Category Archives: Nautilus^^

Areogeleye

“There,” Wheeler declared. “Down at the bottom.” She bends down. “A blue eye!”

“Your… *missing* eye?” Baker Blinker asks, staring down as well at the grassy being with one blue eye, the left one (to it).

“Yes. We must observe this closely.” She stands back, taking in the whole work.

Newton Collage 09, (in)formally “TILE Waterfall”. She sees this through the checked description. “TILE,” she then utters. “Does *Karoz* know about this one?”

“I– I’m…”

“We better ask,” Wheeler stated, not letting Baker Blinker finish. She could tell her new partner didn’t know. But Karoz was the last person Baker Blinker wanted to talk to right now. Not after what she had just done.

We may also note that this is the 49th collage of the 100 piece “Art 10 x 10” housed in the Collagesity cubic skybox called the Edwardston Station Gallery that Wheeler Wilson and Baker Blinker are presently combing through for clues. The 49th room of Kowloon’s 100 Story Building similarly contains a “spilled” black liquid combined with bright white. We’ve already seen it here: the dream cat called Space spills black ink while diminutive feline companion Star seems to spill a contrasting white milk and then revel in the mixture. We don’t have a white *spill* here, yet white *absorption* through a synthetic, ultralight porous material called areogel. The blue eye *eyes* the areogel, knowing what it actually stands for.

This is black and white combined again.

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up down

“*Rebl*? What happened to your *eye*??”

Shark? What shark?”

Plans?”

Flash bulb? Blinding? *Disappeared*?”

“Go ahead,” she urged. “Find out where it leads. It won’t hurt you. Like it did me.”

“Aahh!”

—–

“Somewhere in this Edwardston Station Gallery, my love, my *future* love, is a clue to the whereabouts of my missing eye. I can feel it. So close.” But still they walk right by.

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more more

She was back in Collagesity. Husband Karoz Blogger may or may not follow. She’d heard of Wheeler’s marriage to Axis and had to return. She had one last pitch: a wrestling confederation. Headed by Wheeler.

Marriages don’t have to last forever.

—–

“It’s a good place, Wheeler. A strong place,” Baker Blinker spoke about the Gloomy Gus structure, her original home in Collagesity, recently moved to the Peninsula residential area of town.

“I *do* like the hair. Thanks so much.”

“Sorry it’s so late.” She gazes at the remaining visible eye through the doo and wonders if it’s Arkansas or Missouri. Only one way to find out. “Marry me, Wheeler. Divorce Axis. I’ll divorce Karoz. Together we’ll be *Beans*.”

Wheeler paused. We’ve been here before, but with the shoe on the other foot. “You better get back to Chilbo,” Wheeler replied non-committally. “Karoz will be needing his supper soon. Still eating rice all the time?”

“Quinoa now,” explained Baker Blinker with a laugh. “Less filling.” She rubbed her belly here. Wheeler liked the look of it. Axis was a marriage of convenience. They could remain friends, after all.

“I’ll — think about it,” she finalized for now. “You better go. Oh… let me see yours.”

Baker Blinker showed her the new hair she bought for herself as well. Magika Bean she could be soon. With Flip as her partner at both home and work.

“The study would be right in there,” Baker Blinker tempts. “Just like before.”


Before.

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the state of Collagesity…

… is good. Healthy, even.  Mr. Babyface is back at Perch reading his voluminous newspapers at 15 till 3, thinking along these same lines while puffing on his oh-so-smooth Red Dragon tobacco. Night this time: PM. He has that freedom now the head is back where it belongs.

Yes, Perch is back in Carrcassonnee’s nogg’n, but she isn’t quite “fixed” yet per se. The Man About Time and others are working on it. A second one-eyed monster has been purchased on the marketplace as a potential translator, perhaps even — dare I? — a — no, can’t say it. Carrcassonnee rules! But: a little buddy, yes. Frank?

“Frank?” Nothing yet. The Man About Time will try again tomorrow.


The Man About Time playing Carl Nielsen’s “Commotio” for Frank and Carrcassonnee.

What about Wheeler, then, remembering that she took over control of Collagesity late 2016 in a political coupe which seemingly has been reversed with the at least partial reinstatement of Carrcassonnee, the deity she deposed?

She’s okay with it all. But decisions must be made about the Blue Feather. Is this still Wheeler’s “palace” or is it a place owned equally by all the Blue Feather club, which also includes Baker Bloch, Baker Blinker, Hucka Doobie, Karoz Blogger, and the rest of the core avatars? Not just Wheeler: all. Is this what’s happening?

Wheeler and Baker Bloch, the 2 owners of the land the town is situated upon, don’t know yet.


“We don’t know.”

But one thing for sure now is that Collagesity has returned. The town has a true center with the tower bearing its name, a default landmark for all those who enter from the outside.

“Hmph,” voiced visiting Alice Farrowheart from over at NWES (which we’ll return to very shortly). “I wanted to go to the Red Umbrella but instead I land here.” She turns. “Oh, I understand. This is the place where you get to *all* the galleries. Not just one: all.”

“And what about this museum?”

Yes, what about that museum, visiting Alice Farrowheart from over at NWES?

It’s a subject for another day.

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Steamboat

Mr. Babyface looked down at the large palm tree The Man About Time was currently referring to. “The Hole is gone,” he had just said about the mysterious object formerly underneath it. “When Mick jumped in, the effect was gone. The great 2-n-1 was over.”

“Takes 2 to know, yeah,” Mr. Babyface says in response now, thinking he needs to phone up Greg Ogden as soon as possible. Or, on the other hand, Gregg Oden, if he’s in that form presently. He’d been romancing a living, breathing Mandela Effect for months and didn’t know it, didn’t know the term for it. The Man About Time is attempting to clear this up.

“Gaston has a lot to do with this,” then offered MAT in his mild voice while scratching the back of his neck on the couch. “Changes people, and sometimes not for the good.” He scratches more. “Sometimes… for the bad.”

“And that’s where Greg said he was going in that letter he wrote me,” completes Mr. Babyface while turning, more eager than ever to pick up the phone.

But which way to go, he thinks, receiver in hand just later. Does he go to Gaston or does Greg come here?

“I’ll come to you,” responds Greg Ogden at his red Gaston house. “They frown on mutanty looking people around here,” he said, referring to Mr. Babyface’s baby faced head.

“Well I *never*.” But he was coming back and that was the most important thing. He was pulling him out of *there*.

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return of the Dawg Pound?

“… nice view of Carrcassonnee’s new, blooming tree over at the Temple of TILE. I think this could be our new spot, Other Baker.” He woofed down another delicious piece of Raggedy Ann’s pizza with this. “This — um so good — this new pizza item is the *best*, Baker Blinker.” He takes yet another bite, and talks, still with his mouth pretty full. “Ginger, yum (*chomp*). Just a hint of ginger.”

“How about that table over there, though,” suggests similarly woofing Baker Blinker, not as convinced this was their new spot at Perch. “Better view.” She was at least polite enough to stop eating when she talked.

Baker Bloch glanced over after swallowing. “Too near the door to the place. You know I don’t like sitting in front of the door. *Everyone* can look out on us.” He returns to the pizza and the devouring of it. “Besides (*cut*), Mr. Babyface is over there right now (*bite*).”

“Mr. Babyface has *been* over there. What’s he doing with all those newspapers?”

Baker Blinker’s been glancing over here, thinks Mr. Babyface, paused in his reading. She may report me to the maitre de, gasp, who may tell the owner. Maybe even Perch himself, who sees *everything* anyway.

Oh wait, he suddenly realized, playfully fooling himself. Perch is back in (Carrcassonnee’s) head — not mounted up there above the door any more. Grease stain left behind covered up by a big clock. Oh well. Guess there’s no one around to monitor my voluminous newspaper reading today. Maybe I’ll order another cup of coffee around, say, 3:30-ish.

At 25 after 3, Mr. Babyface spots the odd conjunction that would influence the rest of his life. An ad for a football camp featuring Leroy Kelly, and just below, an ad originating from Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

Steamboat Kelly, he ruminates after reading one then the other. The famous running back who replaced (best running back ever) Jim Brown but also made a (smaller) name for himself. Sat on the bench and bided his time — good for him. Patience pays off.

Trouble was, there was never a *Steamboat* Kelly. Only Leroy — sans nickname. Mr. Babyface had entered an alternate universe where up could be down and Cleveland Browns players, former and present, could be manipulated by a higher power.

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time town 02

It was time to make the House of Truth a permanent structure in Collagesity South.

Done.

He then sits and admires Carrcassonnee’s new “growth” before entering the neighboring temple. So olive green, just like herself. The plant makes the alien and the alien makes the plant. Nifty. Three again is the lucky charm as per legend: a tree in this case. Three Tree; good name (?).

Walking the Rainbow Labyrinth on the temple’s bottom floor may be required preparation later on but not right now. The Man About Time is prepared enough.


8-5-6-7-4-1-2-3-0

On second floor: much work to be done still. The Man About Time plays a Carl Nielsen piano piece to see how it affects the tv static. He believes that Carrcassonnee will like this music and looks forward to her approval. He’s here to entertain her, among other things.

Third floor: Carrcassonnnee herself. Alive and well. Well enough. For now. Later: mobility.

“Hi Carr. What’s up with you tonight. What you been thinking about today? Let me in on it if you may.”

“Helllllooooo MAT. I……. call you.. MAT. You…….. call me….. CARR.”

“Okay, Carr. Good deal. MAT it is. Okay.” He swings his arms around, temporarily faces away, then returns. “Hey Carr, I’ve been thinking…”

“Iiiiiiiiiiiii”

“Um, yes Carr? You okay?”

“Iiiiiiiiiiiii”

“Okay. Lemme take a closer look (at your eye)….” But MAT quickly realized that Carrcassonnee wasn’t physical any more, unlike the old days. He couldn’t climb up her leg and check the eye, like before. She was still in some kind of ethereal form. Better be careful with her, he realized. Take it slow; slow it down.

“Iiiiiiiiiiiii” Carrcassonnee repeated, but MAT decided he couldn’t help her today.

“Hey Carr. I — think we better postpone that chat until tomorrow, eh? Tomorrow it is my friend.”

Carrcassonnee just stares now. Everything seems okay. But everything wasn’t okay. Something hadn’t been locked into place yet.

The 7th.

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