… he looked down at his hands. He attempted to swat one with the other but it only passed through. Yet another dream. His mother was dead but then she was alive, at least during *parts* of his childhood. How could this be?

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0603, The Waste^^

rhode crossing

The house seemed empty. But it had a portal room.

In the thin woods eyes were watching.

Or not.

Maybe 1/2 and 1/2.

We should walk back to GASTON.

.daor eht ssorc mih gnihctaw ,nacnuD desserpmi na denipo ”,onimoD ,naem uoy tahw ees I“

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0603, Gaston^^, Nautilus City^, Nautilus^^

around Cassandra City 02

Dimmy Gene never did get a copy of “Moby Prick”. The other bookstore in town closed 10 minutes before he arrived. He’d have to lay out of school (once more), maybe ride his motocyclone over to Toppsity. But first: an early movie. Cheaper that way.

2:00 in the afternoon and hardly anyone is here. Oh right, everyone *else* is in school, studying away. Studying to be grown-up dunces, he muses, thinking of his father Daffy Gene and his family run chain of fine clothing stores. He’s set up to be another Gene in their line of production. Well I’m *bucking* the system. Buck “Moby Prick.” Buck the red book, even, although he’s heard it’s better than the other. A whole bookstore devoted to that one book, he thinks again, not quite understanding the impossibility of it.

Great. Another movie about the future being in the past. Oh well.

He runs and gets some popcorn, mountainy dew, and candy before settling back in for a long one.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0020, 0603, Cassandra City^, Maebaleia/Satori^^

the story continues…

SEAN “Green” Penn was the last person who lived on Arnold Lane, now covered in sand and almost forgotten in time. And now he was leaving as well, heritage perhaps lost to the town. Back to New Orleans where he came, back to The Man and perpetual plans to move to Little Rock in Arkansas and decrease the blues a bit. Just a little, just enough to put thoughts of ending it all out of the picture. The more limiting framework of a polaroid might help here again, so he took Pink’s with him, studied it until sometimes late at night when the moon was full and the stars were obscured by lighted sky. “We will be married one day and I can reveal to her my truth self, black behind white. 28 years old and developing rheumatoid arthritis in my back and neck and not a 15 year old with developing acne.” He’d learned that from Olive, *remembered* it because of her. Now the heritage was with him. He must return.

It was 5 years in the past 5 years in the past 5 years in the past. But it was also present. Marsha “Pink” Krakow had a choice to make.

“Welllll. I guess this is it, Marsha. Out with the Old, in with the New, as they say.”

“New *What*, though?” asked Marsha, piggybacking on something SEAN had revealed earlier in the evening. Marty had sent former top assassin Arthur Kill away — a possible way to cross the river into Staten Island and New York proper. She *knew* that. But she kept asking. *Was* she a star? *Could* she be? She stared over at SEAN, studied the lines on his concerned face, the pain of realization. No. She couldn’t go with him. Not now not ever. Storybrook remains Story*book* forever and ever. There were different currents, true, but only one unity under church and god, and that church had a red top. STAR, she must be.

She picked up the drumsticks she brought with her and went over and kissed SEAN full on the lips before departing. Back to the “Good Side” and loving parents who are, yes, split right now because of her, but also loving and caring still. And Dogg! Who could forget Dogg, both shades of him. A true Great Dane he is.

SEAN will be *fine*, she tried to reassure herself as she walked away from Arnold Lane that night, tears in her eyes. I will send him another polaroid when I become a true star to cheer him up again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0019, 0603, Corsica^^, Storybrook^

call 02

Ant figures out how to hang up so’s he can make another call, this time to old friend Hucka Doobie.

“Hiya Hucka, old friend. How’s it buzzing? haha. What’s the buzz, I mean. Listen. (reply) She’s fine — thanks for asking. Anyway, get this, I just hung up one of your old *Blinkerton* works in my castle over here at [Elephants Trunk], hehe. (surprised reply) Yeah, I’m staring right at the *ant* who’s taking a piss on the whole world. Reminds me of Trump. (reply) Oh right, not suppose to say that here. (reply) Monitoring, huh? (longer reply) Uh huh? (shorter longer reply) Uh hum. (reply) Well, I must say, I think things will come around in the end and run him over from behind. The ass will get hit in his ass! (reply) Yeah, I agree. But we could talk politics all night, me and you. Like back in the Bomb Squad. Those were the days! (longer reply) Right, Jimmy’s okay. I just talked to him last week. He’s totally over the yellow jacket fever. Wearing red these days. (reply) Oh, I guess that could be a kind of joke. (reply) Yeah, I want to talk to you about, you know, how you were a bee and all and now you’re kind of human and such. H-how does that all work? I know you’ve explained it to me, but just review it again (reply) Yeah, you got it. I’m thinking about changing myself. (reply) I know it will be hard. I’ve got a rock solid plan. (reply) Oh August — Easter in August. (reply) Easter *is* in August this year? (short reply) Oh, yucks, you’re a funny one. Guess you still got the old Blinkerton in you still, the joker.” Ant looks at the Charles Nelson Blinkerton work just hung on the wall, and reads. “‘Sawmill *Heir* Wins Pis-Ant Reward Ha.’ What was the other hotel sign you changed? (reply) ‘Rebel Ho’s’, right. Not as successful. *This* one won that award. (reply) What’s the plan, heh? Well (he turns), we better ask Stan.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0018, 0603, Corsica^^, Northwest^

zeroed out

When Duncan was rudely woken up he was falling. The 87 Room he had been sitting in and composing songs to mark time was suddenly no more.  He fell on top of what was left of room 71 — its roof it appeared. Or maybe the floor of 72.

Certainly time to go groundside now and contemplate the next move. The 100 Story Building of Kowloon was no more. Will another replace it? Time to talk to this Fish Head hub-of-a-man to get the latest….

Oh. He’d figured something out in the meantime. The one ball in pool is *not* blue, as he had mistakenly thought before; been a while since he played the game. That’s instead the two ball. And two of the 3 remaining pool stools in what use to be Room 87, all exposed in contrast, were colored wrongly. The 3 is colored yellow instead of red and the 2 is orange instead of the yellow it should be — orange belongs to 5 instead. Only the 8 stool is aptly hued. So the question remains: what number was under the XVideos labeled laptop?

Ahh, never mind that now, Duncan thinks while peering around at inky space dotted with milky stars. A new stage beckons in Kowloon below, perhaps a new building along with it. He jumps and falls again…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0017, 0603, 100 Story Building, Kowloon^^

JuliaN

“Two Joint Joints, side by side. One in Gaston — here. The other: NWES. How could this be?” Then Greg Ogden remembers who he is, deep down. He loses the hair, the campy hobo shirt. The Red Cross returns.

He recalls bastard pirate Randolph two (motel) doors down, not one to cross by any means.

4×4: it was all coming back to him.

He has to reach Climax.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0016, 0603, Gaston^^