Category Archives: Rooster’s Peninsula

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“This is Scooter. Scooter this is Herbert. He just woke up today.”

“Scooter eats rats,” the horse neighed, and was off again, chasing another one. They watched him attentively move to the edge of the green plateau…

… and then dive into the bushes.”

Scooter doesn’t really eat rats,” said Hoppy in a lower voice in case Scooter was listening in. Horses could tune into about 5 different conversations around them if needed and understand everything in every single one. “He just chases them, then *pretends*. Or maybe,” Hoppy says in a rethink, “he just pretends *everything*.” Hoppy hadn’t actually ever seen a rodent in the woods. Except for Wilber the Vole, who doesn’t count (uneducated).

Scooter emerges from the bushes about where he entered them and walked to his grassy spot again. “Scooter ate rats. Scooter sleepy now. Goodbye.”

—–

“Okayyy, then moving on, we have Jerimy here on the picnic table, enjoying… well, what’re you eating Jerimy? Don’t say rats, hah.”

“Spinach.” And Jerimy takes another bite of his blueberry pancake. But Herbert notices he sounds exactly like the horse in saying this.

Hoppy looked up to Herbert, sensing the confusion. “Lots of comedians here, you see. Horses that pretend to eat rats, bears that pretend they are horses eating rats — er, spinach — in turn. Bears are super mimics.”

“Bears are *super* mimics,” says Jerimy in exactly the same tone and register as Hoppy, except emphasizing the word “super” a bit more.

“See?” He turns back to Jerimy. “Where’s your mother, Jerimy?”

“Shot.” Now he sounds exactly like Jackie the swan.

“Now, Jerimy, that’s not very nice. You shouldn’t make fun of tragedy.”

Jerimy makes a series of machine gun sounds, then a loud whistle as if a plane was plummeting from the sky, then an explosion upon impact. Hoppy was shaking the resulting spittle from his entire body and Herbert was shaking it from his shoe and the lower part of his trousers.

“Radius: 10 feet,” then exclaimed the young bear comedian (comedian?). “All debris must be cleared up by O 9 o’clock.” Radio announcer now. Jerimy’s a regular listener of the BBC, especially enjoying war dramas like “Mary Queen of Scots”. “Penguins,” he then utters nasally, imitating something else, perhaps another voice from the radio. “Bloody *stupid* penguins.”

“Jerimy?” Hoppy was trying to get the cub to focus. “Where’s Mama?”

“Mama.” The voice of a human baby now. “Ma-ma. Ma-ma.” He pretend sucks at a milk bottle: “*slurp slurp slurp* *BUUURP*”.

Jerimy, that’s *rude*.”

“BUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” Half the birds in the surrounding woods flew from their perches. Several thought they were being shot at with some kind of special gun. One fainted and fell to the ground. But he was okay (Billie Perch, a Hollywood starling).

“Done, Jerimy?” Hoppy thumped a rabbit foot and crossed his arms in exasperation. Bears could be trouble, especially if they go on a comedic roll. How to slow it down?

(to be continued?)

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00280610

“And this is Jackie. Jackie this is Herbert. Jackie is looking for another mate. Her old one… well.”

“Shot,” Jackie replied back and swam in a circle, brooding. And then another circle and then another circle. Then: stop. Something else was on her mind. “New?”

“Yes, Jackie. Herbert is brand new to our world. His ears have just been unstopped today. He *can* hear us, hurrah!”

“Hurrah,” the swan echoed back from her lonely pond, but with less enthusiasm. Still she was glad another human being woke up. They were short in that category. Peter was the last.

“Okay, Jackie. Just introducing Herbert around. You don’t get *too* down, okay? Someone will come along *very* soon for you, I’m sure.”

“Very soon,” she repeated. Again without much vim and vigor. Energy was low for the swan. She swam in 3 circles again and felt better. “Goodbye,” she sounded.

“Goodbye, Jackie,” said Hoppy.

“Goodbye,” uttered Herbert, understanding about 1/2 of what was said here. Enough to know that Jackie lived alone. He’d get the hang of it.

(to be continued)

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00280609

“Long ago, the Lemon peoples blocked this peninsula off from the rest of Nautilus for a special role. To provide the Great 4n1 a place to play and romp. Roost Never Sleeps was built on the highest peak. There the Lemon peoples made friends with the Great 4n1.”

“Lemme get this straight. The big 4 prog rock groups became friends with the Beetles. Here.”

“Yes,” replied Hoppy back to Herbert, formerly Windmill Man or in tandem with that name. “There were 3 Beetles, a Great 3n1 if you will. The main Beetles had a doppleganger double in both music and comedy. In most unexpected places!”

“Shame the castle is gone now.”

“We have a new one!” exclaimed Hoppy. “Yours.”

“No,” replied Herbert, trying to let the little floppy eared fellow down easy. “My castle will not stay, Hoppy. Mine is destined to go the way of The Roost.”

Hoppy shed a tear with this. “I guess we’re stuck with just the one.” Both looked up.

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00280608

“I’m so sleeepy, Hoppy. Must be the place. Oops.

“There I go again, geez. Can’t — stop — yaawninnnngg *Zzzzzzzzz*.”

—–

He could hear his mother calling from across the schoolyard. “Her-BERT?! Herbert DUNE! YOU come HERE right this *INSTANT*.” It was the call for dinner. He wasn’t going to budge from this hollowed out tree. He liked the swing here; no one bothered him. Oh, Martha Ram would sometimes come out on her porch and look his way, wondering if he was mere shadow or actual man-boy. But that was about all. Squirrels maybe. “Her-BERT!” Mom could search and search and couldn’t find him here. He was about ready to escape. “Her- BERRRRRRRRT!”

—–

He woke up, looked over at the swing. A bear reared up in the distance behind it, complaining to another bear about him finding too many fish to eat.

He wondered if he was still dreaming, since he usually doesn’t understand Bear language. Now he’s saying he feels emasculated because of it. Strange — not what you’d think a bear would say.

“You’ve been talking to us a lot,” suddenly piped up Hoppy still in front of him, ears flopping here and there. “We’ve decided to talk *back*.”

Herbert decides to pinch himself. Didn’t work!

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3 2 1

One year and 2 1/2 months. Herbert can do it.

Jacob I. had fallen asleep once more at the Prog Rock Museum located on the neck of Rooster’s Peninsula. Herbert’s neck hurt again… Anastasia, he thinks. Alysha. Things have changed. She gave him a ring and he gave her one back. It was the only way to end the madness.

He thinks of the Diagonal across the Chalet sub-continent of Bellisaria, as it’s called by many if not most. Snowball in Hell at the center, but heading to Scratchy — reality. Not in a Second Lyfe any longer. Retirement. Wholeness; fulfillment. Perspective.

Collagesity will remain… across the Diagonal and into the Great Beyond at the end. I will not keep Sandy’s Castle on the peninsula, although it’s a perfect *perfect* fit. Hmm.

NOPE. Collagesity should remain.

—–

He extends his draw distance and spies the castle in the distance. It’s the wrong one, but that’s okay. It’s fitting only 1 remains.

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no rats

Yeah, in staring at the sign again, Dr. Mouse realizes he’s never been on this Paper-Soap property. Wonder why.

He’s a bit drunk tonight but still resists the urge to explore the offerings of the Lucky Motel, because he knows it is really not that atall (*hiccup*). Plus he’s kind of got a relationship with the ex Wheeler/Wendy again. Moving on…

—–

Let’s go back to the big Nautilus continent map and see where we are. We started in Center (01) with the visiting of the Ur-parent’s graves, and worked our way up to the Aviary (02) where both Alysha and Hidi testified against Kolya as it were, almost eliminating him from our story, then quickly followed by Rooster’s Peninsula (03) where a nifty castle was established that may well replace Collagesity itself in our continuing Second Lyfe adventures. As you can see, these three basically equidistant locations form a line essentially running directly north, right to edge of the map and thus the continent.

But in the second half of the present photo-novel (XVIII), we have focused away from Nautilus to other, mostly non-mainland locations, like Paper-Soap. It’s as if the establishment of the castle provided us with a new anchor and then we moved on. So the question is: Is the more southern Collagesity now *toast*, at least for a while?

We haven’t even seen Collagesity leader Jeffrey Phillips in the current story yet. Perhaps that should change; he should have a say in all this.

(to be continued)

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00280309

“Catch anything George?!” Burt shouted over, trying not to be jealous. 2 fish to one already. 3 to 1 may be too hard to overcome! What will the missus think? Emasculation!

—–

He goes back to visit poor Grandmama often but sees her seldom. Like today. He stumbles and bumbles and finally recognizes the Pipe Alley, as he calls it, with Doctor Diper at the end, waiting for another patient. Not him this time! He voices this out loud to Goldie beside him, who sometimes turns into Lead(ay). Alchemy, pheh. He’s *finished* with it. “Doctor doesn’t operate any more,” bubbles glistening Goldie back, good to go with gossip. “Broke — can’t be fixed most likely.” “How?” asked Guy Benjamin, a good guy for gossip as well. “Impotence?” “Hardly,” said back Goldie, gold scales showing a slight bit of gray now, transmutation beginning. Guy better get as much gossip as possible before the change. “So he still has his…” “Wiener? Yes.” Half gold half gray now. Time was ticking down, Gold(ie) cornered only a little longer. “Blackbird?” asks Guy. But it was too late. The gold had flown the coup, only dense Lead(ay) remaining who knew nothing about anything hardly. Guy would have to find answers himself. He approaches the good doctor from down the alley.

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fan

He got a little lost trying to find the prog rock museum on Rooster’s Peninsula. I guess he’s been confused ever since Kowloon and its twisting maze of streets and alleys. Never got over it. As he liked to say about Grandmama and Grandpapa there: often visited but seldom seen, pheh. And now Grandpapa is dead. Killed by Axis (but not during the war). Guy will get his revenge. Through “Lamb.”

But first a little “Foxtrot”.

He ponders the doors in front of him and what they block inside. Although this isn’t the prog rock museum, it still seems relevant. “Chamber of 32 Doors.” He always seems to ultimately be thinking in terms of “Lamb”.

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00280306

I must get down the continent to confer with Jeffrey Phillips and partner Man About time concerning the future of Collagesity. But I already see the writing in the cards. It won’t last. Collagesity is a place laden with collages, of course, but isn’t a proper archive. It’s where Baker Bloch *made* the collages, or helped inspire them as he hung each one individually in its gallery upon creation. That way he could better see the evolution of the series. But (this kind of) buck stops with the newest series called Picturetown. This is a *different* Jasper, not Illinois but Iowa. And this leads us to (the) Nautilus (continent) as a whole. We have our centering. But this centering could occur *anywhere* on the continent now. It doesn’t have to be between the two roads 13 and 14. It could be here — at Rooster’s Peninsula. Certainly there’s more neighbors around to give me energy.

The dancer, he remembers. The fox on the run. Jasper itself. Must see if she’s still there. But that’s the siren’s call again. The dancer who is the world.

I suppose I should go see if those curtains are still there on the slopes of Roost Peak. Could it spell curtains for… me? It brings me back to confusion on what exactly is the body, the neck and the body and the head attached to it. Maybe Stumpy could help (again), since he was able to reattach his own some time back. But first: curtains.

—–

Not there now.

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no man is an island

I think I’m going to like this peninsula. A lot.

—–

Boy my neck has sure been bothering me lately. Must be the lingering effects of Kolya and his trip to Anastasia, the damned place. Controller my big old ass. Papers piling up, pheh. Always sleepy, constantly nodding off. (Alysha) needs to come *here* and try what she does there. Wouldn’t make it.

But Windmill Man, actual name still being processed, knows that he loves her nevertheless, just like Kolya. Even moreso, since he can see the future clearer. He is the ONE. He is the whitehead in da woods. 1 year and 3 months. He can do it. The diagonal linking East and West will be fulfilled, reality connected to another reality inside it, with one blending into ANOTHER. Love, most likely. Death too, if not bodily. But what, exactly, *is* the body. The neck’s calmed down now. He recalls something about Jasper.

These ruins hold stories. And so close to his castle too. Just up the ridge.

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