Something is missing here, investigating Jeffrey Phillips speculates later. Better get back to Iowa, but maybe that’s it. The missing piece — letter — is in Iowa.
Just a statement of fact.
Find me, she thought, hiding behind one of those many white trees.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0410, Hana Lei^^, Iowa
She was still sleeping when the sun rose…
… the book of dreams opened up behind her.
What would it have in store for the great Horned being today?
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Alysha had that dream where she was stuck on the moon. Back to reality, yikes!
Earlier:
“Sure you don’t want a shot at riding the bull, sweety?” asked handsome Field who had ditched his hat. “10 seconds and we’re in.” This was an audition, she understood. A role in an important important film yet to be made, yet to be thought of, even. ‘All hail the Wild White Whale,’ she recalled, and now kind of knew more about what it meant. This was no bull.
Black cat Gar looked on, understanding the same.
—–
“Is this thing even working? Testing, testing…”
Good thing she’s a multi-instrumentalist.
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“Yosemite,” she cussed, seeing where it came from.
She knew the picture of the “Monolith…” *had* to be here. But where?
Suddenly she was gone, a piece of art herself. The price she paid for a photograph.
Or was it a painting? She’ll never know now.
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“What are you looking for, Crystal? A lemon? This is not a lemon. But: close! Over here. Behind the blue and green pillow thingies. Beyond the small forest of trees. Persimmons? Never mind that now. To the lemon (!).
“The boy is trying to tell us something. A magic mirror (!). I know, cut down on the parentheses. And the exclamation marks. And the capital letters, semi-colons and colons, parentheses within parentheses (etc.).
“It’s Ketty! Richard Ketty. Not Petty! He’s different. He’s from Randolph County. Wait!”
Crystal said she would take it from here, and: thanks (!).
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Her lawn looks like a meadow
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!
“The car wanted to live. The car wanted to *stay*.”
“Great, W. Can I call you W. still?”
“I am the two within the one, the complex within the simple. Look for me. Balance.”
“O-kay.”
“Continue, then.”
“*You* continue.”
—–
“We are in the car. We are the rib, the singular, heading to the complex, the duality. Eve. Adam from. 2 in 1. 2 brained.”
“And what does that mean?”
“We have to stick to the simple.”
“But we are heading to the double. Double heads.”
“No (!).”
“Yes.” Simpler. Smaller. No exclamation point; no capital letters. Just acceptance. 2n1.
“What about left leaning?” I grasped, trying not to Fall.
—–
Flipping to the Orient, I knew this was about me, then. The red green blue yellow “tiles” in the back were me. The colorless, X-ed out head openings (“hello!”) of the Zebra are me, ready to reveal themselves in the move away from occident. Me. Sozzy Bozo has a mask over his eyes — similar. It should be over his mouth. Point made.
—–
I had to incarnate again soon, before the dawn’s early light at least. Else the night would be “wasted.” I decide a variety of photos would do the trick. Presenting: Snapshots from the East.
This was a kind of creepy one. Glimpse into the Abyss, brr. So cold.
Then lightening up as the red green blue yellow return. Goal carts! (red starts)
Traveling further back, 2 toys mark the entrance to a passage, perhaps of life itself. Ur-state. One toy, the blue one, did not “evolve” past the second. Both remained simple. We are onto something. Not dodging an issue no more.
We are now even before the start of the race out back. Orange appears across from the green, from the blue. Out of place. King Bill. He is whole. He is *orange*. Here is where we should have started. And so I placed myself there, before the beginning. Let’s try again.
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“I miss Baker Blinker,” confesses Baker Bloch to Wheeler afterwards. The story was interesting fer sure. Morgan, pheh. Tess… hypercube. Wormhole again! They were indeed connected, like two particles that act as one over a distance. But not the 2 Bakers, queerly enough. Not any more. Wheeler had usurped.
—–
“Are you ready to order?” Peter Soso, back from a watery grave or something. So hard to remember some of the characters, or at least their backstories. So many now. Must simplify. I’ll make it a 2022 resolution. But the presence of Soso here was already complicating matters. He was blunt. He was not in the mood to chit chat. He probably didn’t even remember me, if we’d ever met. I looked into his merman eyes, scanning for recognition. I remember him being with Prissy, a mer-creature like himself. But then…
“I’ll have a hamburger,” said Wheeler across from me. “Extra blood.”
Disgusting. “Veggie burger for me.” In tandem, like I said. I set them up she bowls them over. Again and again.
“Very well, sir.” He turned to Wheeler. “And sir.” He took our menus and made his way back to the kitchen down the pier to place the orders.
Well he obviously doesn’t remember *you*, I thought about Wheeler. Along with her “man suit”, she was wearing her flip style hair tonight, which made me start thinking of Baker Blinker. Tag team wrestlers they were, at least at one point in time: Flip and Magika Bean. I had to ask. But first there was the little matter of her Morgan story.
(to be continued)
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“I found something, W.”
“I did too (!). You go first.”
“Wellll.” STOP
START “You know how the last photo-novel ended in 256, when Norris, aka Harry finished downloading the entire Red Room, as Casey One Hole entered and saw his own Ass — edness.”
“Yeahhh?”
“I found the continuation. It’s a wormhole.”
“Funny.”
“How?”
“Not hahaha but hmmm… kind of funny.”
“Kind of funny or fully funny, in a hmmm way?”
“Do you want me to continue or not?”
what B., aka Baker Bloch found
“Okay your turn, W.”
“Oh, mine’s nothing in comparison. Really (!).”
“Try me.” Baker Bloch knew they worked better in tandem than separately. She’d found something.
“Okay (!). If you insist.”
“Just put a picture in the blog like I did. In this post.”
“What post?”
“You know what post.”
“I Don’t Know, hahaha.”
“Hmmm.”
“I know. I’m delaying. But for a reason.”
“*Where* did you find this? How about that to begin.”
“Morgan.”
(to be continued)
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Back in Whippersnapper, Baker waited outside for a new Christmas shipment of antique art (and pottery) to the Blue Baron’s.
“Monolith…?” he questioned when it finally arrived from ports unknown. “Let me check,” offered Chuck Wakdins the delivery man, and looked down his inventory list. “Which one,” he finally said, “Ansel Adams or, let me see, Greg Ogden? New guy apparently.”
Suc-cess!
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Sunklands 