Category Archives: Omega

October 26, 2023 · 2:59 pm

“Wobbly…

“… she was in the head, just having finished her stiff drink. But she knew.”

Laura was reporting back to Dolores, the Big Boss of Big Sandy. Just across Big Channel she was. Somewhere. Laura had her phone number at least. She continued speaking into her cell after receiving message after message earlier. “Call me”, “Call me”, “Call me”, they read. “We need to talk,” was the implication, “we need to catch up. I’m here to help.”

She was on my council, perhaps as a counsel.

—–

“I had a dream there was not one giant bug but many, weaving a grid so regular it acted as a prison. I was back in Meat City, the Utah part after Broadwater and Rockaway Beach and the Osbournes and Kuradov but before the big bend away from all that at Rhodenwald. The part that’s *locked up* with (Utah’s) Kamas in other words.”

Kamas reduced to Kama was too close to Karma, she knew. And Laura also from a defunct place called Strong Karma — resonance.

“You must focus on Big Sandy right now as best as you can,” she advised. Until the end of section 05 of this here present photo-novel was the hidden meaning. I think.

—–

I knew the Silver King Grill was a stand in for Strong Karma (SK). And although defunct, I knew where its spirit lived on, then. New Eden.

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October 23, 2023 · 9:43 am

blog post now

“It was a naval kiss but not that kind of kiss. From River — you remember. You almost put it in a blog post back then. Novel 39 I believe. Jack Benny the comedian-violinist would not be proud that you have moved into 40. He wished to remain (in) 39 all of his life!”

Once again Marsha started to ponder All Orange, thinking back to the research she did in her old room over in Meat City on the Omega continent, Mother feeding her free sandwiches and whatnot throughout it all. Probably drugged as well, she concludes as she’s thinking of it, reviewing it. Distracted by the computer, she knew she wouldn’t notice. Mother. *Mother*.

She bounced up out of the lounger. Mother put down her second apple she was working on, having thrown away the core of the first in the beach grass or bushes just over there. 1st green, this one red. She had progressed from better to best by the taste of it. Or worse to worst, depending on which way you’re looking at the situation.

“Stew dogs’ ready!” called Eddie from the red hot grill. “WELLL. I hope you’re still hungry after all that fruit,” spoke pseudo-daughter Marsha down to Wheeler with this. Wheeler, on her part, was going to see eating the latest apple through to the bitter end. She intended to eat the core this time. She was going to finish it all.

But not until after the dogs. Dogg walks up. “Rat you reating Reeler?”

“None of your business mutt,” she dismissed him out of hand.

“Rogg, actually,” spoke Dogg, thinking she just misstated his actual name. Moving on…

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October 20, 2023 · 8:29 pm

another try/revisions

“Senseless war, Speck. Redshirts a plenty.”

“Our past, Cpt.” He arches one of his non-spiraling eyebrows ever higher while checking the tricorder he holds in his hand. “Aand. Our future I’m detecting.”

“How– can… that be, Speck. I… mean…”

“I know what you mean, Cpt.” says Speck, the person playing him thinking that Don is overdoing it again. Shakespearian actors, pheh. He: a Marlowe fan. “Time… doesn’t seem to factor into the equation. Nor space.”

“Space and time, Speck,” gruffly cussed Doc just offcamera here. “Is that all your Vulcan mind can comprehend? There’s such things as *feelings*.”

He turns toward Doc and thus offcamera as well. “I understand feelings too, Doctor. I’m half–”

“Just… stop it– guys.” Cpt. again of course. “This is just– what the Daruvians want us to do. Bicker… amongst ourselves.” He turns halfway toward the camera, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He’s hatching a plot in his mind, a play within a play. “What if… *we* become the actors they *want* us… to be.”

“Or not to be,” Speck chipped in with a rare kind of joke.

Doc — offcamera still — huffed. “You *act*, Cpt. — like the Daruvians are also anything but barbarians. They’re not, dammit. I’ve seen what they did to Jed. Right in the head in bed until he was dead.” He stares intensely at the Cpt. and then Speck. Or so I’ve been told.

“Jed was… an anomaly, Doc.”

“He was a *person*,” counters still fuming Doc. Always angry. Grumpy. “Just because he had 8 arms and a head the size of Nebraska–”

“I’m picking up on something else,” interrupts Speck, always checking for logical developments. “The situation inside the arch has slightly altered to make it a bit more interesting. The primitive weapons known as muskets… are now hoisted over their right shoulders. Not their left.”

All watched as the guns were then lowered and turned. At them.

“RUNNN!!”

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October 20, 2023 · 8:34 am

time doesn’t exist

His attached mohawk was more pink than red before but obviously the same otherwise. Ketchup Tom = The Musician fer sure.

“I *lived* here.” Yes, Musician. You were Duncan Avocado as well, breaking the cycle of 10 to 13 to 10 to 13 over and over and over. You glimpsed sunnier 18 and you ran with it. All the way down the street to the car and outta here. But now you’re back. “But now I’m back,” the character said in the present to reinforce this idea.

Mokum, he also thinks in the present, reading the writing on the wall. He remembers that too. Red again.

“My mohawk!” he cries, also realizing the small but still significant color shift.

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October 15, 2023 · 9:25 am

00400411

“Definitely silver,” he rechecked through the past observing tool locally known as the chronovishmach. “So definitely George.”

—–

In the past, Hucka Doobie was eating alone. But in this alternate version she had the guts to walk up to Marion Star Harding and ask him on a date. Just after this she continued her guttiness and told Ozzie Osbourne, another star, that his gig was up in Gaston and that he’d have to return to Meat City for future concerts like these. Still on an adrenaline rush she goes back to Marion at the bar and gives him a kiss full on the lips, saying that’s to tide him over until tonight. Just arrived Ketchup Tom, aka The Musician (aka *George*) walks into the club, wanting to check everything out while Marsha was unloading the car, especially the structure of the place, trying to determine if his music would collapse it like before with that huge piece of coal for a bar in West Virginie. Hucka Doobie assured him that all had been prepared and that a non-collapsing spell had been cast by a local wizard. Club Rhino: definitely at a crossroads between various dimensions. Why Hucka Doobie was here in the first place, she finally determined after much lamenting and gnashing of teeth about her “entrapment” in Gaston. “Damn you Tammy Whatammy!” she cursed aloud a lot at first. “Damn you evil, conniving Casey One Hole!”, the root person to blame since Tammy was just following orders when she pushed her through that imprisoning collage back in photo-novel 7. Such a long time ago. She knew alternate versions of herself existed elsewhere. But she only existed within the body, the *vessel* of this here one. And she’s tired of complaining about the darkness. “When in Rome,” and so on.


“When in Rome” (2018)

And so in this version she dines and drinks with Marion Harding instead of doing so alone. And other things have changed: no “Welcome to Mimosa” on the sign, you’ll notice in comparing the last photo of this here blog post with the one above, anything that was once golden having been lost in the transition. Silver now. Night. Dark. Welcome to Gaston.

“We better get to the gig,” Marion requested after 2 wines, hoping to move to his more standard pot soon. Levon would have some, he knew. And Levon liked his music over his money, women, anything else. He’d be at the gig for sure.

“Oh,” said disappointed Hucka to this, wishing they’d just skip to whole gig thing and move on to that other stuff she had in mind. Bases, although obviously safe at home still — home base is definitely off limits tonight. But 1st, maybe 2nd? In play, she envisioned in her mind. Was she still desirable? she couldn’t help wondering as Marion got up and she followed suit and then looked at the back of his suit as it made pleasing motions while he walked toward the Rhino.

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October 14, 2023 · 2:54 pm

00400410 (the tall and short of it)

“Alright, alright. I’ll go over and talk to him. Just stop the screaming.”

Ozzie Osbourne walked out of Gaston’s Rhino Club with more information than when he came in. He had to go back to Meat City to perform. Wise if reluctant spiritual advisor Hucka Doobie told him why. Blocked!

Changing its color from gold to silver after going through the Mimosa portal, the VW bug pulled up on the sidewalk just outside. They spotted Osbourne and Osbourne spotted them but he just kept on walking. He had no need to talk to ones luckier than him. “A gig!” Ketchup Tom messaged Marsha “Pink” Krakow back in Big Sandy, who drove her car to get there since the punk was car-less, not even a drift conquering dune buggy to his name. The small vehicle was jammed full of guitars, speakers, drums, microphones, so on, with barely enough room left over for driver and passenger. They were talking all the time over of stardom and success and making it big. The sight of Ozzie Osbourne exiting the bar doubled this down.

—–

The noise of the resulting gig was too much for Hucka Doobie, who moved outside to stare at the bug they came in, wondering if it was the same she’d seen in (Meat City?) behind the strip mall. The mayor’s daughter, she recalled, busted for drugs and imprisoned in Rockaway Beach Prison for, what was it, 40 days? Or maybe 40 years? Anyway, they turned her into a doll and that was that so this couldn’t be the same gal. Could it? Hucka Doobie ponders possibilities and impossibilities while listening to the end of “Fire Ants,” transitioned expertly into the follow up but lesser hit “Water Uncles.” Then Marsha’s part of the gig kicked in, starting with a cover of “I will Survive” by 70s pop star artist Gloria Gaynor. Relieved the noise had died down, Hucka Doobie breaks her stare from the car and heads inside again. She needed to find out the truth (“Rockaway Beach” now). She’d made way for these up and comers by telling one of the biggest stars on the planet that his stint was cancelled here in Gaston — just walked out, huffing and puffing, blown away that some small fry, backwater place could do this to him (“Crazy Train”). And he was only here as a favor to an old friend, another “Oz” mate. A Daredevil some called him. Death of a cook. The gig was suppose to be for her. And, turned out, it was (transfigured “Jackie Blue”).

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October 14, 2023 · 7:32 am

00400409

So unable to do so herself because she was underaged and also didn’t have a payment record on file with the Lab, Marsha “Pink” Krakow had to take her place on the lime green karaoke stage of Kenzie’s Korner in Kuradov while she watched as best she could from outside. Marsha tried to sing to her as much as possible through the window, feeling sorry for the self proclaimed war scarred doll-girl. She warmed up with “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor, a crowd favorite from the 70s. Then it was on to “Rockaway Beach” by The Ramones from about the same time period — she was getting closer. Then Ozzie Ozbourne’s “Crazy Train” took her all the way home to “Jackie Blue” by another “Oz” act, Ozark Mountain Daredevils in that case. She knew she was singing all about herself now, like a canary. Canary in a mine? No, just canary, she realized. “Oooo hoo hoo, Jackie Blue,” she belted out the first line like there was no tomorrow. Which there wasn’t.

She’d never left her doll cage. Drugged up by the implant in her head to believe she was free again and her imprisoner was her friend, not fiend. *They* recorded it all.

And then the next night she went down the stairs that didn’t exist and out of the neighboring Rockaway Beach prison and did the same. Over and over and over. Slowly, gradually, the Ozmo Daredevils song lyrics began to change; take their true form. She was beginning to remember. They almost had the final original version.

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October 13, 2023 · 4:13 pm

apple red hiding a key

“Thank gods you have arrived. Now I can be free to exact my revenge.”

“Revenge?” spoke Marsha “Pink” Krakow, unsure what part of the prison they’re in but knowing it was a crucial place, a decision point. She was not ready to let the doll in front of her go. She has the key.

“Yes. The people that put me here. The Durexians. They came to Mountain Lake where me and my doll mates often bathe our parts. They took us. Here. Prisoners of war. Exchanged for information. First Dolly — obviously — with a name like that it would seem she’d have the most knowledge. But stupid as a porcelain dish she was. So, frustrated, they took Dimmy, thinking it was an ironic name too and maybe *he’d* have valuable information to give them. But: the same. Dimmy was not an ironic name.”

Marsha tried to speed up the conversation. *She* needed information. And here was one willing to talk, sing even, perhaps. Sing sing.

“What about the canary?” she decided to phrase it.

“Oh it died in the mine,” Billie almost responded, humor chip activated just by someone showing up. She was always pondering a joke when others were around. “Oh it died,” she actually said, stating the stark truth and that alone. She took off her hair to show what happened.

(to be continued)

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October 13, 2023 · 2:37 pm

new gal

She just remembers bits and pieces of her existence there. Like this entrance to what she understood as Pipewold, a concept first encountered on New Island not far west south of here. It has moved, she understood. Part of the same continent but in a different location. She always liked pipes. Until she came here. On the far end: a doll, she knew.

She remembers Billy. Or Billie. Soon she would take her place. She had the key.

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October 13, 2023 · 2:10 pm

00400405

“There!” she cried again. “Mother’s apple!” She was still studying, still perusing the category “All Orange” in the blog through her remote feed. Orange slice after orange slice, she ate, trying to get the whole, rounded picture.

“And there!”

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