Category Archives: HANA LEI

00430317

She was just standing there, eating her Chinese takeout. Why, Lettuce Walk, why?

It would start a chain of events leading to her stalking much later on, strangely enough. As with many places in virtual worlds, time was not what it seemed in this here J-Town of Nightsity formerly of the US of A but now with its own path to beat.

Edward knew this had something to do with what many call the Magenta Statue looming over the crime scene, a representation of which is found in V’s J-Town apartment as perhaps given to him by Mysti for a house warming gift. 2 balls again, you’ll notice.

“I don’t want to go back in there for a while, Lexi,” Edward said while shakily removing the virtual reality goggles, the violence of the moment which would register in his brain and body for days. “You can understand.”

“I can.” And with that she simply vanished from Our Second Lyfe, taking her brain-daze shop and attached bar with her. It was the only way they could get some required distance.

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00430315

She came out of the dispensary beside the quick fix ganja vending machine V sipping chamomile tea and staring at the Black Star on its side and wondering how long Bowie had been dead. At least 8 years, she reckoned, maybe 8 1/2, the length of Fellini’s career up to the movie of that same title.

Her attention then shifted to the crime scene in the plaza slightly below her from this vantage point at the top of the cement steps, the heart of her po’ faux Nightsity, one of a handful I’ve found in Our Second Lyfe in the past month and a 1/2 or so. Another Blue Moon Kentucky killer victim, she gathered, 3rd this month of May’s June soon to slide into July. Should’ve shut down that so-called secret strip club behind the *sometimes* locked door weeks ago because of them, she thinks. Now another lies fallen.

Chef-inspector Petty studies the body outline and blood splatter volume and directions with rookie Dirk Bejirk, uselessly drawing a gun on the now vacant crime scene with no perpetrators in sight. Petty’s on loan from Aisle of Palms where absolutely nothing has happened since the end of the last photo-novel 2 months ago, not at the Perch restaurant in the Blue Feather complex during the day (chef 1/2 of his life), nor at the investigative agency in Cement Village at night (inspector 1/2 of his life). He’d even managed to get a proper amount of rest lately because he could now sleep on the job — both jobs — and get away with it. No more. Perch manager Percy Bidercy had to lay him off because of the lack of paying customers. The clients at the agency were also basically nonexistent. Put all this together and we have the current scene: Petty working in a different spot.

“It’s that strip club,” offered gun toting Dirk, still pointing at air. “City council should’ve shut it down weeks ago.”

“It’s not the strip club,” said Petty, defying common opinion. He gobbled another goober (peanut), trying to clear his mind of distractions. “Dirk, why don’t you go pick us up some food at that Chinese restaurant we passed on the way here. Bucket of Egg Foo Young for me. And a large Cokey Cola.”

“Shouldn’t drink sugary drinks, new boss.”

“Shut up and do the only thing you’re good for at this job. *Fetching*.” Petty kind of hated being so harsh to the rookie but tough love goes a long way. He’d know. Sgt. Petterson busted his balls enough in his early police/detective days to make them turn blue at times. Which, actually, also pertains to the current crime.

“3 Blue Moon crimes in the last several weeks,” he spoke to no one since a put-in-his-place Dirk had gone to fetch their food and drinks. He arrived on the scene for the first victim. He was just glad to get the job, glad of the income finally flowing into his bank account once more. Only after the 2nd did he start to get interested in the case itself, start to dig deeper into the facts. Then the 3rd here really took the cake. Fern arrived in “town”, also from a different dimension. Gave him information he couldn’t believe. We’re living in a simulation; none of this is real!

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00430311

“We’ve been controlling your dreams for a while, Fern, judging your actions and the consequences involved. We’ve been studying your tree in short.”

Fern knew to be quiet in the moment. Fern knew this was important.

“We see you’re *clearly* qualified to join our group, The Masters. What we, as a group again, aren’t sure of is if you should become president. It’s either me… or you.” He looks at the golden gun on the table. Fern wakes up.

—–

“Were any jokes involved?” asks fellow cereal eating Lichen that morning at the breakfast table, the sun rising over her right shoulder in the window behind her from Fern’s perspective, just like it did with her “rival” in the dream. Lichen’s usually twirling and swirling mouth straw kept still as the sun kept rising.

“No,” she answered. “It was all dead serious. The guy even had a skull for a head. Dead — serious.”

Lichen knew this was bad and that somehow someway she had to enter Fern’s dreams with her. A mind meld came to mind.

(to be continued)

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00430304 (Page?)

“I tried to lighten the mood early in our friendship by showing him the Tire Nutz juxtaposition, Lichen, which he didn’t know about despite being local too. You’d be proud of me that day. Two big tractor tires on top of an auto repairs shop just down the street from my dealership, with a phallic water tower in back if you look at it straight on. Obviously done on purpose. Can you picture it in your mind’s eye, Lichen my partner? Do you even remember what those things look like, how they’re configured and such?”

“The tires are nuts, right,” says Lichen, serious in the moment while trying to figure all this out with her lesser brain power. “And the Blue Balls were nearby?”

“The Kentucky sculpture, yes, with three balls instead of 2, so: moons. Made by Tennessee. This was the fulfillment of her unfinished Mars project, poked through into another dimension. But Asylum was behind all of this still.”

“So we’re beyond… the Black Wall?”

“I’m not ready to go that far, my blonde buddy. It’s beyond me right now. And you know how I don’t like limitations of the mind.”

“Dangerous,” responds Lichen to this. “Keep ’em at bay with jokes.”

“Hmm.”

—–

One sector over, Clara Bellissaria is keeping tabs on tobacco selling Redd back at her station, noting that she is a 2n1 now and that the new left is different from the old right. The white horse leads, the black horse steers. Hasn’t gone off the rails yet. But soon she knew there would have to be a decision made, and Fern through her.

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00430215

The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.
–Ladies Home Journal, 1918

“One question, brother of mine. Why does it have to be blue?”

“Because pink doesn’t work,” answered left horned Jer to right horned Benny. Opposite in so many other ways too. “I tried it with Evelyn. You know what happened to Evelyn.”

“Sure I do. She turned into a boy.”

“Did you know,” said Jer, “that in the early part of the last century the colors were reversed and that pink belonged to boys and blue to girls?”

“Sure. We know that *now*.”

“After Evelyn, yeah.”

“After Evelyn,” echoes Jer’s weight challenged brother. But he doesn’t seem to mind. He can have all the girls he wants anyway, thanks to the power.

“If we want to get back to 1919, this is the way to do it. 1 after the 909.”

“Word.”

1 year earlier:

“W–what happened to the Hills, Jer?”

“We’ve *failed*.”

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00430212

Second shift for the flying noodle kiosk seen several posts back. Night time in Nightsity. Gloria has her own way of doing things, which includes less hanging out and more work to be done. Less flying about all over the place and more being grounded and sure of herself. She dresses modestly in comparison. Ianna is such a flirt with her willy nilly flashing peace signs and all, she thinks while watching the first customer approach. Like this one. “Can I help you?” she says to Horn puppet Shelley Johnston Struthers, trying to hide the judgment in her voice about the Crazy Blue.

Nearby Edward waits patiently with the food at a different venue while Shelley retrieves her sugary drink from Gloria. She’s not happy with just unsweetened tea like her Eddie.

But this was all planned. Edwina certainly has Cokey Cola and Spriite and the like in back. Just hid that fact to Shelley, enabling her to talk to fellow operative Edward alone and compare notes on the story. 43, both knew.

“How do you think the photo-novel is going so far?” asked Edwina with the appropriate number on her cap, turned around to make it less obviously so.

“Good I suppose.” He resisted the urge to say “fair.” “I hear… we’re back in GTA V again. Fellow named Frank. A writer I think. Not a hustler this time.”

“Red book,” Edwina elaborates about the primary work involved. “Starts with Redd from Jamestown Street; works in her blue bud Page. Pages about Page too.”

“I guess we’ll see how it all unwinds.”

“I suppose we will. Look for a physical copy of the book on Mars from the future,” she added. “Red planet after all. Seek Teebestia there. Seek *Asylum.* You should leave soon. In terms of ships, take the one after 909.”

“Like Snowden, right.” He spies Shelley in the distance receiving her drink from Gloria. “Thanks for doing this, Edwina,” he said, knowing they’d probably shared enough information to get them started again. “And thanks to Gloria for being in on this too.”

“She hates the Horns as much as I do. She’ll do anything to get back at them for what they did to her sister. Have you seen Ianna? Flying all around, hanging all about. Brainwashed. Oh… here comes Shelley.”

“So that’s what happened,” said Edward quickly in a lowered tone half to himself, then turned to Shelley just entering the scene. She takes a loud sip of her Cokey Cola to show her displeasure about Edwina’s drink offerings.

“Happy?” says Edward to her as she takes a stool beside him, pulls the tray over with the two loaded cheeseburgers Edward ordered. Before the planned “incident.”

“Suppose.” An even louder sip, right in front of Edwina’s face.

—–

“Tell me some of her weaknesses,” said Gloria earlier to Edward, trying to arrange the rendezvous.

“Well… she loves sugar. Can’t do without it.”

“Bingo.”

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00430210 (Frank (acceptance of a proposition))

“The spool table at the beginning of the section was a tip off (spool tables play a part in a number of my collages). Keep your eyes peeled.

“And so I went back and replayed moving past the ‘Horn Girls’ sign at slow speed, got the correct angle with the leany telephone pole to display the situation as best as possible.

“Then I walked near the mega-mall heading down famed Grove Street and similarly blocked out the hyphen between the two words with a palm tree: no fairies with boots around, though, ha.”

“Ha,” Lexi responded in kind to the boss, not the big boss but the boss boss still. Someone to answer to. Which she just did.

“Then I waited at the Blue Balls sculpture until it got fully dark.”

“Blue Balls. And that’s the same as Blue Moons?”

“I suppose. Then, after narrowly avoiding getting hit by a train (he forgot to look both ways before crossing the tracks), I see Redd. Standing under a streetlamp to illuminate her cause.”

“Younger version. And you say you don’t remember the encounter but Redd does. She told you about it later.”

“Yeah. She said we… well, you know.”

Lexi sighs. This had been a long day at it and it was 3:30 in the morning. Time to send Edward, her Eddie, back to the loving arms of his non-wife Shelley.

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00430209

He was looking the right direction this time. The rollerskating waitress rolled in with a burger, a drink, a ketchup, a mustard as instructed. Shelley Johnston Struthers studied the abstract painting on the wall closer to the main counter while she was waiting for her own food. “Horror” it was called. She would have chosen something more neutral like “Lava.” The Everly Brothers blared from a jukebox on the opposite side of the diner.

Holographic fish spun around a pole outside, indicating we were still in some sort of Nightsity of one kind or another if we didn’t already know that fact.

I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here outside the diner with this floating food kiosk but this is Ianna and she’s either flashing someone a peace sign or indicating two of something with her outstretched hand. 2 Hills?

Might be.

Eggs are done, easy over for Edward and sunny side up for Shelley. Always. Thanks to the Horns.

Just upstairs as it turns out, checking on some of their other girls in some of their other windows.

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00430208

New Nightsity. New *street* in Nightsity, let’s say. And also TILE related obviously because of the green red yellow blue symbols above its sign.

Wanda can get her allergy pills here to make her more happy…

… but also make the shadowy hatted man she dreads so much appear more frequently. Can’t remember a darn thing after he shows up! she laments. But she hasn’t put the two together and remains oblivious to the drug’s side effect.

Fern is here to enlighten her, because she has enough trouble without this added layer and angle.

Like Redd in an alleyway 1 block over staring at a covered body she may or may not have done in with her outstanding wickedness.

And what might be her partner in crime still cooking on a person nearby.

The answers may come from this onlooking gal, perhaps the 3rd of the group, or at least the 3rd in this alleyway configuration of living, breathing beings. Yes, Derek is fully cooked now as I’m checking. So: 3.

Wait. One more.

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00430207

“I don’t trust the fish here,” said Wanda to Jenny just above a whisper.

“Oh honey, you don’t have to worry about those mercury poisoning deaths. All the fish in this town come from the *east* coast now, not west. That’s long behind us.”

“Noo,” corrected Wanda. “You don’t understand. I don’t trust — the *fish* here. Over there. Listening… I can hear them listening. I have that… talent.”

“Honey the only talent you have is coming up with conspiracy theories right and left. What was it last week? The birds reading our thoughts?”

“*Noo*.” But then Wanda remembered it was yes. Yeah, maybe she just is being paranoid. Black Sabbath Day over in the mega-mall after all. All those fairies will wear boots over there she’s sure. STOP

GO “Well, what do you think of it, Larry? Something else, isn’t it? The *Horns* make me wear it and that’s the last I’m going to say about *them*. Edward has to go along with them since they’re the big bosses. He’s only the boss boss. Besides, he seems to be paying more attention to Lexi these days than me — you know Lexi, the brain-daze wizard from 2 sectors over. They’re off to Primary Nightsity any spare moment they get. The only time I have Edward to myself is at night. Kind of ironic I guess.”

But Larry remained silent throughout all this, although he was interested as hell when Wanda and Jenny were exchanging the dialog I began this post with. Because now: he hears them too, just behind his head. Spyware all around in this town; in everything. Wanda has a right to be paranoid for certain because paranoia is truth in this case. Except for the shadowy “hatted men”. That’s the Benadryl she’s on for her allergies. Most likely.

(to be continued)

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