Category Archives: NORTH

fan

He got a little lost trying to find the prog rock museum on Rooster’s Peninsula. I guess he’s been confused ever since Kowloon and its twisting maze of streets and alleys. Never got over it. As he liked to say about Grandmama and Grandpapa there: often visited but seldom seen, pheh. And now Grandpapa is dead. Killed by Axis (but not during the war). Guy will get his revenge. Through “Lamb.”

But first a little “Foxtrot”.

He ponders the doors in front of him and what they block inside. Although this isn’t the prog rock museum, it still seems relevant. “Chamber of 32 Doors.” He always seems to ultimately be thinking in terms of “Lamb”.

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00280306

I must get down the continent to confer with Jeffrey Phillips and partner Man About Time concerning the future of Collagesity. But I already see the writing in the cards. It won’t last. Collagesity is a place laden with collages, of course, but isn’t a proper archive. It’s where Baker Bloch *made* the collages, or helped inspire them as he hung each one individually in its gallery upon creation. That way he could better see the evolution of the series. But (this kind of) buck stops with the newest series called Picturetown. This is a *different* Jasper, not Illinois but Iowa. And this leads us to (the) Nautilus (continent) as a whole. We have our centering. But this centering could occur *anywhere* on the continent now. It doesn’t have to be between the two roads 13 and 14. It could be here — at Rooster’s Peninsula. Certainly there’s more neighbors around to give me energy.

The dancer, he remembers. The fox on the run. Jasper itself. Must see if she’s still there. But that’s the siren’s call again. The dancer who is the world.

I suppose I should go see if those curtains are still there on the slopes of Roost Peak. Could it spell curtains for… me? It brings me back to confusion on what exactly is the body, the neck and the body and the head attached to it. Maybe Stumpy could help (again), since he was able to reattach his own some time back. But first: curtains.

—–

Not there now.

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no man is an island

I think I’m going to like this peninsula. A lot.

—–

Boy my neck has sure been bothering me lately. Must be the lingering effects of Kolya and his trip to Anastasia, the damned place. Controller my big old ass. Papers piling up, pheh. Always sleepy, constantly nodding off. (Alysha) needs to come *here* and try what she does there. Wouldn’t make it.

But Windmill Man, actual name still being processed, knows that he loves her nevertheless, just like Kolya. Even moreso, since he can see the future clearer. He is the ONE. He is the whitehead in da woods. 1 year and 3 months. He can do it. The diagonal linking East and West will be fulfilled, reality connected to another reality inside it, with one blending into ANOTHER. Love, most likely. Death too, if not bodily. But what, exactly, *is* the body. The neck’s calmed down now. He recalls something about Jasper.

These ruins hold stories. And so close to his castle too. Just up the ridge.

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“6 miles and 7 seconds” (track 2?)

I *just* missed a performance of the Rolling Joints at this here local bar, but the owner, one Greg Ogden (*not* Oden, he insisted; and only the 1 “g” in the first name and not 2 as well) assured me they would return. In the meantime, he assuaged, we have their many records to enjoy, including the essential double album “Pricky Fingers/Let Them Bleed”, which he’s about to play here after removing the 2 discs of wax from their sleeves. “Gotta get in the right mood,” he says while standing pretty still, trying not to sway to the 1st track (“Hearts of Spades”) that he already hears in his head. He’s trying to clear it. The sound should be immediate and impactful with no echo.

Later I found out that Greg use to be called Rooster by the locals on account of his red hair and sometimes red outfit. It made me wonder.

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new neighbors

“You know that’s (*yawn*), my castle up there, Hoppy (stretches arms). This place is soo relaxing.”

Windmill Man, named to be changed soon, realizes he has a lot of time to learn the ins and outs of this here Rooster’s Peninsula, since he plans to stay a while. Does this mean the end of Fordham’s Collagesity down in Lower Austra? Could be. He must confer with town leader Jeffrey Phillips and right hand man Man About Time soon. Couple of weeks. But first…

… the Prog Rock museum down at the neck of the peninsula, and where Shelley (daughter?) recently woke up Jacob I. and allowed him to return. The sleeper has awoken; Roost Never Sleeps.

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Zo still

Alysha took the hint. She reckons *she* is the angel. And also the angle; 1/2 and 1/2. Right?

She must think about Austra again, and its division into Upper and Lower and where that’s heading. Not up here that’s for sure. Too north. Rooster’s Peninsula is different from Austra. But how? Shelley’s castle will provide us clues. It’s all set up over in Lebettu, which we’ll get back to shortly.


Shelley’s castle; Roost Peak in background

This must be the Heart Queen’s bar where Broken Heart Jackie made her that Bloody Mary which turned her back into red, thump thump thump. She sat down — no bartender in sight still, just a chinchilla drinking something out of a half coconut, perhaps a piña colada she rationalized. It made her think of Kolya and him drinking the same in, where was it, the Aviary she believes. Or maybe his glory holes, pheh… maybe it wasn’t Kolya at all, maybe it was one of her other men, the ones without the visible head gaps. Hole exploration: it was a whole ‘nother story. The Controller’s papers piled up and up, reaching all the way now to Rooster’s Peninsula.

And here she was, going too far again. “Last sip!” squealed the chinchilla, and noisily finished the drink, suck suck suck. There would be no more offered today.

Nothing left to do but to take a nap.

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polar

“Bear with us,” the small lion cub requested to the reader while the tiger ran offscreen to take a piss.

—–

“Annnnnnd ACTION!”

“Oh *my*,” the tiny cat exclaimed upon seeing the white menagerie.

She was at the heart of the heart shaped island, pale as snow. Mary was the owner. This was the foothold Jacob I. needed to get to the peninsula and away from Leila, then still called Eyela. Broken Heart knew they had to split up and it broke her heart to think about it. But fate must unfold properly, broken or not. “Be a lamb, dear, and make my drink for me,” Mary requested to Broken Heart after the introductory formalities. “Right over there (she pointed to the bar behind Broken Heart from this angle); Bloody Mary if you will.” Broken Heart didn’t know what she was doing in mixing the drink but she tried her best. Mary knew it would turn out perfect, whatever. After all, this was all imaginary and she had control of everything. At least at this spot. “Faaannntastic,” she said a little later while sipping, head already beginning to turn a bit red. She began to feel (like) herself again, aah. The cold was receding.

There.

But she remained a broken figure, as broken as Heart herself. They could commiserate with each other now.

“I love him.”

“No *I* do.”

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returned (missing no more)

“Honey! I’m home!”

“We lived on that island for, I don’t know, 5 years, me, Jacob I. and the kid.”

“The cat,” I clarified (for the reader). “Broken Heart.”

“Yeah, that one. That was before I met Philip Stymie and moved to another island. Same house, though — I just moved it through space. I could do that by that point.”

“The wisteria… helped?”

“Sure did (!).”

“Tell me about Stymie, then. He was a different species. I mean, he wasn’t like Jacob.”

“No, he was different from me. Had the 2 eyes instead of the one. I was a pure bred. Jacob was half alien half human, with 2 eyes still below the third. Broken Heart was both animal and tiny in a similar way. We were happy. But perhaps… we were too similar in the end. Jacob moved to the peninsula; figuratively fell asleep for years and years, maybe at the castle but maybe all over the peninsula — the peninsula itself. Eyes (species) sometimes have a tendency to do that: drift off for a large amount of time, doing nothing, at least on the outside. Inside we still have a rich and vibrant life. I’ve done the same.”

“You are figuratively dead?”

“Could be. Listen do you want some more lemonade? How about some pear juice?”

—–

“We never did build that castle, Stymie and I. But we had a heck of a moat.”

“Now maybe things have changed.”

“Maybe so.”

—-

“Where were you happier, Eyela? Can I call you Eyela?”

Leila thought it over and decided to say yes.

“Thank you. It’s the same house, the same structure I understand. But different islands, different men. Did you have a cat at Viterbo?”

“No. Broken Heart went with Jacob I. They were more a couple than we were. That was always the case. The weed drew them together. The high grass.” Here Leila/Eyela puffed an imaginary doobie to emphasize her point.

“Yes, I remember hearing about that. So… you were happier with Stymie?”

(to be continued)

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00280211

“I can’t see the castle on this peak either, Shelley.”

“Silly. There *is* no castle on that peak. Not any more. Not for a long time. The reason you couldn’t see it on the other peak we just looked at is because your draw distance was too short. Don’t you know *anything* about Our Second Lyfe, tee hee?”

“Suppose not.”

“That’s where Ruuster’s castle use to be, though. Some say he was an actual rooster, a creature. Some say he was called that because he *roosted* on the peak, like some kind of bird, rooster or no. My papa taught me that. Said sometimes there’re multiple ways of looking at the same thing and sometimes none is right but at the same time *all* are right. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Suppose,” he repeated. Shelley started wondering about his brain, and maybe she didn’t finish the boy properly — left holes where thoughts should be, rationalization. “You say… we’re suppose to get married.”

“Um huh.” He was still staring at the empty beige peak, perhaps 50 meters higher than the one they are on. He was staring at himself.

“Can you elaborate? I mean, it’s rather shocking that you know that.”

“I can see the future.” He turns. “You can see the future. We are all angles.”

“Angels?” She purposely misheard him but he didn’t laugh, didn’t get the joke or just didn’t care. Maybe both are right, she realized: angles *and* angels. Are *they* angels?

George turned back to the beige mountain seen through the diamond paned window. “Roost never sleeps. It’s an ironic name, then, because that’s what birds or roosters or whatever are suppose to do when they roost. Sleep.”

Maybe his brain is alright after all. Those are pretty deep thoughts he’s thinking there, she thought, pondering the irony herself. Her daddy had said the same thing. Roost never sleeps, corrupted to rust never sleeps.

George looked down from the peak to the green grounds below. “Well well well, if it isn’t the Wells.” Why did the boy say *that*? Is someone actually approaching? Or was this just more word play?

“They’re trying to find the front door,” he then said. “Better go down and help them”

“The… neighbors?” she guessed. He just stared at her again and then extended his arm. “After you.”

(to be continued)

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Castle

Mine all mine. But what to *do* with it?

Maybe meet the neighbors if possible. The twin castle to mine!

And papa told me to guard this sword with my life. It can’t move! I suppose that means the castle will be derezzed with the sword, since they’re interconnected. Stabber of Lemon, he said. Told me the whole story once when I was small. Oh how I wish he were here to tell it again! My poor papa.

I will make this my room, my home base in the castle. I can look after it better that way.

I need friends! Oh… the other castle… on the peak almost equally as high as my own. Might as well say they’re the same. Papa would know all about it, I suppose.

I will *make* friends in the meantime. Up in my head, I mean. And then they pop up in reality. Like you. Who are you?

“My name is George,” he said to her with his newly minted lips, reading her mind of course. Since it was his mind as well. “And I am your future husband.”

“Cool!”

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