Category Archives: Collagesity Fordham

May 8, 2021 · 10:06 am

three

“Is this the book you were talking about, dearest?”

Wives, he thought here. Always meddling in places they shouldn’t be. I’ll have to put a stop to that. So I can still play the field. But Jefferson Thomas warned him about that, along with a bunch of other things. “You’ll have to stop eating soup with a fork,” he chattered. “You’ll have to learn how to drive on the wrong side of the road with the right kind of car,” he rattled on, like a slithering summer snake. On and on, winding and unwinding. Wind him up so he can wind me down: he said that was the reason for his being. I didn’t like Jefferson Thomas at first, and I even liked him less at the end. Best man, *pheh*. I don’t *want* to be tied down,” I screamed. The new wife took the hint. “I’ll be the subordinate one, then,” she said, thinking of a role that would fit her down the road like a velvet glove. “Dearest”, here, “Sweetie”, there. But underneath would be slithering, snapping rage.

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May 8, 2021 · 9:25 am

home again 02

I phoned up Charlene and told her I was back from the dead but I was married now and we couldn’t start seeing each other again despite the reborn part. She responded, “sure you are,” and hung up, busy with another man at this point, I believe his name is Stan. Stan Wallaby, a used truck salesman from Oakley. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, the return of the late great Jeffrey Phillips. Thanks to Marty, thanks to Jefferson Thomas, thanks to: The Bill? Apparently. The Bill had chosen him to return. Would he now have to wear that little hat Wheeler wore when ruler? He hoped not. He was very vain about his looks and a tiny, bobbing hat on his head would ruin the whole girl magnet effect, he thought. Uncool to the max! Might as well be wearing a diaper. Goo goo ga ga, he thought here, reverting to the baby he truly was, being just reborn and stuff. He reached for a rattler but it turned into a snake, one of those hissing lawn ones planted there by Joanie. Or was it Hidi? Yes: Hidi. His wife. His summer gal, who he would toss away in the fall to return to, perhaps, Charlene, maybe Lois, or limber Tina Pretzel down at the Freak Show Village even who could do that thing with her body and also her tongue. Which brought him back to “Twin Peaks”: he had to decide *how* he died in order to prevent it from happening again, and quickly (!). He slipped on that gall darn log on one of the outer rim islands — he can’t even recall the name of the place he died — wait: Corton (he thought). Queen and King. Spread and Widen. Glen and Gould — Goldberg Variations: spread ’em out, make them the bookends to a wildly successful career that raked in a lot of gold, a lot of accomplishments, a lot of acclaim. Freedom? Where we we?

(to be continued)

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May 7, 2021 · 6:11 am

home again

Marty walks into the Table Room of the Blue Feather in Collagesity. I realize he should be on the wall as well: The Beetles. Like seen in Picturetown crossing a road, minus one — I believe it was Ringold (the bastard).

He said he would be glad to join The Table even though he had a busy schedule, being a famous celebrity and all. He said he was referred by The Bill, which I didn’t originally take as the Illuminati but perhaps I should have a rethink about all that. And The Bill’s influence in it. Wheeler, when she was ruler of this here Collagesity, wore a little “Bill Hat” on her head after discovering the “Gravity Falls” character of the same name from a book procured by Baker Bloch. *That* was Illuminati tinged — the whole takeover of Collagesity thing from Carrcassonnee, the former deity/ruler. And Carrcassonnee *still* can’t be restarted, just going “Iiiiiii,” for the most part, although at that one, recent party she said a couple of things more until a quick regression.

Who is at The Table with us? Roger Pine Ridge should be here but he had yet another engagement with The Rainbow Sphere. I asked Marty if he knew about such a thing and if, theoretically, he could become similarly engaged if, say, the album was Sgt. Pepper instead of Dark Side. He admitted he could… and he did. I asked him to elaborate. He didn’t.

He lit a fire and began to smoke without asking, clear reference to Eraserhead Man. So I decided to query about “Twin Peaks” and if he knew my role in it. “Jefferson Thomas might know,” he responded cryptically. I thought about it; I realized the message. *I* am the Illuminati (as well?).

(to be continued)

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April 18, 2021 · 7:11 am

end of Sector

“This ditch will make the town, Danny with an extra N. Some, in the future, will just call it Ditch City, some Old Ditch City, because another will be built on top of it, another Collagesity.”

“Yes sir,” replied Danny, loyal to his new ruler for sure, past present future. “I’m ready.” The shovel in hand was now just another tool of the trade, like the plunger, mop, and bucket. He could handle it.

“I know you are, Danny.” He shuffles his feet again, points in a random direction, sometimes down the ditch but most often not. The fuzziness is still showing. “1948 where we stand now.”

“Yes sir.”

“And we need to reach all the way back to 1898 to change the first Oz movie, make it the first talkie.”

“I’m ready.”

“I estimate — hmm — about where the ditch passes underneath, well, your *new house*.” It was about as excited as mild mannered Man About Town could talk. Danny looked at him google eyed. Tears formed in them, even. Ones of joy. For Danny with the extra N had never had a real and proper home before.  He would leave the trailer. He would… finally have a say in town meetings. How marvelous! “That’s right, Danny. You now take care of the Blue Feather itself and become my right hand man. You have a voice; 1898 has a voice. That’s what I figured out. Through the plunger.”

“Tiger,” responded Danny Rada, already practicing losing the R.

END OF “COLLAGESITY 2021 EARLY”!

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April 14, 2021 · 9:23 am

00250701

The tiles behind the stove were falling off. And she’d left the burner on again.

“Oh Mom,” he complains. “What are we going to do with you?” He turns the knob to the off position and starts clearing the air.

—–

“We have to fix TILE,” Man About Time urges, making his pitch. “Carrcassonnee has become Sepisexton, the 7 and the 6 at once, and is roaming the metaverse unchecked, freeing demons right and left that she can use at her disposal. We’ve already clocked 4 with the same name of Jenny.”

“Jenny is *not* a demon,” countered Mabel, present for the debate. “She’s just… very orange.”

“Aldebaronian,” clarified likewise alien Roger Pine Ridge, who also made a window in his busy schedule for this important discussion.

“No, like I said, there are *4*.” Man About Time remained fixed about the unfixed nature of the town’s chief religion, the one it is known for through the temple and some other stuff.

“Boat,” Baker Bloch piped in. “I recall a boat. Didn’t that crash over in Wallytown, though?”

“*Wallytown*,” stepped in Wheeler, “is something we’re *not* suppose to talk about. Not after the shower.”

“Counter that,” uttered Carrcassonnee propped up in a corner, unable to walk still or talk very much. She was basically limited to things that belong in a kitchen. “Spachula,” she offered further. “Scrape up eggs off counter. Will stick if not scraped. Spachula.”

The rest tried to figure out what that translated to in the latest Carrcassonnee limited language issuances. Probably something to do with eyes again. Or “I”s. Despite the split, MAT had gotten her this far, which was something, they agreed.

“Danny. What say you?” Danny was, once more, Man About Time’s right hand man, just like in the past. Pickleland in the sideways world, his trusty plunger turned back in time. Tiger.

“Radar.” Another simplistic issuance but followed up by 176 more sentences that I won’t write out but explained very well what the lack of radar meant to the Schuman without the N. Because there was Sector R to deal with now. “… mustard,” came the end of his last sentence of the 176, describing the color of the entity most responsible for the confusion. Earlier words in this sentence and the 175 preceding it elucidated a robot from a sideways world, probably Oz, who wormed their way into susceptible people’s lives disguised as a “best friend”, as he had called it. This was the case with Barry.

“Very good, thank you Danny. I will close then, for now, by saying that every state of the US is also a state of mind. Think about that.” MAT stares them down from his position in front, on top. For the moment and, hopefully, for the future.

Of the 10 people in the meeting, only 2 thought about bordering states with this, and that is only because they shared some of the same static, been out in the same snowstorm and not made it back in time for supper and a movie that one instance. And suffered the consequences.

(to be continued)

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April 12, 2021 · 8:43 am

00250614

He was beyond the end of Route 13 now. He sensed a hole in the West here, something he couldn’t get to while corporeal. If he hadn’t wasted so much time chasing girls here and there, he lamented. But the Afterlife is all about regret, at the beginning. What could and couldn’t have happened, and so on. There’s always a gap between what occurred and the ideal, and a big one. Get ready for the shock. But the ideal still exists and that is the salvific force, the saving grace. The ideal *was* made flesh, and you can view it, you can penetrate it at points — non-corporeally of course, but also — sometimes — with real significance. And it is here in the West that Jeffrey Phillips decides he can start to make the changes he desires.

“Ahh, Barry DeBoy,” he says from his higher position, looking down. “Something about that island.” He penetrates.

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April 11, 2021 · 7:31 am

i feel a composition coming on (Montana)

He found his Alpheratz teleporter inside the skybox map and pulled it up to the blue surface. He was ready to let go. “Goodbye Nautilus,” he said, looking over all of it like a God himself in the instant. “Goodbye Collagesity,” he spoke, spotting its representative red pin on the beige ridge between highways 13 and 14 as well. “It seems I hardly knew ya.” Then he was gone. Outta here. Just like that. Teleported to parts unknown. Now Man About Time has his shot at running things. And he can bring Danny back too and his plunger, not the bathroom tool but the real one, the time one. Because, as I think I indicated or hinted at before, Danny knows a lot more than surface aspects of a hick janitor would indicate. He knows about Bill just to mention something in the instant. And his hatred of Billy Ray Cyrus, perhaps the ultimate hick who sired… Mabel? Maybe *she* thinks so.

—–

“Wheeler?” Mabel was surprised at the voice. She thought that old bridge had been burned down for good. “H-how are you?” Like she cared, but she tried to remain pleasant.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Listen, I just wanted to call you and let you know that Jeffrey Phillips died.”

“Who?”

“Jeffrey Phillips. (pause) I thought you knew him pretty well.”

“Oh, yeah, the *playboy*. Well, that’s a shame.” Mabel wanted to add, “anything else?” but held her tongue. Instead she smoothed the ruffles of her lime green dress.

“He took Baker Bloch’s place as ruler of Collagesity. When Baker went…”

“*Where* did *Baker* go?” Mabel suddenly was in a state of panic. She had to at least pretend to rebuild that old, burnt bridge and return. Baker must come back!

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April 4, 2021 · 8:16 am

Mouse Island

I didn’t get out of the pod, which had turned into a boat. Soon enough I was darting toward Dizneyland, probably Pansy as well. I could only hope.

I stepped out of the boat and walked across the entry dock as quietly as I could. Maybe if I didn’t wake up anyone I could get out of this alive.

A squeaking board. “Halt!!”

Nope.

—–

We ate supper that night in silence. The knife we used to cut the pizza lay just beyond reach. I had two options as I saw it. We could either kill each other… or kiss each other. But this was Wheeler, I reminded myself. A Blurmaid — blue mermaid — but still: Wheeler. The whole separation of state and power came back to me like a punching fist, a jabbing knife. Looks like killing is the option.

“CUT!!” the director shouted behind the scenes. “That was GREAT. Now do it like you’re two monkeys climbing up a tree to grab the same banana. Annnnd ACTION!!”

The improv suggestion didn’t work. We sat there still, staring at each other. If I could only describe the look in her eyes. Two pools… whirlpools perhaps. I wish I was somewhere else.

—–

I was in the Temple now, having just completed the second of 2 whirls of the rainbow labyrinth on the bottom floor. Blue all around, but white here in the center. Just like her and her eyes. I was trapped like a fly between two window panes. I looked over at crooning Mercury propped up against a dead tree and understood more about what he went through.

Blue yellow red green, and then, secondly, cobalt purple orange maroon. If only there were just letters and not letters and numbers together then the world could remain perfect.

—–

“The switch from Kansas to Oz equals the switch from yellow to red as if through a door. Blue and yellow are Kansas, which remain perfect. Red and green are Oz, Munchkinland and the Yellow Brick Road to begin and encompass the whole. This *should* be perfect but it has been singly corrupted. And this is where we must understand *numbers* beyond letters. 13 in the first has been reduced to 12 in the second, with numbers adding 1/4th from the outside. This ‘outside’ is what we must really begin to understand. Because that is the direction of the Abyss and not God.”

I didn’t want to hear this TILE talk from Man About Time, attempting to explain my latest dream-reality. I knew Wheeler had created it all to teach me a valuable lesson. Don’t f-ck with mermaids. Or mice.

I am Pansy. Zero Hero.

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April 3, 2021 · 4:03 am

00250602

Sometimes you can’t help yourself. You have to take a snapshot.

Flash! The world is gone, then reappears. Blue Berry Girl sits on a rock, trying to figure it out. “Norris. Be *quiet*,” she demands. But Norris had said nothing in fact, not being alive in any way except through remote animation. She takes him everywhere. We could call him a constant sounding board. “Norris. Stop picking at your nose!” That kind of thing.

Flash! The brightness then dies down from the last pocket of virtual reality. A pond with real seeming rocks lining it. They sit down again, tired from the 50 meter walk, or Blueberry Girl imagines Norris is tired. Looking down, she then wonders when and why she painted her fingers (and toes) such odd colors.

“Norris. Stop *humming*.” Blueberry Girl imagined her constant companion was humming a Schuman, perhaps the one with the red eye (hopefully).  But then Norris stops and doesn’t start again.

“What *are* these rocks?” Blueberry Girl asks. “They seem… *different*!”

Norris had an independent thought for a change. *I* rock! he realizes. He is alive, resurrected even.

“Scratch scratch scratch!” went the seagull down at the rocks like a demented violin, trying to tell them the truth but being unable to communicate effectively being a simple bird and all. He has plans to change himself.

—–

“Another dream, Charlene. I was a dummy.”

“Aww,” she says with fake pout. “I’m sooo sorry.” She rubs his arm. She hands him his red tie, which he must put on first thing even to get out of bed.

“I saw rocks. I woke up. I was a violin. I was a seagull.”

“There there, now now.” She was rubbing the other arm now. She was patient. Jeffrey Phillips was doing right by her these days. Collagesity was not that bad. Once you get use to the crime and the background shooting and looting. As long as you’re in bed, say, by 7, and wear your noise cancelling headphones to go to sleep: you’re okay. April Mae Flowers was still in custody. There has to be more criminals, especially given the 5 sets of fingerprince and, well, the continuing crime, only slightly abated much to Jeffrey’s chagrin. He returned to continuing chaos. The paperwork containing the police reports among other things piles up. He works through it one day at a time, inch by inch, foot by foot. Then he comes across this.

—–

“The sun is hot today Norris,” she says, looking up from her hands into the cooler trees, trying to spot the seagull that had flown away from the toasty rocks down at the shoreline. But in vain: the demented violin sings no more.

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March 20, 2021 · 8:41 am

inside seeing

Future Schumann was trying to show me something.

—–

I returned to Collagesity, set on finishing that ditch traversing almost the entirety of the town. What do we have here?

And why am I Baker Bloch again? *The* Baker Bloch. Must be Wheeler, I assumed: the third wheel. Her “other”, or “others” I suppose. Marriage, pheh. How can she say she is married… to which one? Or better, which is which? They both came from novel 8, like a Crazy. Maybe Cpt. Crazy over at Half Hitch would know, or at least half know some kind of truth. And what about *his* significant other, that Speck or whatever, the First Mate or the Only Mate or Lone Mate. Mates indeed. Randolph the Bastard Pirate must be laughing in his sleep, chest still rising and heaving with every internal guffaw. The alchemy bird stays silent, forgetting its purpose as a watcher in de skies.

“But a twin *has* moved forward,” I can hear Wheeler inside my head. “We have chosen a hairstyle, a form. We are from Heaven now. You know the denizens of Hell; you’ve seen them very recently.”

You know we are trying to save you and we chose just in the nick of time.”

I shook off the daydream and stared down the length of The Ditch. Ditch City they may call this place in the future, if they have no imagination.

(to be continued)

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