“So it’s all settled. We know what the head in the center of the sink is.”
“We *do*?” spoke Wheeler, scratching her still beret topped head and trying to look innocent. At least she’d taken the key out of her mouth and dropped it in to be disposed of. *Tried* (damn chain).
“Where’s Baker?” Newt looked all around, as if the true owner of this blog and attached photo-novels, heading toward 34 in number, would manifest from a purple or raspberry tinted corner or wall.
“He needs to be in on this yarn, this story,” agreed Wheeler, also looking around the swamp shack but expecting less. The Prime Minister, the only one who can save the plot, the key. And it seems that he already did. Thanks to the levels, the nodal points. Now we can enter Pipersville unencumbered, he might utter if he were here. But is it really about Pipersville, a Maebaelia location famous for its sinkhole not thought about in a while? We have to think like we’re playing 3 dimensional chess. A bit like Spock. We have to get smarter, or at least more awake.
Pipersville obviously relates to pipes. The key should have passed through, Wheeler realizes, gone down. Yet it stayed at the top — caught. The key to the box that is a house, perhaps this shack itself, inner absorbing outer, passing through each other again and again ad infinitum. We should never have opened it, Wheeler understood for not the first time. Pictures. Occident separated from Orient. East over here, west over there, hemispheres apart.
Inner and outer, inner and outer…
Maybe only Nautilus can save us after all.
Sunklands 