Category Archives: New Eden^^

January 16, 2022 · 10:44 am

Fall looming ahead

The situation had subtly but importantly changed. Axis was in the old Chevrolet now, and its coat of red paint had faded to pink, perhaps over time but perhaps not. Just pink: one of a kind. He remembers being married to Alysha, who was formerly Wendy and so on and so on. Took a while to jar his memory. A t-shirt should do the trick, she thought earlier. Except she couldn’t buy one — she had absolutely no power in this *New Eden*, none at all. The rib belonged to Adam again. She had to just tell him. Up straight.

“Axis.”

“Axis?”

“Yes: Axis. Now listen.”

—–

“I wish I could say this is a good place I brought you to, like John F. Kennedy City, a decent burg, a city you’d want to raise your kids up in and send them to school, packing their lunch box with goodies like corn chips and cherry squirt soda. But it’s not. This is a sour place instead. I — don’t want you to even look around. This is like *Florida*.” Indeed Alaska had been left behind, exercise fanatic Douglas Fairbanks and the rest, although we may pick up his particular story later.

We next find them driving down Rib in search of answers, heading toward an intersection with Eve and the truth.

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January 22, 2021 · 10:42 am

00240411

“We could send her over to New Eden to live with recently reunited Wendy and Axis, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Probably not the best surrogate parents.”

“Nah,” she answered.

“There’s a treehouse with a butterfly theme perched on the top of a prominent Omega continent peak. That might do the trick.”

“For a while.”

“But it has to be butterflies.”

“Yes,” she answered.

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January 20, 2021 · 8:58 am

red

I figured a major part of my job now was to figure out who 102 actually is. Or was. This Maebaleia or Satori horned demon highlighting DANGER could be a clue. I know Danger also equates with Dead: Dead Cat Soap, etc.

It’s Bart Smipson but it’s not Bart Smipson. Another ragamuffin of the streets.

It was that t-shirt. He was covering up the t-shirt with his arm. He didn’t want the passing camera to see (!). Or he was indicating the shirt to… me; crossing it. Blood on his… shirt. We’re entering ghost territory (again). He disappears behind a telephone pole. A dead end (in Picturetown). We’ve seen enough. ENOUGH. Gates closed. Text begins again as Barry X. Vampire takes over.

We lie in a pool of blood as Bart Smipson towers above us, Giant for a day.

I think I’ll bring Biff Carter back into the picture. He was the one to let it happen — was on his watch. Demoted to private dick he was after that, no better than a Moby Prick consigned to swim the Southern depths of hell below aerial, pie in the sky Heaven. He was in dark toned, ironically named New Eden. Sometimes he was back on the beat thanks to a shortage of personnel in the local police department due to all those pills. But what of Orkley Andy who was probably the same as Oakley Annie the Ohioan gunslinger? Let it pass, let it slide, Cpt. Henry said as history repeats itself. 3 dead is pretty good numbers for that kind of escapade. We got away with something. Let him get away with it too. Say it was his dog hiding under his couch; go with his story. Hunter the dog — a good story, a *true* story. And so Biff Carter wrote that particular slant in his report, not mentioning the bodies (soon carted away by the ever-present zombies) or the red dress smiling on the ground before him (soon carted away by a female zombie or perhaps a male one experimenting with his sexual identity). All evidence gone and taken care of. He heads down to the Red Dress Diner to talk about all of it with Phyllis at the time…

—-

“Wanda, hi. Where’s Phyllis? I thought it was her shift — just spoke to her over the phone.” Where’s your red dress? he thought.

“Axis. We really need to talk now.”

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January 7, 2021 · 7:30 am

it is chicken it is eggs

Despite appearances, this wasn’t Mars outside. But then again, neither was this Baker Bloch in front of us sitting on the top of the couch, surfaces deceiving again. You can check his black brim hat if you don’t believe me. Slightly iridescent, like a dulled adobe shell. Baker Bloch’s is properly black, like midnight on a sunless moon.

What’s Fake Baker staring at? Is he waiting for someone? Yes, he’s waiting for somone. Because this is actually Tropp again, about to get together with Treelor, Axis be damned (and he is). Tropp is in charge here — always. I don’t know how that happened, honestly, but there it is.

Wendell “Biff” Carter is also Tropp. That is, they have the same core avatar. Wheeler is her own core, Baker Bloch too. Baker Blinker, Karoz Blogger, Hucka Doobie, and several others: the same. We went over all that in photo-novel 13. I know you were paying attention. So we’re dealing with a core issue. And Axis is also the same as Tropp, actually, both forming within 2 posts of each other back in photo-novel 8 (I’m sure you remember).

The actual location: New Eden, certainly a different place in these here photo-novels, a special place perhaps. Unique, but maybe not in a good way. The snake slithers forwards, holding an apple in its mouth. Peter Gabriel from Genesis can’t remove a Gentle Giant “Giant for a day” mask and remains noncommercial, unable to become the pop star he wishes and be free of the weight. So close these bands are, yet so far apart. In hypertime, I suppose, they could be the same. Like Dick and Dickens; like Johnson and Johnson. We’re not really talking reincarnation. We’re talking the same *gestalt* I guess you could put it. Outside of time again — there’s probably a heap of additional clues out there if one wishes to search.

Axis himself has played the role of Peter through Tronaxis, a nod to the audiovisual synchronicity Tronesis, a melding of Genesis (Lamb) and the original Tron movie. This was the weight. Wherever Peter went in his solo career, the Lamb was sure to follow, like a dark companion of sorts. He could either move forward into Peter O’esso and a successful solo career — *commercial* success (like a car) — or slink backwards into pre-Lamb where the red cross dominates. There’s so much more to this…

And in the exact middle we have the Lamb dying with Ram. More gestalts. Fused… somethings.

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January 6, 2021 · 11:46 am

00240203

He had a good look at the back of the bartender from his seat but she wasn’t his type, a bold bodied Jessica Rabbit sort from the Roger Rabbit movie franchise, a mixture of cartoon and caricature. The person actually sitting at the bar nearer him was more interesting, but not necessarily in a sexual way. More like she had information he needed to know — he didn’t know how he knew this but he knew. He *knew* he knew. He was becoming aware of who he was. And this dame — woman — was going to help him over the edge. Back to Canada and Picturetown and the alley with the 102 signature and Charlene the Bigfoot punk and all the other stuff. She was reading — he liked to read, at least the red book. He asked what it was; this was her cue. She turned to face him, scars and all.

“Axis,” she requested. “It’s time to give up the gig.”

Axis? Wendell “Biff” Carter thought. Was this role play? Okay, he could go along. “I’ll give up the gig, then, if you tell me what you’re reading.”

“I’m reading the book you have read. I’m reading the book you have *written*.” She showed him the cover, emblazoned with an inky black swastika as big as an alternate 3rd Reich that actually won WWII. Still didn’t mean anything to him. This was 1939 after all. The big switch hadn’t happened yet.

“Okayyy.” He calculates how to further advance this strange conversation. It had been a strange day. First he was awoken at 5 in the morning and asked to fill in for Philburg down at the station, who was sick on pill. Then during his beat (back on the beat!) he encountered a highly dangerous criminal named Orkley Andy — so close to Oakley Annie! — but turned out to be a sweet guy who had lost his dog Hunter who was just hiding under the couch because of all the gunshots. Never mind the cat stench and the almost cleaned up blood stains. Never mind Phyllis down at the Red Dress diner. Orkley Andy had him phone her up on his phone. She’s okay! Orkley Andy wasn’t a bad sort, just a gun sort. Biff had to ask. “Are you related to the famous gunslinger Oakley Annie?” “Never heard of her,” Orkley lied through his gold capped teeth.

How blind could Biff be? He refocused out of his thoughts and onto the stranger’s face again. So familiar. “Don’t I know you?” — making her huff and leave the place. She’d have to try another time.

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January 6, 2021 · 10:04 am

00240202

Wendell “Biff” Carter was going to run away as far as possible, leaving danger and possible death behind. But he stops when he sees the red dress. He hovers over it. Phyllis, he realizes. He turns toward the hangout. She must be inside. In danger!

But the red dress was actually Phyllis’ co-worker Wanda’s who’s the sister-in-law of Philburg’s 2nd cousin Ethel. Philburg’s revenge continues into yet another post, and perhaps yet another and another. This goes beyond danger into the great beyond. If only he could smell the cat stench all about the place. Soap, the new, extra gritty stuff bought at the local Hurdy Gurdy to wash out all the crime stains.

Orkley Andy had stopped shooting a while back, with everybody dead that was hot on his trail. In this way he snuck up on Biff. He looked over, understanding the red dress bait had glued him to the spot, heh heh heh. He laughs aloud: “Heh heh heh.”

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January 6, 2021 · 10:04 am

Philburg’s revenge

Biff Carter was filling in for Philburg Johnson Jones, sick with the pill. Back on the beat for the first time in a while. Cpt. Henry needs to get these boys a new set of wheels, Biff thinks while staking out a rough joint and catching up with his red book, the one with him in it (the *other* Biff Carter). Paper, he ponders while rereading chapter 2 for the 17th billionth time. Sure glad it beats scissors or we’d all be in a fix.

Suddenly: gunshots in the distance. The City was a tough, rough place, he knew. He was not a cop now but a private dick, forced to retire from the force after the Oakley Annie debacle. Gun selling was illegal in the Great Black Swamp and Biff Carter well knew it. He just let it slip, like all those dickhead cops before him. He was just unlucky enough to get caught. Oakley Annie gunned down a bigger gun this time: the mayor of Swamp Fox. And now he’s stuck in this ruddy city of all places. New Eden, pheh. But now: a possible opening. Philburg has a history of illness and may not make it this time, with the pill harder and harder to get over. Phyllis the waiter told him this down at the Red Dress Diner. She’s popped enough; she should know. More gunshots. Should he go check? Nah, not his responsibility. He may not even remember how to fire his pistol after all this time. What was it: Alcatraz? Or maybe Gettysburg. Yeah, the latter. Philburg would know. He was the one who got hit in the foot by the stray shot. This started the pills. Ahh, it all goes in a big circle. He shot Philburg, Philburg shoots pills, Pills shoot… ahh, he’ll work on it. Point is, he may get Philburg’s job because of an accident that happened a number of years back now. Last time he filled in on the force. He could work up to 30 hours a year per his early retirement agreement. And this is 10 of ’em today. Now’s his chance, he senses. No more shooting people (or himself!) in the foot.

The gunshots get closer. At a certain point, it’s obvious they are heading his way. “Shoot and darnit,” he cusses, trying to start the old police jalopy in order to run away from danger. But the tires had gone flat in the meantime. He’d have to face whoever was causing all the trouble head on. Most likely this was their hangout. Was Philburg behind this? he suddenly guesses. Was he… getting back at him? As soon as Biff Carter thinks this, he knows it is truth. This is…

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August 31, 2020 · 6:40 am

Carter’s Cave

“It’s a landscape tile, perfectly square and I don’t think it could be here by accident. Just thought you’d like to know, Baker Bloch.”

“Well um, *thanks* Biff Carter.”

“I have an office set up already in The City to start examining the oddities of this area. This — New Eden.”

“That’s great. I wish you well. Let me know what you find.”

“I’ll send you a report daily.”

“Er, what about Cassandra City? I thought that was your base? Did you have a falling out with the guy in the trench coat? Wait — I suppose *you’re* that guy, or the replacement. Comedy over gravity and the like.”

Biff Carter thought about this for a change before replying. He didn’t want to become totally stream of consciousness. I realized who he might be tonight.

“We have a mutual friend.”

Thought so. But what of the square landscape tile? It *was* here. And he was right: ’twas a strange phenomenon and I don’t think it could be accident. Must be the work of Carrcassonnee again. I understand she has a car now that she can steer around. CAR.

“Don’t get too close to it,” peering Biff Carter warned once more. “Could be radioactive; could be a plant.. er, planted here by Umbrella.”

“Yeah, been meaning to ask you about that. Who, or what, is Umbrella? Red or maybe red and white striped.”

“Strip, yes.” Did he say strip?

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September 10, 2019 · 8:29 am

Devil

“I can see it in my mind’s eye right now Ruby, er, Cathy. Right over there in that open part of the sky. A round, perfectly black head with round black ears to match. Don’t you see it too?”

“I’m, er, *prrr*, trying!”

“No need to shout,” scolded Eraserhead Man playfully. “Not when you’re around. We should get married right here and now, babydoll. Right at this crossroads. Save us a lot of time later on.”

Cathy A. laughs and twirls around in place with her blue rose, acting all ditzy as usual.

“Anyway…” EM stares back up in the sky. “That’s what I see. We’ll, hmm, probably have to alter it for copyright reasons. Maybe, um, *deflate* one of the ears; make it look more like a dog’s. A droopy dog ear, yes. Like that card I used in the other show.”

“‘On the Air’? *prrr*.”

“No, the other one. The less famous one.”

“Oh.”

“Like *this*, actually.” Eraserhead Man holds up his coffee mug for Cathy A. to see. Indeed: droopy dog ears. She gets a little afraid at the sight, which EM senses.

“Yeah, I know how you feel. Anyway, that’s what follows Axis around, wherever he goes now. The North will have to surrender unconditionally to the high menace.” Eraserhead Man looks up. “The high menace in the high castle.

Now place your rose over there and we’ll start again.”

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March 24, 2019 · 10:05 am

Baysity

“So. This is your portal.”

“I come down here to Dennis, I get cleaned up, um hum.”

“Err, you mean you get cleaned up and then you come down here to Dennis.” Baker Bloch remembered that Wheeler had said something was wrong with Tropp — True Opp. Maybe it’s that he gets everything backwards. He decides to test.

“So, Wilson Wheeler is your best mate down here.”

“Wheeler Wilson, yes.”

Aha! Baker thought.

—–

“I left him over there dancing. He seems to try to dance his way into a different form. Axis.”

“I’ve heard of him. Rules The Waste, among other places. Rosehaven even, perhaps.”

“We can’t get rid of him.”

“I know.”

“We tried. Same with Wheeler.”

“True enough.” Karoz leaned forward. “You know I have a different user than you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Come clean with it.” Baker Bloch knew, but he wanted to hear Karoz speak the name.

“Gene Fade.” Baker Bloch nods, trying to look a little shocked. “And the same goes for Tropp — Opp.”

“Gene Fade is Tropp’s user as well.” Baker kept his mouth open.

“But Tropp is the same as Bracket, originally king of the Comma Islands.”

“And, I’m guessing, Mmmmmm Grassy Noll is a Gene Fade avatar as well.”

“Could be.” Karoz continues his own story. “I was designed to safely walk the uber sacred peak of Grandaddy Mountain without damaging precious and sometimes rare plants. No animal interaction either. But I forsook this destiny and became enmeshed in Second Lyfe. Our Second Lyfe.”

“Chilbo.”

“Noru, actually. Norum.”

“Right.”

“Norum was stronger than Chilbo — Chilbol — in the early days. Before the deforestation.”

“Right. Plants talk. Plants aid. Look at Collagesity now. The only thing keeping it living and breathing is the Rubi Woods.”

“Correct.” He continues onward with more “revelations”. “Gene Fade is my father. Father *and* user.”

“I still…”

“Grassy too. Gene created Grassy from his own genes.”

“‘Fade to Moss,’ Baker proffers. “The production tells all of this.”

“But not in this dimension. Not yet. Gene wanted to go beyond his days as Grassy Noll’s sidekick in all those Salad Bar Jack action-adventure movies. He was quite famous, but only through Grassy. ‘Fade to Moss’, an autobiography that wasn’t an autobiography, was suppose to propel him into a different circle, a different level.”

“Didn’t work.”

“No.”

(to be continued)

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