Looking down from the damn dam rail into the still blood stained rocks below, I thought of changing Tennessee into Kentucky again and be done with it.
But then, raising my head and seeing the city-scape still beautiful in the sunset through the gorge in front of me, I turned away and started walking again, contemplating the red (technology) and the green (anatomy) and how to balance the two and not give up hope. Sanity don’t leave me yet!
It happened shortly after the rain started, probably after the first thunderclap. “What’s that, boy? Timmy’s fallen down a well and can’t get out but never mind that now and more important matters are pressing?” Frank repeated after his talking dog (in his head, for now). “Well, lead on!” he said.
The rain had stopped and it had gotten light when they came to this upside down guy with his parachute stuck in a tree down a nearby dirt road. A man from Tennessee, he claimed. No, a man *named* Tennessee, let’s change it. So the Blue Balls/Blue Moons sculptor is actually a man and not a woman as presumed. But what’s he doing in this tree, dropped down from the sky? Helicopter? Better cut him down so we can ask more questions.
Back on the ground, Frank told him that he had Chomp to thank for his rescue. But in turning around to find the dog — nothing. Frank didn’t own a dog, never had never will. And then the parachutist was gone too; Frank Lynn had apparently hallucinated the whole scenario. No more graytop mushrooms! he swore off then and there.
—–
But he eventually couldn’t resist — Mikie talked him into it I believe. This caused the second manifestation of the dog in another thunderclap during another thunderstorm, all part of it too. He was wetter and blacker this time, Frank noted through the gray-ish haze. “What’s that, boy?” he began to talk to the mutt again in his head. “Timmy remains trapped down in that well but there’s still more important matters to deal with tonight over at the damn, er, dam?”
So he followed the dog again down a different road this time to, as it turns out, the Petrochemistry Dam in a whole ‘nother game. The same guy was in trouble once more.
“Tennessee — if that’s your real name. What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s perfectly fine,” he said, teetering on the edge of death. “I just have to finish what the tree stopped before. The parachute opened by accident. I never intended to be saved.”
“Man that’s crazy. Get down from there!”
“Too late! AAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Muttering about him being a damn (dam?) fool, Frank Lynn rushed to the bottom….
… only to find someone totally different lying in the blood tainted stream there. Somehow someway, Tennessee had switched over to Kentucky in the free fall. Then everything disappeared just like before. He had Clyde on the phone in no time to schedule an emergency session, but his therapist had bad news too. He was changing jobs and moving. In the fall. No bookings before then. This is when Fremont came into his life. And Rutherford B. Hayes became the first president of our US of A to never be president. Triumvirate.
—-
“Go see Jonny Silverhhand to end this thing,” spoke Blue Moon to me when she popped up good as new over at the Kabusie roundabout marketplace after about 3 days we’ll say. “Just around the ‘corner’ — you can’t miss him.” And then she came to me and pecked a kiss on my cheek before walking away, saving the best for later.
Siamese in this case (two heads on one, fused body). And two of ’em ta boot. Walker had to pause to take in the scene. Which I captured above (Lettuce Walk again — thanks!).
And these less than 3 minutes from each other on the same recorded walk from 4 months ago as of this writing. Next up: the rarer but still occurring triplet sightings, maybe even 4 at a time??
Video provided by the blog assimilated Youtuber “Lettuce Walk” (actually: “Let’s Walk”).
his pretend banner
“There’s Blue Moon again, Lexi. Bigger than ever in life.”
“Just keep looking for clues,” she responded, not wanting that many distractions on the way to their ultimate goal. “The city will not give you everything. You must keep walking around the margins, poking around here and there and everywhere. Characters are obviously important. Blue Moon. Panama perhaps. Judith who is, well, *me*. And you seem to be the same as (1st person) V or Val, with an oppositely positioned Valerie lurking around the corner as well. The dam, boss. Keep poking around that damn dam.”
—–
The date attracted me. I had to ask. “Do you know… Tennessee?”
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“Where’s *Edward* today? Your boy.”
“He’s not my boy,” Shelley quickly shot back. “He’s just… a friend.”
“A toy? I mean, you’re just toying with him, right? Until Arthur comes back.”
“You know the story of Arthur. He’s away a lot. He… understands,” she decides to tack on.
“Shakespeare I’ve heard. Asia, Africa, Europe, maybe Australia and New Zealand even. Oceania. As far away as he can get from your loving arms.”
“What can I say, he’s a dreamer. Anyway, back to your original question, Edward is doing one of those brain-dazes with Lexi. They’re still fiddling around with the Petrochemistry Dam, trying to find that dead pop star in the neighborhood there. But I’m sure Edward has told you all about it, especially after a couple of your patented house drinks. Even numbered drinks on the house, pheh. When did 3, 5, 7, and 9 becomes not odd, Sarah?”
“He he. Woman’s gotta have a hobby.” She pours Shelley another drink, a 3 I believe. “First free one, Shelley. Drink up. Then tell me more about this Kentucky girl who went missing and is presumed dead. Bedside chat, we’ll call it.”
“Nah, I’m not going to go there.” But she takes her first sip of the concoction (Nightshine I believe Sarah calls it) and begins to forget her promise. Just like Blue Moon Kentucky before her. Sarah knows more than she’s letting on.
—–
Edward couldn’t stop replaying the moment. The pop star in disguise just… popped up! From behind that woman there.
With help from Lexi, he’s studying all angles and then some. Mysterious heat source in the thermal layer to the upper right. Could be *him* again. Beware.
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She came here in a boat…
… but not that one.
—–
“A new creator this time, boss. One called The Martian. Name is meaningful too, because it tells me how he got inside the glitch. Piggyback. On another content creator, Daydreaming Gamer in this case. Overlap. So I’ll fast forward a bit and start you with the flamingos. You’ll see the same during the day soon. But this is a way they get highlighted.”
“I see.” He knew they were approaching the glitch.
(to be continued)
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“Hii! What’s this, then?”
—–
“We’ll get you sorted out in a second, dearest. “Oh hello? Herbert? Got a favor to ask you.”
(reply)
“Uh huh. Brain-daze. How’d you know?”
(reply)
“Tone of voice, eh? Well… it’s for a very special person, someone presumed, let’s say, missing.”
(reply)
“No I can’t tell you. Sorry. That a deal breaker? Just reminding you it usually isn’t.”
(reply)
“Great. Just that detail, huh? Well, it was around the dam. You know, the big one. Over in Rancho—”
(reply)
“Nooo,” Marillia lied. Because Herbert had guessed the identity of the person. She wasn’t careful enough. Besides — she really didn’t care if he knew or not. She felt Herbert was trustworthy. And the more info he got, the better he could set this all up. So, yeah: everything is still cool. Unconsciously she seemed to have planned it. She usually doesn’t slip up like that. Her Greater Self knew what it was doing, though.
“Okay, you got me. It’s her.”
—–
She was still on the phone when Blue Moon simply got up and walked out, bored of the scene. Marillia had to let her go. Besides — she really didn’t care if she left or not. Sufficient info had been downloaded. She’d be back soon enough.
“We should be okay once we get past the bridge.
“Oh f-ck, now *don’t* panic like you did before, boss.”
“What’ll I DO? He’s, he’s heading right for me!”
“Remember, boss, these aren’t *your* memories. Whatever happened has already happened. Just let him pass through you if that’s the way this plays out.”
“Bring me out, bring me out!”
—–
“See? That wasn’t so bad. Now. Let’s get back to the task of finding Blue Moon.”
“Blue *Who*?”
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Sunklands 