Category Archives: Lower Austra^

00360503: the birth of Santman

“Now this is what’s so fascinating to me,” spoke Baker Bloch, taking over his father’s talk show business. Just until he mends from that broken hip. Should be off the crutches in another day or 3. “So let’s review: you moved from behind the camera to in front because Ricky Cargo got shot in the head with a real bunch of lead — no death here!” he shouts toward the audience, which got a roar. “And so you played in ‘I Love Lucifer’, for 6 years as the male lead — didn’t say lead!” More laughs. “Then you quit that show after they moved the location from the city to the country (Sandman nods here with a soft “um hum”), then you decided to get that age operation to better exploit your chances in the then lucrative child acting business.”

“More money, uh huh. After you subtract all the cost of living stuff, the houses, the pools and cars and, let’s see, women I suppose. Women of the night.” He laughs a bit here and the audience too. They’re still with him. They’ve bought into this whole story. Baker Bloch almost has as much talent in the build up as his father. But still he hopes he gets well soon and returns.

“Let’s see, the next job is then little Richie Pettry in the ‘Dick van Duck Comedy Special’. Aired on CBS for 3 years.”

“Four. Counting the Christmas season. Ran for 6 episodes actually.”

“And I believe that’s the first Christmas season in television history.”

“Television *comedy* history. There was always Bing Cosby.”

“Right, forgot,” exclaims Baker Bloch. “But that started the whole Santa thing. Tell me about that — I know we’re getting off-topic again but the story is fascinating. We’ll return to the child acting soon.”

“Well, that was part of it. At Christmas a child needs, what? A Santa. To sit on his lap, tell him what he or she wants for Christmas.” He gestures placing an imaginary child on his knee during this.

“We all know that *now*. But back then — brand new! You invented the holidays, Sandman. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Well… I can’t take credit for St. Patrick.” Laughs from the audience. He stares out at them lovingly, knows they’ve footed the bills for his many yachts and mansions down through the years.

“Okay,” says Bloch. “Let me cut to the chase — Tommy’s telling me we need to go to a commercial break.”

“I sat on his lap,” says Sandman, getting the core of it. “I… told him… I wanted a duck for Christmas.” Chuckles from the audience, most of them not even paid studio laughers by this point. “I wanted to *be* a Duck (dramatic pause). So he ate me.” Stares even wider eyed at the audience, who have lost it. Everyone knows the story. It made broadcast history.

(to be continued)

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the present

—–

“I think this case is wrapped up, Pretty. *Petty*.” He turns red again. “Pretty much wrapped up,” he tried to cover himself.

“Thanks Officer Glammerpuss.”

The place will have to be quarantined for a week because of the moondust but the business should be able to reopen then.”

“Cathy will be pleased.”

“Yes.”

“Did you get all the rocks?”

“We think so. There’s one that looks like Neil Armstrong, then one like Buzz, then the other one — I assume it’s the 3rd.”

“Collins,” answered Petty to this, due to go on his other job in 2 hours and don a chef’s hat while ditching the inspector’s coat, no rest for this busybody. He reached into it to withdraw a match, ready to relight his current stogie, 8th of the night. At one point there was even 2 in his mouth at once. so excited he was about the news. Queen! Coming to Hardrock. So says Glammerpuss, the big, well, he just loves Queen. They both do! Ah heck, might as well try. Officer seems to be hinting around.

“Listen, Glammerpuss… Chuck.”

“Tim. You call me Tim.”

“Listen, Chuck. I was wondering…”

“Queen?” It just came out of his mouth automatically. Petty turned to stare into his eyes. Chief Wigwam walked up, interrupting the moment as he was suppose to. He gazed at the ribbon on the wrapped up door, symbolic of the case itself. He thought about procedure, getting ducks lined up in a row.

“Better start the paperwork on this Glammerpuss while the memories are fresh. Petty — aren’t you due to present me with a fresh dove omelet in, say (he checks his watch), 2 hours?”

“2 1/2,” states the chef-inspector to this. “Gotta warm up the oven first. Say, Wigwam, can you give us a moment. There’s just one wrinkle on the case we have to iron out.”

“It’s Collins,” spoke Wigwam. “The one they always forget the name of.”

A small smile breaks on Petty’s face. “No, not that, Chief. Something else. Just… give us a moment.”

“Oh alright. See you when the sun comes up. Glammerpuss — paperwork.” He walks away.

(to be continued)

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3 scenes

He opened all the doors he could and peered inside before entering. Seemed safe. Here he goes!

—–

He sat in the corner of the couch that was missing a bit of one of its other corners (GH), waiting to enter the story again. It will come to him, he knows.

Meanwhile, there’s always stuff to read.

—–

The portrait of grown up Marsha “Pink” Krakow from novel 34 appears in a most unexpected place. Just noting to remember.

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spirals

He didn’t understand what he was seeing here, then he did. He didn’t like it. This was brainwashing. But to what side? he questioned. The viewer (he turned)? Or the viewed?

Then he spotted the house. And the occupants.

Ouroboros. One and the same.

Which led him to here.

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00360201

Afterwards:

“Look down there, Shelley. That’s where you’ll live; same as the color of your hair.” He dared to stroke it from behind. “That way, darling, you can come up here to the box and play any time. Anny time.”

“Shelley?” she questioned above.

—–

“Shelley,” she answered below.

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Ives got it

Just up the hill as it turned out. Former site of a little place called Collagesity.

—–

“What do you think it is?” said Franklin, apparently to the tall, hiding pampas grass in front of her but actually to fellow greenie mate Apples even more hidden within. The teleport invite placed her right in the center (good one!).

“I can’t see,” logically answered Apples, because of the grass and all. High it was, but not her. They hadn’t partaken in a week. This was all on the straight and narrow.

“Right right,” replied Franklin, still gazing upward instead of inward.

“Describe it to me.”

“I will.” And Franklin counted off the stories for Apples, 7 in number, summarizing that it looked like some kind of prison with its bleak outer facade, a tower prison. She was starting to get nervous, butterflies in her stomach if not upon it. Assumed to be assimilated Franklin had somehow escaped, thanks to this type of Central Park location, a hiding spot that, as I said, is the most-least obvious place to look for her. Little did she know. We, of course, let her go, let her be independent from Shelley once more, but at a price. Checking the downstairs works sometime after she arrived, she saw she didn’t have a Gang of Willard any longer. Roberts would not be pleased — if she could ever reunite with her again. Maybe *Roberts* has it, Franklin thought last night in her loneliness. She had the dog, she continued to rationalize. She has a history of buying unusual magical objects. Maybe this is something like, I don’t know, a *Christmas* present, red returned to what was now thought to be only purest green. Sins paid for by another.

“Any signs of life? Any signs of the light?” Apples broke Franklin’s reverie.

Still backwards guitar holding Franklin studied the faces, the windows. Nothing but plain surfaces, outer masking inner as well. “No.”

“We’ll wait it out until dark here. Then stealthily make our way back to Campground Central and Unch. He might have some ideas on this as well.

“He’ll probably just start blathering on about how Collagesity is bound to return, and that a Linden owns the prime part of the land now and that the buyer she’s specifically selling it to for one of her kind’s dollars hasn’t reciprocated yet.” It will come back on the marketplace, the sentient tree predicted with its rustling leaves, emphasized this time by a couple of falling limbs even. Unch was confusing offworld marketplace purchases with inworld land purchases, but they didn’t bother to correct him.

“Hmm. Maybe we should be quiet for a while,” Apples said within. And so they were.

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Harrys at Fieldon

Jerry eyed me as I receded and then approached again. “Why do you walk like a duck?” he ask me straightforwardly. I thought about it.

“Because I don’t want anyone to notice.”

“Notice what?” he shot back.

I indicated myself. “Well, *this*.” I wore kids sneakers. I had kids’ hair. But I was no kid. There were butterflies fluttering about in my midsection. But I wasn’t nervous. Except for the revealing, top to bottom.

Jerry — he said his name was Jerry earlier — reached into the News of the World van through an open window, pulled out a file left conveniently on the passenger seat. “I think you’re looking for this.”

—–

Norris was backing trooper car 0407 into its usual spot. Recognizing him (another Harry!), I grasped the file from Jerry’s outstretched arm and went across the parking lot to this new guy on the scene, hoping to get more information. However, my head was turned as I approached the driver’s window by a head on the hood, directly above the word Fidelity. It hit too close to home.

He didn’t ask about the duck walk, even though I approached and receded and approached him as well (I think). “Get in,” he said, but not the one within. The butterflies fluttering about my stomach became real as I realized I was an already cuffed prisoner of the state ready for transport to… somewhere. Jerseyville? Wouldn’t that be appropriate.

“Bring the other head in too while you’re at it,” Interior Norris requested. “And make sure you don’t bend anything in that file. We’ll need both for evidence.” SLAM

I was inside.

(to be continued)

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a type of Central Park

“I remember it like it was still there. I can see it now, actually. Collagesity. Just over there beyond the wall, spreading north and south for quite a while. Almost a sim long at the end it was. I miss it.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“It will be there for us. In perpetuity. I will keep working on it.”

“That is appropriate.” Wheeler-as-Franklin starts wondering when Baker-as-Albert was going to leave. Best to get back into character as soon as possible. Breaking the 4th wall is fine and all, but has limitations. If you break it down all the time then there’s no story to tell in the end. It just gets shoved back in your face as you stare at the computer screen. Maybe they should talk of Newt; Wheeler’s own marriage. How Shelley was made on that spaceship which sucked them into the sky over 3 decades ago. How Newt is now a Whitehead in Da Woods and retired and relaxed and comfortable now, within his limitations which is, in a way, the same as the boundaries of his Real Life county which affords so much hiking and outdoor activity. Haze County we may call it — we’ll see. For its mountaintop fog, some will say in partial truth.

“Unch and Apples should return,” says Wheeler. “We should get on to the story. Why are we hiding here in the most obvious place to look which is also the least obvious place, given that Collagesity is no more and there’s no reason to keep hanging around? Hidden in plain sight is another way to put it… are you writing all this down?”

“Yes,” I say back. As Baker Bloch in the moment in the form of Albert the prevert. She stares at me. I stare back. I realize she means *now*. I look in my outfit inventory. Apples is near the top but I have to dig back again for Unch. Should have moved it up with the rest.

“Hold on,” I say, still searching.

She tries to stay calm with deep breaths. So disorganized, she can’t help but think.

(to be continued)

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00360109

The Nautilus map in my skybox is lighting up again. Jem’s Dodgey City in the northeast corner, along with neighboring Blacking where Midge critically observed it across the water from her colorful beach towel. Yd Island and Darla and her Umbrella Club to the southeast, also observed from a distance by prevert Albert. Then Fordham in the lower center, the old Collagesity location which is now surprisingly acting as a hideout of some kind for Franklin aided by greenie friend Apples and the sentient tree known as Unch — you remember Unch don’t you? From the Rubi Forest? Think back. And then in the center center that mysterious place known as Perch-Mistletoe where we also see Franklin, this time interacting with Albert directly but who then turns into or reveals himself as Baker Bloch instead, with Franklin likewise realizing she’s Wheeler Wilson. The 2 main core avatars of my blog and attached photo-novels in other words, the great male-female (or female-male) duality. What it all revolves around. Then in the main arm of the Starfish Lake or Sea to the northwest of that we have Dr. Mouse’s practice which Albert also visited and turned into a baby apparently, a symbol of rebirth. Another pin is lit up beside it but we can’t speak of that yet. Place called Dub — displaced actually. To this couch so we can talk with him/it.

Another form:

Another:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dub,_Arkansas

Then moving to the west and the south again, directly below Dodgey City we have another mystery area centered by a place called the Art Box which we’ve visited several times before in our blog chronicled journeys, and which will surface again soon in relation to the missing file or files mentioned by Midge. Then to finish up for now, in the north central, we have the location of the map itself, my Lebettu Castle on Rooster’s Peninsula, my new home as of the middle of photo-novel 33 back in the late spring now. It’s been a perfect match so far. There’s no question I had to downsize.


Collagesity back in the days

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in the most-least obvious place

“Oh, we’ve looked everywhere for Franklin. Franklin Hollow here. Hootin Holler just a holler away to the north. Nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ll find her.”

“Absorption.”

“Yes.”

Afterwards, Baker Bloch, in whatever guise he’s in at the moment, thinks that he needs to set up extra protection around Shelley, convince her of her supreme long term worth, her *extraordinary* nature. He didn’t think Franklin could emerge back out of her but also might be wrong. Small chance, but there. Roberts cannot be underestimated.

—–

meanwhile, in *Fordham*:

“You stay here with me and play backwards-forwards guitar, Franklin. Us greenies gotta stick together. Right Unch?” she calls up, then pretends to hear a, “right Apples,” from the tree behind her in place of “mere” leaf rustling.

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