Category Archives: Mountain Lake^

00310416

Armed with more knowledge of a startling nature, really, I drove past the house with the white Robert’s son sitting sadly on the porch still, mouth agape, and with a lack of friends. I think back to how I got here, got to this point in time. Three letters floated before me, spinning actually, like around a common axis or center. R… B… T. All found under the fingernails of victims.

Leland Palmer burst through the front door of the Sheriff’s office, holding the same central or axial picture in front of him — partially obscuring his face — and saying he *knew* this man, who was a neighbor of his grandfather when he was growing up and who use to flick matches at him.

He believed his named was Robertson. Investigating Agent Cooper then exclaims to Twin Peaks sheriff Harry Truman standing with him before the blackboard: “Robert. Robertson. That’s what the letters are spelling. Hawk, get up to Pearl Lakes, find out who was in that other house.” But it was all a dead end, a misdirection possibly manufactured by BOB, who is the same as Robert’s son, also according to Cooper. The Son is the Sun. And that’s where we have to head next as front turns to back, ow ow ow. Painful past.

Halloween Tree. Lashings. You reach around to feel but realize your arm is bent back.

(to be continued)

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eye for an eye

Visit to the unusual “eye rock” and subsequent discussions. Lester Jackson, owner of the cornfield, wanted to name it *I* owa and town councilman Alex Bald countered with Hawk*eye*. They would fight it out later that day over a good ol’ game of Iowa chesskers, 1/2 chess and 1/2 checkers where black always moves first. Make that Hawkeye chesskers, because Alex won. Plans to move the Hawkeye Rock to his town’s square were in the works before they could say night night to each other. The next morning neighboring Taylor County and its superior moving company based in Siam was rung up. “Ringgold County here,” they started, then cut to the chase. “We need a crane.” “It’ll cost you,” came the not-so-neighborly reply, terms which later telescoped back into the equally unusual 14 year old girl and her twins.

—–

And that’s how Rose ended up in Our Second Lyfe on the Omega continent in the Tesseract House with the tailors, who are actually Taylors.

“Andy! Bee!” she joked through the door she couldn’t remember was oriented east or west on this particular day. “Come quick; he’s done!” And so they entered the bedroom for the first time in who knows how long, maybe Tuesday.

“Why do you have him tied up?” asked innocent Tealy, stuck on his one color. The more worldly, multi-hued Tillie explained it to him later.

“Oh, *that* kind of creation.”


front


back

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00310412

Siamese twins Archie and Ed Bunker with surrogate mom Rose Wells, telescoped to the past in this here photo and known colloquially as Eyela, about 14 years old at the time of the snapping. She made sure the picture was public domain and available for later decoding. Smart girl!


But such condensings do have consequences. Hence: a 3 eyed woman who lives in a very similar house but in a neighboring village. One hand goes in, the other comes out. Karma.


The condition is now known as Winona Ryder Eye, after the famous actress whose 3rd was unlocked, like a door, during the filming of “Edward Scissorhands” on location in Lutz, Florida when actor Johnny Depp accidentally opened it up with his scissorhands prop while pretending to cut her hair with them. She was rushed to the hospital but the forehead wound had already healed, advantage gained. Winona developed second sight, and was able to see the Upside Down, which gave her a leg up in winning key roles down the road in her then fledgling career.

Could be that the one eyed woman above is named Ylem, or that’s the technical (slang?) term for her medical condition of singular ocularity. I’ll have to ask Rose more about it when I get the chance.

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Gunpowder

Wind.

More wind. Cold.

—–

Jen reviewed how she got to this God forsaken place on the very western edge of Nautilus, almost disconnected from the continent. If only it weren’t for Vavra, who led her here. She use to blame it on someone named Jim, but then realized that was only a masculine projection of herself, a double created as a dark, oppositely sexed companion. He probably still exists somewhere. On the Mainland. Here, though? Nautilus but not Nautilus. Mainland but not Mainland. Different, an In-between World, ‘nother one. If only Vavra didn’t have that barely Linden water sailable boat, that Annoying ZZ Mat I think she called it, whatever that means. What-ever (Vavra-speak; I think she may also go by Marilyn).

She looked around even though she didn’t want to. Although certainly not the mountains of the Omega continent, it still was cold this time of year this far up the coast. Too close to Corsica to be temperate. None of the sim’s neighbors liked this place — didn’t consider it to be their “downtown” in any way. They too were isolated from the rest.

She needed to get out of this dress and into some real winter clothes but that would mean removing and rearranging the underneath pillows and she couldn’t make the effort, brrr. She hadn’t eaten in what felt like almost 3 hours.

Oh there were enough people here at any one time, it seemed. She’s counting 7 on her inworld screen besides herself. But where was Bert? Jim? No: Bert. Former police officer turned gigolo. Or pimp — she can’t recall; just as bad anyway, although she assumes the money is better with the latter since several of his ilk work for him instead of visa versa. She was the bookkeeper of the place. Kept tabs on the ledgers, made sure they balanced out each month. Numbers were her bag but figures were too. She oft times had to beat them off with a big black stick she kept handy for the matter. She thought of changing her name from Jen to Gen but didn’t want to lose full contact with Jim back on the Mainland, however imaginary he actually was. She could dream still, then. Her apartment? She wished it was the attic of the town’s Brownstone so she’d have a better view of the goings on of the place, but it was instead the 2nd. Vavra had the third, and always seemed to be bathed in dust-ridden light when she went up there to check on her or to socialize with her or to gather her up for one of those nights on the town. Like tonight. Big girls night out, but not too big. Vavra was on a weight plan. And herself? She started putting small pillows under her antiquated clothing to disguise her talent with figures as well as numbers. Some thought she had been knocked up, therefore, by Bud the grocery store manager Bert she was known to hang around with, but that was just because of the maths. They use to count the town residents one by one by one, as the green lights lit up on the map come din din time, as they called it. It was like a bell went off, a ding dong, and they came. Poor Mama had it right. The tiles were falling off the wall, red green yellow blue. If the camouflaged zebras start to show their true colors, then… trou-ble.

She wore strange makeup like an android: stars, rings like big red spots marked by a pin. She started out as a demo but she was more than that now. She was a real life girl. She decided at a certain point that she would pretend to create Jim instead of visa versa, and turn Bert into a gigolo with a corresponding loss of power. Because this was a woman’s world from now on. Adam, I’m Madam, nice to greet you. 2 + 2 can equal 5 if she wanted it to. Aloha can mean goodbye as well as hello. Inflammable can mean flammable, and so on. She was a mixed up boy-girl because her one head had turned into two with the schism. Mainland over there, [delete name] over here. The Wild West moniker had it right. Dodge, she decided, this is Dodge. Because she’s trying to, she *had* to. Jim had to remain real.

(to be continued?)

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Your Arms

“I’m afraid something has gone wrong with my left, Foxtrot. Maybe it’s a sign we shouldn’t have returned.” Orange Foxtrot said nothing in reply even though he had a lot of opinions on the matter, small purple bud Octi too. Best to act like colorless zebras and X their mouths shut presently.

Oh if we’d only stuck with red green yellow blue, she lamented later, arm back to normal. For now.

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4th and 5th (exterior shot)

Cold, wintery.

Wintery, cold.

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spoiled?

“Why are you here, Big Red? Can you not find the litter box again? I told you. Today is the 5th so you turn left at the stairs. If it was the 4th you’d turn right. You understand? Even and odd, Big Red. Just like we talked about. And then the 3rd Sunday’s Monday… but no need to complicate matters right now. Can you hold it in a bit more… until I guide you down the hall past the tailors to the correct room? Thanks for your patience. No need to pull out lumber or anything.” She was starting to sweat. A.B. Normal was influencing the future as well as the past too. He needs to merge with my 1/2 brother’s body and pronto! Besides: I get lonely. She concedes.

“Alright Big Red. Just this *one* time.”

“Ma – ma,” he squeals in joy while moving toward the east that was the west just yesterday. He’ll pick it up. Or not. Hopefully won’t matter soon.

(to be continued)

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Yes-i-am

A scientist that is, and the twins have fascinated me since their death and rebirth in 1874, when they were brought to my attention as Chief Medical Officer aboard the ever circling U.S.S. Ararat, also during a previous life mind you. Once I put such facts down on paper (or, these days, up on computer screens) it becomes real to me too, and as historically accurate as anything else produced from the annals of Our Second Lyfe. We’re working on it…

Above: Edith and Archina Bunker, fresh from a watery grave after their first lives as men Archie and Ed (photo by Telescope Ted).

From my orbital perspective I was able to directly study their 2 part brains — trace the duality back to a singular state, a Ylem Condition I called it, obsolete term now, and before it was used in Physics. I would even argue that the word was lifted from my studies in the late 40s during my second stint as a Chief Medical Officer, stationed over the Pacific instead of the Atlantic this time and assuming a new and different body with a different overall, attached name. Bodies, pheh. Can’t live with them (etc.). Now I am Rose but before I was Leela and, before that, Eyela. That should take us back far enough if memories serve. It’s all a long story.

The reason I can even talk about such things is that the attic of the house has just shifted over to the basement again, its proper position, since this is the third Sunday’s Monday of the year’s month’s day. Sorry to be so technical, but I’m trying to put this in perspective. I have employment of my lab and its microscope again and am not stuck with the attic’s telescope, useful in its day for long distance space experiments (see Telescope Monkey Trials of Xenon 10-C for another prime example of this) but limited when actually Earthbound, as I am now — in this house — in these icy woods on the edge of the world that is known as the Omega continent. My term again. Steal it if you must. 🙂

And, playing God to the hilt and influenced by my troubled water surroundings, I’ve managed to retro-engineer a man (!), an Adam to my Eve, except he came from *my* rib instead of visa versa, as popular Bibles around the Earth have preached. For now he’s just a Giant for a Day type of fellow but, maybe soon, Giant Forever as source material Genesis is further overridden and a return to anonymity is guaranteed after the erasure of a successful solo career (I get all this from Gabriel) — if I can merge 1st and 2nd so that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Here’s hoping!

Sorry for the broken sentences but I’m excitedly writing this in the middle of the night with weakened coffee drink due to a pre-blog kitchen spillage. Tragedy! But I can properly replenish my supplies in the morning. Starbucks, let’s see, opens in 1/2 an hour…

I call him my 1/2 brother since he has my rib, but he also contains the brain of an A.B. Normal I picked up on my travels to the Further East for more silk and other exotic fabrics that my tailors can use. They *are* really good at making clothes from scratch. Just not good bodyguards as stated before. Thus the reason for transforming or *enclosing* the house here with a hypercube, a psychic overlay. Big Red would understand, if he could move past the 9th and into a 10th and denounce the singularity as well, becoming double brained too. I have all the charts here. He could be the one. I call him my baby because he is always sans clothing, even though the tailors beg me to allow them enough cloth to fashion at least a diaper, hmph. There’s always the big litter box down in the basement, er, up in the attic for that I always counter. And he will be one with my half brother soon enough. Even now, he’s been caught wandering into my red bedroom in the heart of the night, picking up on future memories instead of the past. One day…

(to be continued?)

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this be no occident

“Yeessss?” she called without turning from her equations and diagrams, hearing the plodding footsteps from all the way across the large house. She silently cusses her inept “tailors” who double as her bodyguards. Good thing her kingdom here is so safe thanks to her new big plan. Big Red doesn’t reply immediately so she addresses him by name the second time. Could be no one else. The famed player of the piano that always ends with the 9th. Even the purest of heart don’t usually get past 8, which is dinner for a few still. No one ate at 9. Unless they’re made of pure wood, persimmon in this case, she’s learned. A seed becomes a tree.

She turns to face him. Slow of mouth as well as body. But not mind — she knows that the hard way. Piece of metal in her head to remind her every time the phone rang at a certain pitch, ow ow ow. Cursed D Flat. And of course he composes half his stuff in that key any more. Just to rub it in.

Big Red is still scratching his head, confused about orientation. Where is the picture of the Siamese twins on the wall? Where is the *cat*? Turns out Rose Wells had turned the house around for more protection against intruders, since her, ahem, bodyguards were so inept. She’s decided to switch out directions every week — make that every even numbered week for the n-s polarity (she decides on the spot) and then every odd week for e-w. Then turn the whole house over every third Sunday’s Monday just for that extra layer of protection she always preaches about in her sermons. Scientific of course; she’s an atheist at heart, and almost pure enough to get through 7. That should do the trick, she figures. Even nestled in troubled waters as it were, this would make her place as milquetoast safe as fabled Nautilus itself if all goes to plan. Back to it — after telling Big Red what happened.

“What… did you do with my… *piano*!?” he boomed.

“Simmer down, simmer down,” she said, thrusting forth her hands after seeing lumber being gotten out. “Lemme explain.”

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not boxed in and correctly oriented

“Mistress said not to be disturbed.”

“Not to be disturbed”, echoes weaver Tealy to roller Tillie’s issuance.

Neither look up from their respective tasks. Big Red lumbers by them as if they didn’t exist. He opens the door to the far eastern room.

“We tried,” Tillie said afterwards, rolling a green one now.

“We did,” Tealy quickly followed, weaving his own color still. Always.

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