Category Archives: Maebaleia/Satori

November 27, 2023 · 4:13 pm

Going Back

The name of the city had changed from Cassandra to just Cass. What she knew as the Seraph Club was now the Serapis Club. She had to look that up. Old Graeco-Egyptian god associated with a Jesus-like cult. But in Our Second Lyfe, well, an interesting topic. Cult in that case headed by a doctor — looks like a Mouse. Make that: looks like Mouse (for a name (according to an attached notecard she found)). And this Cass City? Azore Islands alternate or parallel history. Pyramid, hidden from the public eye after a brief exposure. Atlantis at the bottom of everything and sloowly making its way back to the top again. She’d seen the Abyss inside. Abyss, she repeated in her mind. Dr. Mouse and his Serapis might have a point.

Better get some human clothes to go along with a human form asap. This situation needs investigating!

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November 26, 2023 · 3:16 pm

crossfire

When they had finished with her hair, it had turned fiery gold again, with a corresponding change in clothes. Marsha “Pink” Krakow was back, baby.

Took a while to properly cool off, though. “Thanks guys!”

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November 26, 2023 · 9:00 am

00410202

Mouse leaves the scene, happy with the results. “Taxi!!”

—–

“Someone’s coming,” spoke the top.

“Must be that girl again,” said the girl of the two.

The girl entered the chapel.

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November 23, 2023 · 7:55 pm

00410201

The day after Thanksgiving. Normalcy returns to the small virtual village of Amiable with plenty of leftover goodies from the festival, a huge success. Corn shucked, weighed and balanced, and then baked into bread and other products; sweet roots based music produced aplenty; sweets and refreshments served all around.

—–

“Offer you a drink, Doctor?”

“Not now Victoria.” He wanted to keep his eyes glued to the front of the club, for Dr. Grayson was waiting on someone, another doctor he assumed. The place: Cass City, queen burg of Satori’s Deep South. The time: 1939 apparently. Just before the great war that never was. Thanks to the book.

Dr. Mouse walks into the Serapis Club. “Check your coat, Doctor?”

“Not now, Victor.” He had a mission to fulfill. Bring what he assumed was another doctor up to speed. And then have him take his place. Hopefully.

(to be continued)

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August 1, 2023 · 1:38 am

00390313

“‘I look like a prettier Jesus.’ Love it. Do you recall?”

“No,” replied Clemenesta, not as convinced as her partner Laura about the ineffectiveness of Christianity in comparison to TILE. Or FILE.

“Back behind the church. Underneath the neon sign — practically neon itself with the day-glo. And then there was something else behind it, away from the dumpster.” Laura tries to make out the words in her mind but can’t. “Nah, it’s gone.”

That dumpster is sin, thought Clemenesta here, drawing a line. I do not accept the eradication of the rank in total favor of the FILE; I will not accept that. Nor the things written upon it. “Who’s prettier than Jesus?” she decides to word her skepticism. “You?”

“*All* of us, maybe,” replied Laura, waving her arms around the bar even though no one else is there — oh, here comes someone, she then sees. Two young people walking in. Probably tourists in town what with the look in their eyes. Maybe from the hills.

“I think it’s *one* particular person you believe is a prettier Jesus,” spoke Clemenesta, acting like a maw now, which she was. To Laura, who was her daughter. “I think you know who that is. You worship *her* — try to weasel your way out of that (!).”

Laura thought of the 7th, and what *could* happen there if one allowed it. The pew was all set up. The gap between humanity and God filled. Blue and yellow blue and yellow blue and yellow. And from it the green and the red, in that order. Or so most Tilists say; there are some who put red over green as they do 6 over 7. But they are in the minority: every 6 out of 13 or so.

“Maw,” she finally relents. “The FILE is everything. The FILE saves, just like TILE saves. Jesus, the rank, can be cast aside now. It is *his* will, even. Yes, I went ahead and said it. It is his will,” she repeated. Clemenesta kept giving her that look (“the eye”). She would not be won over that easily.

Harking back to the neon cross, Laura envisions Jesus sacrificing his central s to saves to be done with it.

(to be continued)

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June 8, 2023 · 3:52 pm

Galapagos?

“A ship out there, dearest. Two of ’em!”

“Have you been eating carrots for lunch again, love?” Sam Port stared into the horizon, couldn’t see anything. The phone rings in Tisha’s pocket. Pulling it out and seeing the caller, she didn’t want to answer but knew she had to.

“Hello? Baker?”

——-

“Just stay under the umbrella. He says there’s too many characters in this here photo-novel already and wait for the next one to expose ourselves.”

“Fair enough.” Astronaut Sam Port had patience. He’d waited 2 years for these ships to come rescue him from this always room temperature, never rainy island on the equator of Our Second Lyfe. Paradise, but also mix in some hell because of the imprisonment thing. Tisha was a fine reward for his efforts but he was ready to go home. Junior would be, I guess, 15 1/2 by now. Exactly. Tisha elbows his ribs, reminding him that he needs to stop thinking and that we need to end the post. But he couldn’t. Tisha had to pull the plug herself. Took her a while to find it (too obvious).

So in the meantime, he was able to recalled arriving here in his own ship, fast sinking in the waves due to that underwater meteorite hit he took back at the cape. First solo flight by man, some say wrongly. Fellow named Glen was first, but it wasn’t advertised as widely as his own. Suspicious in retrospect. He was made out to be a star. Maybe it was his rugged good looks in contrast to Glen’s smooth, unattractive surface. Almost featureless, some said. Like the Orb’s 3rd album.

“Still looking, dear,” Tisha called beyond camera range now. “Just try to switch *off*.” No luck. Unlike Myrtle, he didn’t have that type of button on his belly. Or anywhere else for that matter.

I could have died there, he kept ruminating. I *should* have died there. Would save me a lot of grief and pain later. Two ships, he thought, still straining to see them from his flowery umbrella spot. Two more of my kind, ready to join me, he knew. Because he then realized they were goners as well once they stepped foot on this place. The realm of Lemon, not Lime. Not any longer. Philip Linden had no control here.

He wanted to warn. He wanted to wave them off, send up a blue flare for danger ahead or something. But he still couldn’t see. Maybe Tisha was wrong. Maybe she didn’t have carrots for lunch. Could be just some sort of reflection off the tails of the ever-passing killer whale sharks.

“Found it dear!” she now gurglingly shouted underwater somewhere. “Phone all the time!” If he could see her in front of him she would be blushing. And then (*press*) they were gone, ships and all. If they were ever there in the first place.

(*not* to be continued?)

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February 21, 2023 · 11:55 pm

broken cowboy

So here it is, thought Barry DeBoy, out of the hotel and its Duck and back on the plains, thankfully. To find the actual Void.

“On your right!” shouts passing biker Johnny Cage. But there was only left. Collision. KaBAMM!

Mission accomplished well enough, as he checked. Johnny will be able to afford pheasant tonight. Barry: back to Duck.

—–

“It hurts soo bad, Hucka Doobie.”

“There, there,” she consoled, reaching over and patting his remaining good arm. “The doctor said it will take days, even months.”

“Must… get… back, ahh.” He collapses in pain. Hucka D. knew The Void could wait. But she had to stay with him now fer sure. She looks over. That darn quacker! I’ve got to do something about it once and for all.

There was always… Maw.

—–

She picked up the receiver of the green phone, dialed all the numbers except 4.

“Hallo?”

Turns out she was just downstairs, what are the odds?

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January 9, 2023 · 6:41 pm

Redrüm again

Let’s see, I’ve done a blue dress and a red dress. How about a purple one this time.

A purple cube manifests in the room as sewing Wheeler Wilson thought this. The door opened. Showtime.

—–

“This cat’s ears are soo soft (!).”

“Ma’am — or sir — I hate to rush you but the show’s about to start. Do you want to check in your overcoat or not?” She indicated the indicated sign with the hand and all, warning that the establishment would not be responsible for hats and coats unless checked in at the front.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” She could feel his eyes bore into her back and side. Her *real* son. At long long last. She was actually frozen with indecision. And because she was a chaos object, everything else in the place froze along with her — oops, there goes Doris, not asking questions any longer, not pattering her fingers impatiently on the counter. 7:21PM. Son Cory’s shoulders also move for the last time in the recognition. Mother.

Spade tattooed bartender Sarah escaped with her gum *just* in the nick of time, but heart tattooed assistant Rosalyn didn’t make it. A bit too red herself, I suppose.

—–

Alright Jackie. Explain to me *one* more time about how you escaped the crematorium? And where’s Don?”

“Burt. His name was Burt.”

“*Was*? So… he’s dead. He did his duty.”

“Yes. I guess.” She started crying. “I don’t know.”

“And the rooooocckks??” They were the most important thing for Officer Davis Jefferson, the most complete bastard of a guy on the town’s force, ever in pursuit of the notorious Black Lake Gang and his one-to-one ultimate archrival Brutus, who also goes by Ted. Curious: So close to Burt; just rearrange the beginning letters a tad, a pinch, after dropping off the US. And where were we? Back on Nautilus? It might be so, although the map says Maebaelia. We’ll coordinate and synchronize asap.

Better stop questioning the dangerous bitch and handcuff her, Jefferson thinks here. Haul her unfried ass back to hq.

It wasn’t Brutus but it was a pretty satisfying arrest nonetheless. Might get him a promotion to sgt., even, which would be bad for everybody, the law, law abiding citizens, and crinimals all.

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January 8, 2023 · 12:08 pm

out back

“*Say*, Hucka D. It’s your car again. You know, the one you got from the Mountain in the Air.”

He needs to stop trying. Hucka D. is not coming back. Instead:


“Heater Presents”

“All the hard, impermeable rocks are tucked safely inside, Jackie. I think we’re ready to roll.”

“I’ll get the butter.”

“Funny. I’ll drive while you sober up.” Burt edged around her; entered the cab.

“I’m not drunk.”

“Power I’m referring to,” he said, rolling down the power window in preparation. “Get in.” He opened the door on the other side; rolled down its window too. Burt figured they needed the fresh air after what they’d been through.

—–

The road turned from pavement to dirt, then back to pavement and then finally to rock. “It was rough, Burt,” she said, bouncing along, voicing her confession, knowing the end was looming. “All the dust and the visions.”

“I know. I have a wife, daughter and dog. I’m more rooted than you. I only saw dust,” *bounce*. A hard one there. Took out a tire.

“Sawdust, good.”

“Yeah. 2 comedians on their way to the gas ovens to dispose of the evidence.”

“They’ll never miss us.”

The heavily illuminated crematorium revealed itself around a last, dark, rocky, really bumpy turn in the road. Heaven for some. Heavenly illuminated. They had to stop for a bit and admire it; the flaming entrance like a door to Hell. It *was* Hell. The place was both — 2 places at once. Burt used the pause to check the tires. 3 flats. Perfect. Just enough air left to make it to the end.

They knew the rocks wouldn’t survive the intense heat. They donned their inflammable suits, but it was only for show: the bodies would be consumed along with the stones.

Burt climbed back in; gave the gas a go, opened the passenger door (your choice).

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January 8, 2023 · 10:20 am

the present

—–

“I think this case is wrapped up, Pretty. *Petty*.” He turns red again. “Pretty much wrapped up,” he tried to cover himself.

“Thanks Officer Glammerpuss.”

The place will have to be quarantined for a week because of the moondust but the business should be able to reopen then.”

“Cathy will be pleased.”

“Yes.”

“Did you get all the rocks?”

“We think so. There’s one that looks like Neil Armstrong, then one like Buzz, then the other one — I assume it’s the 3rd.”

“Collins,” answered Petty to this, due to go on his other job in 2 hours and don a chef’s hat while ditching the inspector’s coat, no rest for this busybody. He reached into it to withdraw a match, ready to relight his current stogie, 8th of the night. At one point there was even 2 in his mouth at once. so excited he was about the news. Queen! Coming to Hardrock. So says Glammerpuss, the big, well, he just loves Queen. They both do! Ah heck, might as well try. Officer seems to be hinting around.

“Listen, Glammerpuss… Chuck.”

“Tim. You call me Tim.”

“Listen, Chuck. I was wondering…”

“Queen?” It just came out of his mouth automatically. Petty turned to stare into his eyes. Chief Wigwam walked up, interrupting the moment as he was suppose to. He gazed at the ribbon on the wrapped up door, symbolic of the case itself. He thought about procedure, getting ducks lined up in a row.

“Better start the paperwork on this Glammerpuss while the memories are fresh. Petty — aren’t you due to present me with a fresh dove omelet in, say (he checks his watch), 2 hours?”

“2 1/2,” states the chef-inspector to this. “Gotta warm up the oven first. Say, Wigwam, can you give us a moment. There’s just one wrinkle on the case we have to iron out.”

“It’s Collins,” spoke Wigwam. “The one they always forget the name of.”

A small smile breaks on Petty’s face. “No, not that, Chief. Something else. Just… give us a moment.”

“Oh alright. See you when the sun comes up. Glammerpuss — paperwork.” He walks away.

(to be continued)

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