Category Archives: Rubi

March 13, 2017 · 7:52 am

Carr. Talk Returns

BBloch:

*Seven* book deal??

Carr.:

Why not. You asked for three (more) but let’s just stretch it out to cover all the way to the end. Not your death but just the death of your job, your steady steady income. And then we’ll also have the 11th. Collagesity may not exist in Minoa much longer, thus Wheeler’s granting of my wish to return (here). But my play form of speaking has now been rendered obsolete, it seems. Same as with Hucka D.’s before me. You already have ideas of the 4th. You see its shape in colors. Dark blue. Blue — black. Rounded corners. Complex. All will return: you, Baker Blinker, Hucka Doobie, Karoz Blogger, Wheeler. Does Wheeler have a last name yet? I think he or she should. You need David Bowie going forward. He is a core. He lives inside Wheeler (for now).

BBloch:

Karoz should work on his TILE religion. A return to Crabwoo could be interesting. Peter SoSo.

Carr.:

So so many directions to go. You couldn’t have predicted Snowlands. You thought…

BBloch:

Sorry to interrupt, Carrcassonnee, but it’s Wheeler Wilson. (pause) Or Wilson Wheeler if the shoe is on the other foot.

Carr.:

You will analyze the first 3 books. You will identify trends, patterns. You will speak of them separately. I can come back at times and help but I am not around much any more. And as I was saying…

BBloch:

Wheeler Dale, Baker suggests again.

Carr.:

If you please, Baker Bloch. My time is limited (here).

BBloch:

Sorry. Just came to me. Go ahead. I won’t interrupt again.

Carr.:

You *thought* you would head to Muff-Bermingham for the end of this one (Book III, aka “Collagesity 2016-2016 Winter or C1617W), but you head to Snowlands on Sansara instead. This was always in the cards, in the books. But yet you find Muff-Bermingham within. That cabin. What is the name? Pope Project?

BBloch:

No Carr., that is (the title of) a different (Clifford) Simak book. This one is Way Station. It was defined several times in the book, once by me.

Carr.:

There you have a secret room. The Table can meet there. You do not need the Blue Feather. You can dismantle it. You can dismantle all of Carrcassonnee… Collagesity I meant. I mean. But I am not mean when I say this. I will be dismantled.

BBloch:

So the seven book deal doesn’t depend on the survival of Collagesity in Minoa?

Carr.:

Not in Minoa, no.

BBloch (after a pause):

Well, tell me more about the upcoming books. Especially the next one, the 4th.

Carr.:

Open doors left at end of 3. 4 is 1. This time you go to a (foreign) place at the end and stay. Snowlands. You have already promised Woody Woodmanson that you would stay. You said he is the key. So you must stay. Wheeler is there in her Way Station snug against Livigno. Also in Livigno lives or lived another two headed being you didn’t even get to mention in Book 3.

BBloch:

No. But one of his/her paintings is on display.

Or actually it is a Piet Mondrian, which always catches my eye in Second Life…

Carr.:

… because of Pietmond, yes. Piet Mond. And Mabel from that Gravity Falls, and her brother, are from Piedmont. *Old* Mabel will stare at that painting and remember. She will remember Pietmond and Piedmont together.

BBloch:

How is that possible?

Carr.:

You ask me to tell you the future…

BBloch:

Right. I did. So what else?

Carr.:

Arosa obviously. Satan Santa. A love interest for Snowmanster who is both man and woman at once. All Santas. There are many. Much to be explored. All the snowmen or “snowies” as well. Meribel — you haven’t tapped much into its past and the college and Plain Wayne and Mid Hazel. Why did Hazel have Wayne killed?

BBloch:

Reversing that, why did the town of Hazelwood decide to disappear into Waynesville, North Carolina in, let’s see, 1995?

Carr.:

Wheeler-Wilson again. Forwards and backwards and backwards and forwards at once. Plain Wayne had to be murdered because he was, well, he was just simply plain. Too plain. Mundane as the Potter people might say. Muggles?

BBloch:

I think so. And so Mid Hazel’s college is something like Hogwarts.

Carr.:

Maybe. We talk about it and it begins to take shape. Mid Haze’s woods… put up a picture. That’s where the slaughtering happened.

BBloch:

Alright.

Carr.:

Very very white, yes. Close and white the trees (are). Hard to see in there. Yet you must. You must find more inside Story Room. Freezer, locker. Locked up. Safe. Open. Door. Muggles. Thank you.

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February 25, 2017 · 8:16 am

The late Mrs. Squaredpants.

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Snowmanster sat on her couch, soaking it all in. Home again… so good. But where was everyone? Spongebub? Snowbob?

After a while the truth began to settle in. She was late. She had missed something. But what? Snowmanster went to the window; stared out at the familiar Rubi Woods. The purple hummingbird below her outside twittered loudly.

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“Meeting Place,” she mutters, staring at the appropriate flat spot of the forest. “That’s where I’ll find out.”

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February 25, 2017 · 6:08 am

Hearts 02

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She was back at Cry I. but underwater now. Down to a putter: end of hole.

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This was the night she met Dr. Low with red and blue eyes. Splitsville.

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But first… some lemonade at the conveniently placed Joker’s Wild bar to her left. Old Grey awaits through the Red Door.

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—–

“Guess it’s time for that heart to heart, Old Mabel,” she starts. “Lemonade’s on me tonight. Karl!” she then yells, banging her cane on the bar counter. She waits just a second and bangs again. “Rhoda! Whoever!”

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“Oh it’s you. ‘Bout time. Well… a 24 oz can of Pabst Blue Ribbon for me and the little lady will have a lemonade. Start a tab.”

“I’m 113 years old, *Old* Grey,” the Martian proclaims defiantly. She then glared at Snowbob behind the counter. The last time she saw the hybrid being was in the mystery cabinet or closet or whatever. She didn’t really like what was happening there, but perhaps it was all a dream.

“Yellow is missing,” he said, staring back. “Replaced by green!”

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“He’s right this time, you know,” agreed Old Grey. The Martian now noticed the lemonade already in front of him.

Splitsville.

—–

Snowmanster exits the closet.

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February 24, 2017 · 8:29 am

Log in.

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Robot Derak Jones distinctly said this was where the other end of the pipe is, its “far side” as he called it. But there’s a log here instead. He said it was a disguise. “You must use your new eyes,” he implored. “Your New *Island* eyes. This is how things often work here.”

Baker Bloch looks over at the statue of the Great Old One to his right and knows, er, one is related to the other. How’s *that* for new eyes.

Both terminal points of the “pipe” lie at latitude 121 of their respective sims, which are caddycorner to each other. At least at one point along the line, the pipe appears to bend roughly 30 degrees. But that is just assuming we’re dealing with a simple, linear affair. What about the name of the beach here?: Sharp’s Angle. Are there sharper angles within? Is it a complex affair instead, perhaps much more so?

The name given to this log is “[MnM] Forest bed”. Here’s the accompanying description: “Long time ago… She is the guardian of forest… and now, She is the mother of forest…” Could this possibly have something to do with Rubi’s Unch?

—–

Meanwhile, Old Mabel is dreaming again at her Cry Island. Like Baker Bloch, she stands in front of a huge hollow log, one leading to the VWX fairy cottage visited numerous times before. Strangely she’s Old Grey in the dream, Baker’s faux mother who is actually “Wheeler the Complex,” as the Martian has started to call her.

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Old Mabel knows that if she doesn’t figure out what’s going on soon enough, they — Baker Bloch, Wheeler, Karoz and herself — will be forever trapped on this infernal island. She’s visited the downtown and the community college Robot Derak Jones teaches at. Nothing is good here, like rotting fruit. Spells abound. It’s a witch island.

The hummingbird flies off Old Grey’s back and into the tunnel…

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—–

*Meanwhile*… Wheeler is dreaming about falling asleep while waiting for another phone call from Snowbob over what’s actually going on.

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February 22, 2017 · 7:27 am

Apart

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Buurb walks up to the Red Umbrella packed with Baker Bloch’s collages and wonders why he’s here at this juncture of roads. “I *finally* get the courage to enter Collagesity to find my dream lady and she is gone,” he mutters to himself. “New Island is where she went, the furry bartender over at the mall said. New Moon Island.”

Meanwhile…

“I hate this place.”

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February 22, 2017 · 6:35 am

Hearts

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Old Mabel was in an unfamiliar place. She tried to get her bearings. “DJ Ned — Heartsdale,” she read. “This must be Heartsdale,” she concluded, and then found herself buying some heart shaped glasses from a nearby store named Blown-Apart.

She stepped out into the street and had a rethink. “Not Heartsdale,” she said now, “but in the heart of things still.” She recognized the junction of Old Cannon and North roads — barely. “Collagesity. Far in the future.” She looked around. “But where are all of Baker Bloch’s collages?”

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A person approached Old Mabel from the south that she soon learned was named Buurb. He will be both familiar and unfamiliar to my many blog readers. Stay tuned!

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February 22, 2017 · 5:01 am

Facets

I must tell the full story of the Facets sometime in this blog. I admittedly lost track of them because, for years, the Collagesity town directory has incorrectly listed them as the Fawcetts. Tom is the custodian for the TILE Tower over in Rubi, once again not to be confused with the Temple of TILE in Collagesity North now. His wife Margorie runs a small museum out of their Gloomy Gus home next door, a duplicate structure to Baker Blinker’s only about 100 yards away to the west. Like many entities who live in or near the woods, the Facets are true demons, although, like so many as well, they desire to become non-possessed avatars one day. But casting out harmful spirits almost always comes at a price, and there’s only so much money I have to spread around. So for now, they’re stuck next to the forest, unable to move far beyond its boundaries. But look how happy they are whilst inside! The unburdening from constrictions there can be likened to hard core nudists with the sudden freedom to shed clothes.

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Dancing Facets.

Here they are on the top floor of the TILE Tower, enjoying the view of Collagesity with demonic status locked back in place. Can you dig it?

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The centerpiece of Marjorie’s museum is a familiar object to regular blog readers. The Facets have designs to procure the matching LUCKY sign from former Rubi neighbor Furry Karl the bartender, by force if needed.

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Wonder where the war between the Greens and the Grays started? Well, in a way, it began right here. The battle for LUCKY.

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“Suck on *these* lucky charms, hoop boy.”

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February 20, 2017 · 7:45 am

Precious

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Holding back, Urch found Precious Snowflake upstairs sitting in front of the mission’s computer console. She was unsure of her feelings about the small, beautiful blue fairy lady. Urch had known for quite some time that she preferred girls over boys, and initially she certainly had a crush on Precious that wouldn’t stop. But now this had started to change or morph. A dream being had come into her life.

“I know you’re over there, Urch. Your stomach!”

Urch laughed about her tummy rumblings. Hard to tell when they’re coming from inside you if others can hear them. Now she knows.

“And about the dreams — you’ll be happy to learn that some of them are already recorded, as I’m reading now. (But) the girl you took into the woods is looking for you in the wrong place. I see an island lit, or I should say, *un*lit by a new moon. Darkness all around. The girl is in darkness.” She turns toward Urch; such a beautiful face, she thinks. “You must find her or all is lost.”

“I *want* to,” speaks Urch. “But how?”

Precious was frank. “Do you still love me?”

“Of course,” states Urch.

“But not in that way any longer,”

“I don’t know,” says Urch. “We haven’t done anything to, um, consumate it.”

“You know I am untouchable,” replies Precious Snowflake. “If you need pleasure in that manner there’s always Tronesisia. She was built for all that.”

“Not interested again,” replies Urch, having heard this suggestion quite a number of times now from various camp members.

“Do you know who I am? Who I *really* am?” She turned toward Urch.

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“You are Precious Snowflake,” Urch says routinely. “You are yet another refuge in our camp, having come here after the great war that saw Bennington and Ob-blong combine forces against Fairywold.”

“Yes, I am that. I want to show you something. Have you seen my bones?” She shows Urch her “bones.”

“Quite a number of times,” Urch replied. “Still not sure what it means.”

“And my skeleton?” Her figure then alters even more into blue abstraction.

“Several times, yes,” Urch states.

“And how about *this*?”

Pink had switched with blue. It was a new development to Urch. “No,” she replies. “I haven’t seen you change even more beyond the bones and skeleton. Who are you?”

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“Guess.”

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February 20, 2017 · 5:41 am

Mission

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“Great,” whispers Urch to Turch. “We have to sit next to Smelly Santy; got here too late.”

Luckily Turchin McGurchin was perhaps the only person in the hobo camp who even compared in odor to “SS”, as everyone called him, and correspondingly minded less than anyone else about sitting within his circle of stench. Barely hesitating, he plopped his old bones next to him and offered salutations. Urch took a deep breath and then took the seat opposite Turch.

At the other table of the mission sat Jim Jackson Jones Johnson directly behind Urch, who we’ve met, then beside him the old man who likes to read books over at Furry Karl’s Joker’s Wild bar, then caddycorner to him another shabbily dressed man reading a book who looks suspiciously like the Librarian in a new guise, and lastly Tronesisia, the pleasure bot of the camp, although no one acknowledges her by that title. Currently she’s playing around with a giant 3×3 rubic’s cube, and having no difficulty getting each of its sides to turn a solid color again and again after a reset, the object of the game. She’s very fit in both mind and body, as the camp found out 2 years back when she first showed up as another one of those exiles from cursed Bennington.

There was a polite period of waiting before Turch moved to the food buffet on the opposite wall. Everyone else had done eating, with paper plates and utensils already disposed of. Despite the stomach rumblings, Urch decided to beg off food this morning, saying she had a lot on her mind and didn’t want to weigh her body down. “Oh?” said the stinky but kind Santa being at her table, trying to help. “Did your brain eat something disagreeable in the last several days? That could do it.”

“I don’t think that’s quite it,” offered Urch, use to SS’s strange words.

“Then perhaps a parrot brought the disease in from a foreign tropical country, perhaps that one with the long coastline. Seas breed disease. That’s why the one word is nested in the other.”

“Could be,” Urch said, trying to agree with Smelly Santy so the conversation will end in this direction. “How’s Farmington doing? she then asked. “I heard you went back there for a couple of days.”

“Nice in late autumn when the leaves are dive bombing off the trees and creating bloody colors on the ground. But this is early spring apparently.”

“Then how was it?” asks Urch again. She was use to this drill about having to ask the same question to Smelly several times to get a type of proper answer.

“The sand blurred the dimensions between people into fuzzy cantaloupes. Dust everywhere. Hoofprints. You know the story.”

“I do,” Urch began again. “And how was it by the way?”

“Oh kids are fine. The wife is asking for the alimony check. The elves are back at work.” Smelly Santy paused, then corrected himself. “*Out* of work again. It’s early spring, right?”

“Right, SS.”

Turch now returned to the table with a plate containing a huge egg and piece of bacon, obvious products of the Bennington experiments. Suddenly glad she wasn’t eating this morning, Urch excused herself to check the upstairs. She was looking for someone in particular.

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“Get me a glass of water while you’re up, Urch,” Turchin McGurchin requested before she left, nodding toward the food bar. “And don’t forget about telling me about your dreams,” he then demanded. He was hoping that Urch would spill the beans wine while he ate, but there’s that condition of hers to cope with. Poor Urch, he thought. Always running away from food and eating.

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February 19, 2017 · 11:45 am

Home

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Urch finally woke up after what seemed like weeks of dreaming. But it still took her almost an hour to physically move away from the bed. Everyone else had already gone.

She took advantage of the solitude; kept thinking and reviewing the series of dreams in her head…

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Finally she realized she was hungry. Everyone else was probably already at the mission beside Fal Mouth Moon receiving breakfast. But she still dawdled.

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One floor up, she met Jim Jackson Jones Johnson also hanging behind the others. They sat down on the couch which doubled as his bed. He complained about the poor condition of his back for half an hour. Urch moved on…

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… to the third floor. Old Turchin McGurchin still hadn’t woke up. Urch decided he needed to be roused. Sometimes when they sleep this late they’re actually dead. Urch was greatly relieved to see the old man stir after being yelped at.

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“God?” he began. He looked up from the bed at Urch, eyes focusing. “Oh… it’s only you Urch. Breakfast time?”

“Sure,” said Urch. “Wanna walk over there with me? I’ve got some more dreams for you to analyze.” Turchin McGurchin was probably Urch’s best friend at the hobo squat ruin they called home, a kind of, um, poor man’s father figure.

“First I have something to show to you,” Turchin replied. “Top floor,” he commanded.

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“Newcomers, Urch. Call themselves The Martins. Like the bird.”

Urch kept looking at the Spookmobile still parked on the lift inside the garage. It seemed familiar.

“I believe I might have dreamed about them last night,” she says to Turchin McGurchin. “I believe they have… a pet. Not a bird but a snake.” She was suddenly remembering more. “A bigger snake that turned into a smaller snake. Shrunk down.” She moved her hands apart and then slid them together as an emphasizing gesture. Urch then realized or remembered that *she* was such a shrunk down being. She was John Jack Lemon, old man and child at once. She sat still for several minutes.

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“You okay, Urch?”

She roused herself, then got up from the ledge. “Sure, Turch. Let’s go get that breakfast. Lemme help you up.”

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