Category Archives: Black Ice

December 21, 2020 · 9:21 am

Bart Smipson

He dared to skate right across main street in broad daylight coming back from the Giant Tiger when he spotted it to his right.

“Whoa ho ho. A new arcade! How could I have *missed* this before??” Naturally he pulled in and started checking out the games.

“Pac-Man. Laaame, pheh.”

“But *Doom*, he he. Yeah, this is what we’re talking about. Wait till I tell… wait, what’s the name of my best friend? Millgate. Yeah, that’s it. Wait till I tell Millgate.”

He plays Doom for several hours and becomes so immersed that when he finishes he is in a different world.

“Whooooa. What happened to *Picturetown*??”

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December 20, 2020 · 5:12 pm

short for Grotesque

After all the actual avatars had moved over to Perch (diner) for after-meeting drinks, Gordie Down, formerly Curled Paper, said his first meaningful word for no one except us, the reader and the writer of this here blog. “Grote,” he uttered, not loud enough to attract the attention of others. Instantly he felt his physique change, growing in some spots and retreating in others; no need for Baker to get those apples. For the first time, he-turned-to-she began to dream. The result was a whole book which remains unpublished to this day, “Winesap” taking its place in the instant of the moment.

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December 20, 2020 · 5:11 pm

Sunkland Institute’s Blue Feather

If only they could have brought the ocean all the way up to the docks here and made NWES City a true port, thinks Baker Bloch, staring out at same. Maybe Sammie Parr, Tenty, the rest could have been saved, maybe the Black Ice Market here would still be thriving and providing talky tubes for beloved pets, etc. He sighs, turns.

If Spunky’s also goes that may be it for this side of town. And if one part crumbles then the rest fall as well, all 4 jigsaw pieces. And that means the 5th, orange, Sunklands Institute in effect, will be meaningless too. Might as well move it back to Iris, then; Bella (squirrel) could have proved that.

Speaking of which, I must get to the Blue Feather meeting over there, called specifically because of new developments in Bella, Belle- seri… sare… whatever (think “Bell is serial”, baker b.!).

—–

“So you see,” he says a bit later at the meeting, comprised of himself, Wheeler Wilson, Grassy Noll, Chef-Detective Keat Owens, and Gordie Down (formerly Curled Paper), just like before, “this wheel of avatars found by Bixyl — lemme see (Baker squints at the media feed), looks like Shuftan — occurred just after the completion of photo-novel 22, the one prior to the current one.”

“Hi!” repeats “Winesap” reading, light bulb headed Gordie Down. Baker and the others look at him, jointly wondering if he’s ever going to become a functional member of The Table they all sit around and participate in. Baker also makes a mental note here to get those apples for him as requested by Wheeler.

“Yes, hello once again, Gordie.” Baker decides to try to prod more out of him. “What do *you* think of this circle or wheel, Gordie? Do you think it represents the nodal photo-novels 1-4-7-10-13-16-19-22, like we talked about before? At the time, Wheelhouse (sim) was at the top of the developing continent and Wheeler (sim) at the bottom. This circle was created just over from Wheelhouse. We think it’s All Orange, Gordie (Wheeler and Grassy nod in agreement), but… what about you?”

“Hellooo!”

No success on that front! They’ll try again another night.


Baker discussing the same concept with dummy Chef-Detective Keat Owens in photo-novel 22.

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December 18, 2020 · 9:25 am

Bake’s

“Peppins, Pippins, Pippens… the name shifted all around down through the months, now almost years. It all had to do with that Peppi machine: that was the center it all revolved around, The Diamond some call it. David A.B. put his heart and his brain into designing that machine; literally for the brain. He knew what was just around the corner. A beat up old station wagon with an Illinois license plate reading BDR529, intent on harm. He didn’t have much time.”

“But what does this *mean*?” ask Poetry Dancer, with Jeffrie Phillips for the moment. Until Charlene Brown the punk woke up about 11 o’clock. Morning walk he could say, building up a sweat by running in place for a couple of minutes. Poor Charlene — so involved in her cryptozoology dissertation writing late into the night that she was oblivious to the transgressions. Jeffrie was taking full advantage of that. The bastard. But a smart bastard, perhaps the worst kind.

“It *means*, my dear, that the death was planned; on purpose. We must track down this Sammie Parr, who is in the collages after all. She is an amalgamation of 5, just like me. That means…”

“Pot-D. *Sorry*. I mean Pan-Z of course.”

“Yes. A rival member, perhaps rogue. *Obviously* rogue because of the murder and all. David A.B.’s brain must have been in there all right.”

“But what will they do with it *now*?” queries Poetry Dancer further, no ugly in her face for the moment.

“They got him to the hospital through trickery, just like before. The brain I mean, and not the host.”

“Of course.”

“It’s Mid Hazel,” he suddenly intuited, putting collage pieces together in his own brain. “She’s up to something.”

“Oh dear.”

“More… *cake*?” he said after a weighted pause.

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December 16, 2020 · 7:33 pm

rose hips

Sammie Parr visits the Red Umbrella and has a hard time understanding.

—–

“I do kind of like this piece,” she says to her devoted boyfriend of 4 years walking in from an adjacent room on the 3rd and last floor of the gallery, one Richmond Petersburg of Norfolk Virginia, out on leave from the navy.

“Art… like me.” She laughs at her mistake, perhaps a Fraudian slip. “I mean, *red* like me. The Art word.”

Richmond comes beside her and also studies from across the rail. He has an eye for detail. “Like the jigsaw piece as well, honey, the one at the top sort of holding the other 3 up.” He points. “The blue, the green, the yellow. It’s like they’re, I don’t know, being drug through the air. Airborn: yes, that’s it.”

Big nosed Achilles T. Pippins studying the next collage over suddenly sneezes and everyone in the gallery and more becomes infected. Stay safe out there!

—–

Later in the hospital, Achilles sees this same collage “open up” for him (as best it could) and he is able to pass the red woman attracting his attention so much before right up. Higher goals he has now! The gates swing wide.

Devoted wife of 40 years Mary Pippins is inconsolable (*sniff*).

Sammie Parr and Richmond Petersburg are fine and have forgotten all about meeting schnozzle cursed Achilles in the gallery. “I like your red outfit,” he said before parting.

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December 13, 2020 · 7:37 am

boy or girl

The 4th and probably last Squishy Pickle on the Pickles, 01 and 02, one surrounded by water in a shallow bay this time.  This would be the second found on Pickle 02, the green one as opposed to the sand colored one we’ve seen Sandman and Ant-man and a couple of others at.

Someone was waiting for me out front. All Orange. But never mind that right this moment…

Returning to the merged map seen several posts back, we can now mark the 4 Squishy Pickles by green (Pickle 02) and yellow (Pickle 01) pins. A rough square emerges, perhaps close enough to indicate a master plan. I’ll just number them in the order discovered, starting with the one next to what’s called the Hideaway or Hideout, which links the whole concept, strangely enough, to Rosehaven. This is most likely how the witch Mid-Hazel moved from one to the other, and, now, All Orange too.

So… returning to that…

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December 12, 2020 · 4:49 pm

alchemy

That belt is giving me strange dreams, she thinks after waking up and recalling. Must stop using it so much.

She goes to check on Toddles. “Toddles?” Not in the bedroom, not under the covers. “Land sake’s child.” She calls downstairs. “Are you down in the kitchen!?” She descends the stairs — not there. She searches the entire house. Her precious precocious grandchild is gone! The belt did something to her that night. Broke through the drugs that Toddles had carefully and stealthily dispensed into her bedtime toddy, as was common. The belt doesn’t want Toddles to succeed in her mission of growing up way too soon so that she can save the world, several worlds in fact. All Orange.

If she wasn’t so worried about Toddles, Alice Farrowheart would have noted that the belt was gold instead of steely grey in the dreams, and wondered what that meant. It too is growing in power. A face off (to the death?) is probably in the works.

—–

“Grounded!” I say. “GROUNDED. And gimme those drugs you use to doctor my toddy. You’ll grow up to be a heroin addict or worse and put me in an early grave, Toddles.” Alice Farrowheart, her dear dear “Granny,” couldn’t stop shaking her head; the belt did this, the psychic toddler realized. Alice F. held out her hands. “DRUGS,” she demanded. “I want to see what you’ve come up with in that wee evil noggin of yours.” Toddles produced 2 pills, one red and one blue, from the pocket on her baby jumper. “Take them,” she said. It wasn’t a request. It was an order. Time to pull out the big guns, hypnosis and not what. Toddles had collected a bag full by now.

(*swallow*)

—–

“Where were you Toddles? I was looking all over for you. I was worried!”

“Just getting some milk for me and Whimpers (cat).”

“Aww,” Grammy let off. “That’s so *sweet*.”

—–

“Phew. That was close!” she admitted to milk sipping Whimpers after Grammy puttered off back to bed.

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December 12, 2020 · 11:12 am

fulfilled

“Oh no, Toddles. Those are much too big for you. Let’s go over there to the children’s section if your heart’s set on new shoes today.”

“I want *those*,” she demanded, quite unlike the kind, precocious, precious little thing we’re accustomed to in this here blog and accompanying photo-novel. She knew what they were. A one way ticket out of here. “*Those*,” she reinforced, holding her point. Holding, holding…

—–

“Land sake’s, child. You’ll never be able to walk back across town with those things on.”

“I’ll manage.” She’ll grow into them soon enough.

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December 12, 2020 · 8:26 am

00230406

“In looking at them, Hucka D., it seems the green one is the only pickle. One Pickle, then, not two.”

“No, both are Pickles. Both have the Squishy Pickle restaurants. The sand colored one in fact has two, which makes up for the (flimsy) shape in my humble estimation.”

“Takes two to know,” ventures Baker Bloch.

“Suppose. (pause) Let’s get this over with, then.”

Baker merges the pictures before them.

“A jumbled mess,” offers Baker. “And probably a copyright infringement as well.”

“From the future.”

Baker Bloch stares. “Adam and Eve, pheh.” He sighs. “The Mann was right in stepping away from all this. Where is The Mann anyway?”

“Maybe that’s next.”

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December 11, 2020 · 10:57 am

00230405

“Two pickles,” she explained later. “One yellow or sand colored: here. Then the one over there that’s more green.”

“Like my apples!” exclaimed listening and looking Harrison Ford Jett to her side in Spunky’s cafe down on the docks. Charlene’s home away from home, now that she’s in the thick of her dissertation. Detailed description of Knob Noster coming up next! Charlene looks over at her good friend Harrison, then down at his apples. Still in place. Still hasn’t been sold to the highest bidder.

“I suppose so,” she realized, and turned back to the girl holding the pickles in the doctored picture on her computer screen (she wants to be a doctor, after all). “But: sand. Sandman. The sandy pickle. That came first, although it was formed second.”

“What does that mean?” Harrison F. Jett instinctively held one of his apples then the other, as if testing they were the same. Then he turned red as a winesap as he realized Charlene noticed what he was doing. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Force of habit — I’ve been thinking a lot about them later. What it would be to be without them.”

“Well… maybe that fits into this as well.” She puts hand to chin while activating deep thinking mode. She scrolls to the next picture, undoctored this time. She’s losing vision of the future. Detailed description of “Knobby” will be difficult, nay impossible to achieve. She faces the prospect that it could be a stumbling block on her way to fame and glory.

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