Category Archives: Corsica

May 3, 2020 · 8:17 am

reverse microcosm

There were also people in town who used magic toys to attempt to tap into the positive energy of the Big Inside as opposed to the negative. Appropriately they all lived up on what’s colloquially called the “Good Side” of town, a plateau area closer to God without any darkness atall. The “bad” side, where SEAN “Green” Penn grew up, is down at the beach. Arnold Lane, now covered up with sand due to time, was known as the “Colored Section”, red green blue and bleached yellow beach houses in a row, occupants all practicing some kind of voodoo as far as the rest of the town supposed. “Where are they at the regular church gatherings on Sundays and Wednesdays?” Gloria Snippet a town gossiper might whisper to Betty Freeze at the local grocer on Tuesday or Thursday of the next week after last. “I don’t know why that Marsha Krakow hangs out with any of them.” “She must be *one* of them — secretly somehow,” returned Mrs. Freeze, late for a prayer meeting because of all the hot speculation going on between the two.

Ironically sand is “1” in the 3 hole toy golf town making up most of Dr. Thimblehook’s yard up in Good Side. You open up an oyster there, you get a gold pearl. Then “3” is where the voodoo style idols are found, not down at the beach, in the sand. They got that part right anyway.

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May 3, 2020 · 7:18 am

another Black

It all looked so tempting to Olive, but she must choose — or die. Because she has to eat to live. Eating: a strange concept to her. She’d lost so much but wanted to lose so much more. The Black Moon was the healthiest place to dine in town. It was here she found herself hanging out more and more. And away from Pink and SEAN (Green) (or Green (SEAN)) down at the Black Elephant. Policemen also frequent the establishment and that’s how she met and begin to, ahem, interact with Bazooka Ferguson, father of Tank Ferguson who took his slot as the Storybrook Chief of Police about, oh, 12 years back now I suppose. But Bazooka has a lot of fire left in him, as Olive had found out. They’d even talked of marriage, or at least Bazooka has. “You realize you’re still paying for me,” she offered to the confused old geezer at the time of the first “proposal”, part real and part in jest and uttered after at least 3 Corona-V tall stouts, maybe up to 5. “I’m technically still your, well, you know.” “Whore,” he finished, head sinking low to the money filled table. “I *need* that income,” she furthered for him, raking it in. “I can’t give–” “You’ll be with me,” he pleaded. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

And thus here she is, staring at food as it rotates rapidly past her. Like the sands of time. *She’s* not getting any younger either, which perhaps exacerbates the weight problem, or what she thinks is one. And yet she knows she appears as a 15 year old to Pink and perhaps Green as well — she must remember to ask him sometime. “What is my appearance to you?” she imagines in the moment. “A girl… or a woman? I’m 15 years old after all.” “I thought you were 13, ho,” she fantasizes him coming back at her in his witty, urban style way. Yes, I’ll ask Green how I appear to him, she finalizes.

The front door slides open. Bazooka: ready for another “date”. Will he propose again today? Can she keep saying no forever?

A funny (funnier) thought then crossed her mind. What if Green stopped calling me “ho” all the time. Would I stop actually being one as well? Another thing to ask Green.

(to be continued?)

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May 2, 2020 · 8:13 am

second

Whiteness. Purity. Sometimes associated with milk deliveries but most often not. These are the qualities you hear about storied Storybrook, legendary in upper east west central Corsica Prime. Until the day of May 2, 2020, when the Big Inside was finally exposed for what it was.

Rocky could almost see it from his laying spot in the dog park above. If only he were 12 feet taller maybe the story would be different, with brook becoming a book.

But no one saw the event. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and new bestie Frankie “Beige” McCracken (later changed to “Brown” for practical reasons) just figured that creepy photography (and calligraphy) teacher Tom Eugene Banks had given Jake “Mr. Fix It” Trimmer a ride home after work, never mind that he had 3 hours left on his shift. The girls weren’t thinking that deeply about it. They had other adventures in mind that day. A trip inside the Big, um, Inside.

Jane Olive Green had already gone and come away unimpressed. SEAN swore off the thing, calling both girls “ho’s” and leaving on a jet plane back to the New Orleans Blues Little Rock bar over near Ashelaven, 5 years in the past, 5 years in the past, 5 years in the past. That left only Frankie for Marsha to bum around with on her most important mission to date. To find the beating heart of this Inside, where everything comes from and everything will go. Beyond the white purity of the surface. This was black, this was deep. This was starless. And a red book shall lead them.

“What does it say about your mother, Pink?” prompts Frankie later on the lower level of the Wired and Wireless, their favorite hangout and where they met. But at the same time she couldn’t stop tittering about the joke Pink just told concerning 2 elephants with conjoined trunks. So funny.

“It says…” She thumbs to the correct page: “‘A banana in a boat is worth two in the bush.'”

“That’s something.”

“*Somewhere* something,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow reinforces to her remaining bestie in town.

Time to head down to Southside for another row row row your boat ride.

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May 2, 2020 · 6:38 am

Somewhere again…

“I still don’t know why you did it, *Pink*.”

“Well, *Beige* — welcome to the besties club by the way –”

Frankie “Beige” McCracken tittered here. Then, while looking out the side of her eye, “Oh my God, oh my *God*.” Her hand remained in the same place all this time. “*Don’t* turn around.”

Muffled speaking outside. Tom Banks, photography and calligraphy teacher at the local jr. and sr. high schools, was talking to Mr. Fix It about a flat tire. “Ol’ lemon, hehe, broke down right down the street, Jake.”

“Jake,” Frankie whispered over while frozen in place. “I thought you said his name was Gene,” making Marsha “Pink” Krakow weakly shrug. They listened again.

“Well –” Jake was saying. “Let’s just go down and have a look. I’ll bring my tire iron and repair kit.” With this they went into the garage and then down the street.

“*Phew*.” Frankie “Beige” McCracken pretend wiped her brow while looking out the window. “That was a close one. I thought we were goners, what with your hot pink outfit you always sport. You’d be a *horrible* spy with that on all the time.” She titters again; she had a cute way of doing this quite a lot, cute to some that is, and Marsha was a good sport about it. Always – a – sport. She dared to glance down the street herself, but the “lemon” was out of sight.

—–

“Just on the other side here, Jake — I’ll hold that iron for you while you take a look.”

“Okay.”

*WOP*. That was the end of Jake in town for a while. Drug into the wee woods behind the laundromat with a head gash the size of Viagra Falls. He’d surface several days later, but it wasn’t a pretty picture.

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May 1, 2020 · 9:47 am

packing/unpacking

Certain Death was playing on the turntable below the “Big Open”, beckoning them forward, the white twin obscured. Blackness. The End. Starless.

—–

Marsha “Pink” Krakow watched as the moving van gradually filled up with their possessions. “Drane Hill,” she said aloud, testing the name.  A rather ugly one, she thought. Doesn’t roll off the tongue like Storybrook. Bad sign up front.

She’d looked it up. It was a mistake appellation. Drane *Lick* use to run through the area, and perhaps still does. That’s a stream — lick equals stream. But the small knob directly above the village wasn’t Drane Hill, at least originally. It was Pleasant Hill, a descriptive name. Somewhere along the line hill and stream had gotten mixed up. A confusion was created. But from where? she pondered as her father, The Man, waved her toward the now packed truck, black hair queerly flickering on and off from her present perspective, grey revealed in part.

“Time to leave, honey,” he said rather hoarsely, voice weary from commanding the movers all afternoon. “The ugly yellow living room couch your mother loves so much was the last item. Come on — get inside. We’re going for a drive.” He then beckoned The Dogg to jump in the back with rest of the furniture and boxes, now all locked down. Dogg perhaps strangely was reluctant to get up from the pavement. Another meaningful sign for Marsha “Pink” Krakow, if she was paying attention. Which she was.

She too could stand her ground and not allow the van to escape. She didn’t have speak down and say goodbye to the Big Inside, trading a closed hill for an open one and a known commodity for the unknown. There was still time to talk. She had an ace in the hole. She and SEAN had been watching her mother’s comings and goings for a while now.

“Daddy?” she said, not budging an inch. “Do — do you know that fellow Charlie Banana in town?”

“Bandana?” he queried back, getting hard of hearing with his advancing age.

“No — Ba*nan*a. Yellow. Um, like that ugly yellow couch you just loaded in the back.” And here comes the zinger…

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April 30, 2020 · 6:59 pm

Barry? Come in, Barry.

She was just finishing up Movement 3 of the Platinum Prune suite of songs, popular in Corsica Prime these days. Her hands lift from the keyboard after an ending chord of complex expression.

“There. 3 of 5 done. Or is it 6? Jeffrie, be a dear and pull up the big fat map of the continent for all to see where we are presently.”

Listening Jeffrie on a nearby couch complied.

“*4* of 5,” exclaimed Audrey, looking beyond the facade of Our Second Life into the frame of it all. “Lordly I must have been on the wrong movement after all. We’re at Drane Hill!”

She peered remotely beyond the juxtaposed black and white statues outside toward the hill above the cabin they rented last night, all out in the air and exposed and without any attached Big Inside at all, unlike the story with Storybrook and its Kraken Hill. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and her family, kin and extended, should be arriving soon to breathe in the fresh air of a new location, feet grounded again.

And I suspect wannabe famous novelist Barry X. Vampire is around as well, given the red beam and all.

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April 30, 2020 · 10:27 am

destiny

Well, I’ve explored the Xuxorr Plateau as David A.B. instructed me to. Now what?

Hold on. What’s this? Perhaps a village? A place to bed down for the night, perchance to shack up with a local lass, hehe? I sure miss Audrey. But she screwed me over with Marty and I can’t let that pass. She has deceived me, *killed* me even. No way I’m going back!

—–

“I knew you’d come back you Jeffrie Phillips.”

“Just read me some more from that magic book,” he demanded, pissed off that his hips had overridden his head once more.

Audrey nimbly leaned way over and picked it up off the rug where she had thrown it earlier in their sudden passion for reconciliation. They knew it couldn’t be damaged. She deftly thumbed to page 56 where they had left off…

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April 29, 2020 · 5:57 am

manimals

“We’re going to have to leave, Rocky. Like the Hendersons before us. Perch — his mansion has been empty for a while, maybe 3 months. We’ll have to take Dogg of course. The Mann loves that animal.”

“I see,” the anthropomorphic raccoon says from his laying stump.

“I don’t know what we’ll do about a dog park in the new place, the new town. I’m sure we won’t have anything like this.”

“No.” Then Rocky Racco, who’d been living in Storybrook 3 months himself and had no desire to leave atall, asked this question which had been on his mind for awhile. “Do you believe in sea monsters, Mrs. Mann?”

“Please. Call me Parasol. We’ve been talking together on this bench and stump for a while now, *Mr.* Racco. I call you Rocky, see. You call me Parasol.”

“Mrs. Parasol–”

“*Parasol,” interjected Parasol Mann. “Just: Parasol. The light skinned one,” she added. “Not the dark one. Things are different here in Storybrook. You have to adapt to the time, to the place. A story in a brook. Current.”

“Right…” But he couldn’t say her name aloud yet. He was overly formal like that.

An odor was in the air. The Dogg must have dumped a big one over there with The Mann, Parasol thinks, watching the end of it. Great Danes are like that. Then she remembered she hadn’t answered Rocky’s question from a while back. “Oh. To the sea monster thing: no.”

“Why not?” Rocky returned hurriedly, almost urgently. “Say, green ones. Wearing pink tutus with seaweed for hair. How about something like that?”

Not wanting to answer Rocky twice about the same subject she was firm about, The Mann approached her with The Dogg. “We’re all done.”

“I would hope,” Parasol answered, looking at the happy animal in front of her and still sniffing a bit.

“Did you have a good chat with your old pal Rocky while I was walking Dogg?” It was here that Parasol realized she hadn’t talked to Rocky about the most important thing. Her infidelity to The Mann. Her affair with Charlie Banana on those islands out in Southside Bay (Southside?). The breaking of her heart by same. Charlie Banana definitely had a way with yellow but red and blue were beyond his scope to comprehend, she’d learned. It was wrong.

But it would happen again. She got up to leave. “Goodbye Rocky. I’ll see you around.”

“Goodbye.” He still couldn’t do it, despite the circumstances.

“Ro rong,” Dogg said in parting, knowing this might be the last time he’d see his park buddy.

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April 28, 2020 · 7:08 am

the problem with 3 and 4

“You don’t understand,” pleaded Olive to SEAN “Green” Penn. “Beige — I mean, Frankie *can’t* join our ranks. We must remain three colors and three colors alone. The contracts–”

“I don’t want to hear another *word* about those f-cking contracts!” shouted SEAN over the drumming, on his 5th Corona-V of the night. “And lean back and stay 6 feet the f-ck away from me, ho.”

Olive leaned back, but pressed him on the ho part. “When did you start calling *women* that?”

“That’s what you *are*,” he replied, defiance in his voice and washing another french fry down with a swig of beer. “With, erm, that *policeman*. The older one, not the younger one. Jeep or something.”

She laid down all the cards on the table. “Listen, *SEAN*. I’m here to help.”

—–

Pink was sitting too close to Olive but Olive didn’t mind. She knew it was all a ruse.

“Weelll? Whatdaya think? Pretty good tonight. I was feeling it.”

But SEAN “Green” Penn had other things on his mind. “Listen, erm, Pink. We have to leave this town. We gotta get away.” He glanced over at Olive, understanding the truth now. He didn’t want to look too long.

“Leave?” replied Marsha “Pink” Krakow. “But we just — just *got* here again. What about Beige, I mean, Frankie?”

“We’ll just have to take her along,” responded SEAN rapidly, sobering up real quick. “*And* the creepy photography teacher. We’ll just have to drag out the story elsewhere.”

“2 weeks,” reinforced Olive to her left. “That’s all we have.” She looked down at SEAN’s big feet tapping anxiously against his bar stool, as if they were on fire.

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April 27, 2020 · 6:46 am

Somewhere

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