He didn’t get much information from that pothead Pine Ridge but he understood Lamb had flown the coup. Peter Paul and Mary I mean here, featured in photo-novel 05 and a bit of photo-novel 06 if memory serves. Mr. Babyface came here to try to persuade his nephew Paul (and the rest) to return to the Land of the Living, as he called it, get away from this Hana Lei and its huffing and puffing and boys bringing more rolled up paper all the time, just like clockwork. You pay them, they come and never stop, the jerks. “Vicious cycle,” he said. “You’ll end up like Syd,” he furthered, pointing out the famous downfall of one of Paul’s rock heroes. “Dead… or worse. Dead in your head, which goes beyond physical death because the mind goes beyond the body. You better think about that the next time you take a shower with that cat soap you like.” He decides to leave it at that. Paul stares at him, much like Roger stared at Jacob later on, all glazy eyed, like a glossy pot ready to go to market, ready to have another plant inside it. He didn’t need to ask the Time because he knew what it was, shortly followed by Money, shortly followed by death. And worse. Brain Damage.
Category Archives: Hana Lei^^
“Yeah, they’re all gone,” explained Roger Pine Ridge a little later in the heart of Hana Lei. “50 years ago I guess by now — just missed them.” He kept toking, staring, his cracked alien skin no better for the smoke. But being alien and all it may not matter that much… lungs might be configured differently for example. Smoking may not hurt him like us humans. He continues. “Lamb, yeah. I know what’s in your head. You want to clarify what I’m talking about.” He coughs, he stares at the doobie almost shrunk to nothing, then tosses it away and shakes his hand vigorously like it’s on fire and he’s trying to put it out. “Where’s some pliers when you need them, heh.”
Jacob I. was currently taking a break from pot, trying to crack this whole Lamb conundrum with a clear head. So no cracks about Bogarting that whole joint thing to Roger, because Jacob I. asked him to. “No thanks,” he said at the time, then took a glance at all the pots and pseudo-pots strewn about the place and wondered how he ever survived with it. Lamb could save him. Dollie.
All of a sudden, just like that, he was back to where it all started. The I. that could not get high, this Melancholy place in BEHappy. All aspects of BEH he was examining tonight, remembering his old friend Cyberpaperdoll, for instance, in another Beh
sim place over on the Heterocera continent. And he was of course thinking of sheep, which go behhhhhh. Like Dolly the cloned one. Dolly had been *here*…
… but her name seems to have been spelled “ie” instead of “y”.
… leading to the Square of Jupiter, famous in Durer’s “Melancholia I”.
Randolph the Bastard Pirate.
Better go check out the locals while I’m here, Jacob I. decided.
Now that I’m awake again I’m going to figure out who you guys are, he thought. Sorry: *gals*.
Other Other! (4:00)
Worlds come together. (3:45)
“Oh he was one Black Hole of a guy, sucking everything in in his way,” he spoke despairingly later about his much more famous sibling of sorts. Some say they are the same — he begs to differ, this *Kelly*. History changes and the Whites don’t like it. Buildy Bob assumes a cone position atop the truck again, showing his true colors. He cusses like a mo fo and doesn’t turn red, because there was only black and white for him. And he smelled a skunk. And he could read the newspaper headlines in front of his crude face with his rude mouth. “Dewey (F-cking) Wins”. It was all a big fat (circular) lie — yellow journalism. We better get back to Paper Soap. But first…
“Hey, watch the f-ck out!”
“We meet again Yoyo or Dada. Better let me speak with Claude or Claudette. We’re getting kind of near the end, need to start wrapping things up here so we can move on to the 28th. Some months — well, February — only have such. We’re becoming a whole damn month Yoyo-dada. Better move aside, let me talk to the golden cow.”
“Assure you here he not is,” rasped YD. Dr. Mouse hit him with his own cane to sweep him away, clear path ahead.
Buildy Bob assumes a cone position atop the ice cream truck. “You don’t belong the f-ck here, I’m sensing.”
“No,” she stated plainly. BB was about the only character here she trusted. Crude and rude, true, but that showed his true colors, rainbow exposed. Diversity. No white out.
“Where’re you from, then, Pinhead?” He’d been calling her Pinhead ever since he saw diminutive Mary PipPIN land on her HEAD from the perspective of his roaming camera eye. Most, maybe all of the other characters in this here Land o’ Dreams don’t roam like that; stay fixed in their position inside their head and body. Not BB. He wanted to know the bigger perspective.
“I landed in a balloon,” she decided to say. “From Kansas,” she almost followed, but then remembered Omaha was actually in
Oklahoma Nebraska. Or was it? “Nebraska I’m from,” she finalized. “World’s Fair.” State fair she meant there but she let the stated mistake stand. She should have thought things through sooner, maybe written down her lines beforehand. At least she had the (built in) black hair for the ears. And where were her ears? There.
“Oh we’ll get Oz don’t you worry,” he said a little later about another potential assimilation, using “we” in an ironic sense. Why do they put up with him? she wondered again. Allow a breathing, walking Achilles Heel right in their midst?
“It’s too early,” she corrected. “The (Baum) books are copyright free. Plumly is different.”
“Don’t start with me about *Ruth*.” And where *was* Ruth, BB thought bitterly, looking around as if she could appear magically in their immediate vicinity. And perhaps she could. This was a Magic Kingdom after all; anything goes, as long as you worship the White. “Have you seen Willy, yet?” he then asked, thinking of the only other interesting *deviation* from this parade of madness. “Riding a steamboat. But I think he’s changed his name to Kelly to protect the innocent and all. Which means him — primarily. And me I suppose. He’s a pretty decent fellow, but scared and nervous, as he should be. They can’t fully assimilate him because he represents some kind of *ur* character, a primordial man-mouse of some sort. Don’t ask me how to explain all the details of it. It’s just they can’t fully *touch* him. He remains both black and white. Pansy knows.”
Pansy, thought Alysha here. I haven’t heard that name for a long long time. Not since childhood.
(to be continued)
“You’ve lost your supreme whiteness, Rabbit. Better get back to the dressing room and find that head.”
“Sir,” she corrected. Although a woman she was playing a man. Always.
Listening grown up Alysha was in disguise now. The black hair aided. See what I can do when unaided, she thought to the group around her, having purposefully misplaced the White Rabbit’s head with her mind. Ear Power go!
There was at least one more here around the table. Crude and rude, he asked where the f-ck the caterpillar went off to.
Calvin was soon replaced by Horace, a proper White and causing no trouble atall. The hands *are* the clock now. Time control. History revision.
“You cannot see me yet properly, *can* you… *Can*. Kolya, if you wish. I am both gray and brown to you. Thus: Gray Brown. That is my name. I am both black and white and colored. I am one tv swapped with another. I am your childhood, Can… Kolya. And I can be your adulthood.” She tried another pose.
“How about now?” she gurglingly asked, neck broken, facing the ceiling. “Does this ring a bell, spark a memory? Do you (she moved into a different pose; voice returned to normal) recall *killing* me? Hmmmm?”
“I don’t want to (sniff), I don’t — want…”
She was relentless. “I’m going to summon someone now, Can, someone who wants to talk to you. Someone: nervous.”
“Okay let’s CUT there for tonight; start fresh in the morning. Thanks everyone!”
“This is also a Mayberry,” she explained later in her House on the Hill. “We do not prejudice against black and white or coloreds. All are welcome here for resurrection.”
“What about Soap?” He knew the other Paper, the sim just named Paper itself, was accompanied by another sim of that name. “How do you, I don’t know, clean all the grime and dirt off from the grave… itself.”
“Child. You’re speaking nonsense.” She noted the holes in his head again. Marbles are loose somewhere in the world, perhaps this world. “Did you see Chuckey at the shack? You know, the swamp takes up basically half this Paper [delete name] sim. It’s a wet and dry war. Chuckey is my opposite. He (she pauses)… is (smaller pause) insaaaane.
Kolya thought back to the eyes that uttered “Arkansawwww”. *Not* “Jerrrry”. He didn’t think.
“What, child, did you see there? *Hear* there?” She decided to just play the cards she was dealt. “Did you seeeee — *this*?”
“He took it over to Eyela in the Asylum to show her; plopped it down right on top of her unfinished jigsaw puzzle. It will never be finished. “What’s *this*?” she exclaimed while also tittering a bit. “Looks a little… like *me*.”
The book started screaming, low at first, then LOUD. She covered her ears and bent her single big eye down toward the floor, trying not to look any more as well.
Then it hissed the one word no one in this alternate Paper sim wanted to hear.