Pink observes yellow (and wants).
Category Archives: Nautilus
00390612
She was waiting on someone to tell her who she was, what her real name was, when she decided on her own. The hair makes the girl, she thinks. Thus I am Marsha Pink Krakow, standing proud against the evil of the world and living another day to tell others about and, together, finding out ways to deal with such *shadows*. Not monsters… as much as part of ourselves, ready to spring forth and surprise us if we ignore the signs too long. What were my signs? What were Tammy’s/Frankie’s? Push to stardom for me. Drumming. I wanted to be bigger than Starr and Moon, bigger than *Bonham* even (Led Zeppelin drummer who died, like The Who’s Moon — and Pink herself in that variant reality she just exited — way way too early).
“Shelley,” she speaks aloud to emphasize the affirmation, “you and your Doodle-Bug Hair Blonde had its run and, not failed, but didn’t quite cross over the finish line. I am that finish line. I represent death conquered, shadow conquered. And Tammy/Frankie too, wherever she is inside, conscience or not. She is there. And you are too, Shelley, because you provided me the body I now inhabit. I will always be grateful. But I am Marsha… Pink… Krakow.”
She feels two drumsticks manifest in her right back pocket. She will be more humble this time around, more conscious of other’s dreams and desires and not just blot them out with her own bright wannabe future. She will take this golden opportunity to be the best she can possibly be — not a drummer this time around, although that talent may increase too just by proxy, but simply a person, a human being. That’s what it’s all about, Marsha thinks here, not waiting on anyone any longer, knowing who she is. She can make this world what she wishes it to be. She can manifest: joy.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0612, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
00390611
They came out of it but they were a mess; all mixed up. She had the body of Shelley still, true, but the clothes and hair of Marsha plus, on top of this, the gestures — well, gesture (*gasp*) of Tammy, formerly Frankie.
She erased the gasp by lowering her littler hand from her mouth. Slowly Sloowly. Don’t want to break anything this soon. She was in a different place, a different land. She looked back on where she came from.
The little devil in front of her approached, offering some grody looking soup. “Patriot soup,” he said in a muffled kid’s voice, like he was wearing a costume instead of being an actual demon. “Straight from Wonderland.” He came ever closer, soup extended a bit more. He was right up on her.
“Oh why the heck not,” she said, and took the bowl and sipped.
—–
When she lowered it from her mouth, the bowl was suddenly a couple of feet more above the floor than when she started the sip. The body of Shelley remained, she realized, but it was the big body, the grown up one. Marsha still ruled in the clothes department. And the hair. And maybe the eyes — she wasn’t quite sure yet without a mirror; she couldn’t tell just by “feel”. And Tammy/Frankie was still somewhere within, a guiding conscience perhaps. “You must choose,” she thought she heard it say to herself, whoever *she* is. Shelley? Marsha? Tammy, even? The little devil who had retreated back upon the newest transformation eyed her keenly, cocking his head a bit and taking it all in. “You have… boyys.” He’d seen them before. Blue Berry Girl.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0611, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
missing yellow
He peered out between eaters, afraid he’d become part of a sandwich.
——
“I wanted to show you this place,” she spoke down to fellow climber Shelley (kid), “because I believe in your unique power, coming from the outside so soon before and all.”
“There,” she said at the top, standing beside the 3 that hide a 4th. “Can you see?”
“See what?” spoke Shelley, also leaping off.
“Precisely. Mean mad mustard,” Marsha uttered cryptically and then urged the younger girl to stand in her spot while moving over a bit.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0603, Nautilus, Retirement Islands, River, Wild West
Phyllis
“‘No purple,'” I said from the side, quoting from the introduction of the world famous manifesto, *her* manifesto. “Yet you sit on purple.”
“Um hmm.” She nodded.
“Is this, then, about the boyy?”
She contemplated an answer for a second, then: “Yes, this is about the boyy more than anything else. And why I chose to avoid talking about the subject, the color. The gurl too, obviously. If–”
“Lisa,” I clarified, then regretted interrupting her flow. She was, after all, a master channel. So all the TILists say that count. But this was beyond (the) four. Hard to tell how many could keep up if all this was made public. Which was, I suppose, my job.
“If only (another pause), for a contrast. Say, priceless versus highly priced, very high indeed but still a certain amount — not infinite.”
“The boyy is a pure channeler,” I dared. I had to know.
Again the pause. She was in the spotlight, as it should be. Making shit happen per usual. “Pure as in 2 separate from 1. Let me illustrate.” She shifts her weight slightly on the latex ottoman, making it squeak but pleasantly, I noted. “Where *I’m* from there is a city of the land that is as central as a heart. Named for the founder of our great land. Brightonia is its name. Yet eventually, as a center must find a circumference to become circular and all encompassing and also reflect in on itself, a 2nd great city was formed, not as big or important as the first but still two. A balance; a sidekick if you will. Necessary: a role assigned. This is the boyy. And from those 2 come all else.”
‘The great scribe Nauty of Naughtilus has taken credit for the boyy’s channel. Is this correct?”
Pause. “All things being equal: yes. The pen was neither red nor blue.”
“Describe the gurl’s role.”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0511, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
00390507
Pitch woke up on the other side of the Heart of the Island forest in a mess. His head hurt. He didn’t remember what happened. Wheeler, he then recalled. She ate the wrong kind. She won’t be getting out as easily as me. He raises up a bit and looks around at the big pink doughnut he sits in, he *escaped* in. He dares to look over at the police box through the trees, envisions the girl entering it and encountering whiteness inside. *That* was his salvation. Little Shelley Struthers from Hooktip just up or down the lane. Uncorrupted. Able to resist chocolate and other sweets, no chewy gum for example. Just as pure as golden ticket Charlie before her. But what now? He can’t leave without Wheeler, he understands. She is still a part of him, despite the, erm, evil. No: misjudgment. He’ll have to go back inside. To the beginning!
“Let’s actually switch, Wheeler,” he says over when getting there just before the first bite, thanks to Shelley’s help once more. “I think I can handle chocolate a little better than you.”
“Heartburn, yeah,” Wheeler said, remembering her once in a while condition and withdrawing the object from her salivating mouth — just a bit.
“Here,” Pitch said, extending the pink one in her direction and ready to grasp the brown with the other. Can she?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0507, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
00390505
“Are we going to go ahead and sacrifice Willy Wonka, this *new* clown?” knife welding Preacher Stefan cried in the church immediately bordering the joker’s property, channeling the anger of Constantynople’s townspeople as a whole. Their buildings, their homes, had been called *junk*! Outrage spread through the village. Thus this meeting in the church they all loved. At least he didn’t pick on *this* particular low lying building, the most sacred in all the I’s land: St. Merry’s. “*I* want to speak,” said Pitch from the front, who was, after all, their default leader, the me closer to me than all the rest, being the same as Baker Bloch in essence. “Go ahead, dear,” urged wife Mary by his side. Always. Preacher Stefan acted fast before the townspeople were persuaded otherwise with a stab and accompanying spurt — right on Pitch’s just washed suit, blood splattered again so soon. Pitch looked down.
“Aww *damn*!”
“*Honey*. Not in *church*.” Laughter all around; bloodlust satisfied. Pitch had no pitch here.
“We’ll work on getting it out later,” she added toward the end, wiping up all they could in the moment.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0505, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
he bats right he bats left doesn’t matter
“That was some pitch… Pitch. Explosive, even!”
“Thank you. I tried hard on that. Bit of spit, admittedly, to cut down on the Lively. Return to dead ball era, where I was *king*.”
‘Of course you were, Pitch. And Buster was a marvelous shortstop back in those days too.”
“Damm right!” Both laugh then quickly compose themselves. Serious stuff now. Library. Saving Constantynople.
—–
There he was, in Special Collections again. Looking for himself. I’ll have what I’m having and all. Self service. He already had his eye on something.
“Can I help you?” reading room coordinator Swanie Rivers jumped in, trying not to flap her wings this time despite the head, the gum. Calm and cool, like a waterfall or attached stream. *Not* a volcano or any kind of lava flow. Blue, clear, ready for tubing on a sticky ass hot summer day. She’ll let him select something and then tell him. No f-ing gum in Special Collections! But… calmly, cooly. No wing flapping.
“What’s in that more crooked shelving, those ring binders over there?” Philip believes he’s seen it in a dream. Several times in fact.
“Oh, yes, that’s part of the Merk Coolie Brighton collection. He use to work here!” Swamie told herself not to get excited and shout in the room, even though no one is currently there except Philip and her. But… he use to *work* here!
“Am I in it?” he asked, throwing Swanie for a loop. A closed one. Not-what-she-seems cleaning lady Ross C. slides through the cracks in the front door to observe.
Philip pops his gum one…
last…
time.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0503, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
now
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0502, Bogota, collages 2d, Colorado, Constantynople, Falmouth, Nautilus, Rank & File, Washington, Willow Hill
heart of the island trail
They left their familiars behind at the campfire, Mary and the 88s. We may catch up with them later. But first…
“Okay, all together with the magic donuts,” Wheeler commanded with the chocolate, Baker the strawberry. “One… two…”
Didn’t take long before she was somewhere else, being someone else. “Baker, w-where’d you go? Baker!? Suddenly she had to go, she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t shut the door for privacy. A little girl passed by.
“A little privacy?” she asked, making her stop and stare. Uncomfortably. “A little help?” She wanted the girl to shut the door and go away, because going away then shutting the door was impossible. “Little girl… your name please, little girl.” But then she recognized her. Shelley Struthers. From Hooktip. Just down the lane from her. Or up.
Shelley wasn’t suppose to talk to strangers, especially ones with long green noses and who smelled bad in the moment. Through the hat — different than the one Wheeler wore upon entering the woods in the heart of the island — she gathered she was confronting a witch. And it was strangely satisfying to see her obviously doing the thing that outhouses were made for. Gratifying indeed. She took in all the various, accompanying facial expressions. Why was this so fascinating?; like getting a mustard and ketchup laden hot dog with relish ta boot, she thought. So odd. The situation lasted a very long time indeed, probably much longer than possible actually. The witch had been saving it up for just this special moment, it seemed.
“*Thanks* little girl, er, *Shelley*. Thanks a *lot*,” she managed after it was finally over, door still open all this time. Then she realized she could have just “touched” it and shut it all along. In the heat of the moment, she forgot how Our Second Lyfe worked. “I’m *not* real here,” she muttered as a reinforcement. “I *didn’t* have to go to the bathroom — especially like that. I *could* have shut the door all the time. Heck, I didn’t even have to get seated. How’d *that* happen?” She looked up; Shelley was still there. “Well, move along… or speak or something. Don’t just keep standing there staring. Show’s over anyway.” She stands and finds she is clean down there, despite the lack of paper. Things were kind of getting back to “normal” in a virtual sense. And then her new hat was gone, replaced by the old. The girl extended her hand.
“You haven’t been here before, have you?” Wheeler shook her head and then grasped.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0501, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
Sunklands 