Category Archives: Purden/Snowlands^

Frank *What*bert?

“See? Right at the beginning of Frank Albert Rd. in Fife: a (robed) Freman. This is suppose to be Frank *Herbert* Rd., and perhaps in the future it will be. If the descendants of Albert agree to it. And why shouldn’t they? With some kind of compensation. We’ve been in Tacoma before? I know we have,” she answers herself. “Proctor St., I believe. Another road, a foreshadowing. Don’t you think?”

There were no blue eyes, but the resonance was still unmistakable. Speaking of which…

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monsters

“Tennessee, pheh,” she uttered, staring over at the fake, flat snowy mountains standing in for the real ones just behind. “Come on, George,” she urged to the meditating youth gazing out in the other direction. “Let’s go see what this *Abyss* is all about.” She starts walking toward the stairs, still talking. “Nothing to be afraid of, George. So says TILE.” Was Clare losing her faith? Now that she remembers the whole of the Wheeler existence? Do we even need to be asking this? I believe it is so.

“Come on come on come on.”

“Oh all *right*.” George was enjoying the meditation. He didn’t want to encounter the Abyss just now.

—–

“Well, here we are at the mouth of this thing. You-go-first.”

“Me? But I’m just a kid.”

“You’re no kid. *Go*. Protect me if you must.” She sweeps her hand forward. “Off you go,” she commands again. “Come on come on come on.” This was not like Clare Nova, who was sweeter. This was the orders of Wheeler. Fully clowned now, she needed to find out what she was facing at the end.

—–

“What do you see in there?” called Clare-Wheeler from just outside the mouth now.

“I don’t know,” replied George. “Skulls. Candles. Lots of skulls and candles.”

“That’s the Abyss part,” said Wheeler. “What else is in there? Look in the corners, along the walls. Look *beyond* the normal.”

“There’s nothing *normal* about this place.”

“*Try*,” she urged. “I’ll be right here, ready to help if needed.” She definitely wasn’t going to help. If the power behind the Abyss got George, then another one would fill his spot. Just like she did with Clare. George could die, yes. *Duncan* had already died, maybe several times — hard to keep up. But Baker Bloch will continue on. Along with herself it seems.

“Um. Oh yeah, Mother Mary. I guess that’s good. But then a, let’s see, Medusa Gorgon beside her. Not so good.”

“Great. Keep looking. Maybe something in writing?”

“Well, the Gorgon is holding a, er, book it looks like.” He stands on his tippy toes. “But I can’t see the cover… (strain) to tell what it is.”

“Get that book,” Clare-Wheeler commands. “Just *grab* it from her.”

Dare he?

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Abyss, The

“A boy 13 to 10 and back to 13 and over and over. Obviously this is TILE, W.”

“(Small) ‘e’ to (large) ‘E’,” she agreed. “5 to 8, gaining 3. Years in this case.”

“Yellow to blue.” He looked out at the sky, the suns rising over the horizon. Horizings.

“But what of the step-down?” she continued in this vein. “The 12, then the 11, back to 10 and then back to 13, over and over?”

“Children according to the TILE documents and creeds. Red and green. Gred. Or Reen.”

“Redgreen. I remember that place. A place of war.”

“7 and 6. Mixed up. Which is higher, which is lower? Confusion in the middle. And by extension…”

“At both ends. Hi becomes lo. Hilo.”

“But one thing we agreed,” he offered as a compromise. “The Abyss plays no role in the end game. Because the Abyss has no real power. Only illusion.”

“Like static.” She squelched the urge to tack on the state names of Tennessee and Kentucky to this. It would all play out.


Tennessee. And Kentucky.

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serendipity

“I call this my pagan grotto. As far away from Christ on the other side of the property as you can get.”

“Houses?” young George guessed. Clare didn’t answer, turning more into Wheeler each passing moment.

—–

“It was the time for exchanging bodies to keep the enemy confused. Enem*ies*. Us Supernovas had to stick together. But then…”

“You were killed,” George said, following up on what was revealed just 15 minutes back in the conversation they were having in the “pagan grotto.”

“Well, the *character* was killed off, yes, or in danger of being so. The actor playing the role decided not to renew the contract. I was the understudy. I stepped in. Fortunately I grew into the part and no other, more established actor was sought for after a while. Stacey stood up for me and that was a big boost.”

“Summerhill… Nova?”

“Yes, my sister. In the role of course. I don’t have a sister in real life. Just Duncan.”

“How…did you become estranged? Is that the word I need to use?”

“Not quite estranged. Obviously he has a different body than he did before.” Pause. It was difficult for Clare Nova to explain to George the constant switching of bodies. Must be in the 1000’s now. “Let’s begin at the beginning,” she decided. “1st there was Baker Blinker, then Baker Bloch, then…” Another pause. “No, let’s start instead with me.” She remembers it all now, memories locked into place. “Wheeler. I took over. All except… for Baker Bloch, the 2nd who then became the first as Baker Blinker, the anima to his animus, faded faded faded away, Karoz along with her.”

“Who’s this Karoz?” young George questioned again, not having heard that name enter the story yet.

“A green being. Blue-green actually. Baker Blinker and he were married. I’m trying not to pause so much, George,” Clare-Wheeler admitted. “We’re getting close to the end; must hurry.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I won’t ask so many stupid questions, pheh.”

“Not stupid, George. It’s just…” Pause.

“There you go again!” he pointed out.

—–

“Almost 5 years,” she closed the story for George 15 more minutes later. 5 years, she reflected. Time to end it? She looked over at the vast snowy expanse to the south of them, the distant white mountains. She could just walk walk walk until the cold took her in. Purification; cleanliness. She would be free, then. Just like Baker Blinker before her. Let another take over. She then looked down at her clown clothes and realized she was stuck. Oh Baker Bloch, she thought, seeing the man behind the man behind the child.

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00260416

“So we’re just going to carve that dead pumpkin and eat it?” asked George, actually missing Duncan’s fish in the moment.

“It’s not dead, young George. It’s a snow pumpkin, a very special kind. It will melt in the spring. Luckily it’s perpetual winter here in the Snowlands of Sansara which we sit on the edge of.

Turning around, George looks out a row of windows facing south. His moral compass remains slightly askew. Snow — as far as the eye can see. Yet when he looks north: gray, with some green and also some beige. Edgeland: that’s what Aunt Clare had decided to name her home — *homes*. Because she had 2. For now. The whole parcel was up for sale on this landmark Fissure Mountain on the border. Just like a certain brain damaged man we’ve met more recently who sometimes goes by Can; prefers that name to the rest, which, in tandem, means he likes to hang around friends because they’re the only ones who call him that. Kolya, some strangers call him, Pepi others. It was war out there. Back to George and Clare.

—–

He tries a piece of white pumpkin just laid on his plate. Ice is all he can taste.

“Good, eh?” says Clare, munching and crunching down on her own.

“Sure, sure,” returns George, trying to sound positive. “Great. I can really taste the pumpkin.”

“Oh there’s no pumpkin in it.” George stares. “I’m just *kidding*, right Bell?” She shakes her other head now held under the table, which maybe indicates it is laughing along with her. They chuckle in tandem, if so, for a small while, then return to eating, or at least the head not on the stick does.

“How’s… Duncan?” she asks at last, broaching a subject laying before them like a deep chasm needing a bridge.

“He’s okay.” Pause. “He stares at tulips now. He says rats are in them.” Another pause. “He… went to Dixie.”

“I know, Bell told me.” Short shaking sound here under the table. “Very surprising. Dixie, well you know their former relationship. I can’t see for the life of me what he sees in her.”

“Then you rung up, or, I mean, Charlie… he dialed the number, all the numbers I guess, or so he says…”

“And you reached me,” Clare finished for George. “Well, tell me more about this Yelloo subject we were talking about before. Sure sounds like a TILE concept to me.”

(to be continued)

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me and myself

“You and I are a true team, Hidi. Tropp (he points to himself here), and Treelor (he points to Hidi).”

“What about the ‘I’,” Hidi mysteriously says over.

—–

“Something’s not quite right here, Duncan.”

“Stay in the car, George. In fact, lock the doors. This won’t take too long.”

—–

“I *hate* being told what to do.”

“Then stay here with us. At least for a spell.”

“Thanks, Aunt Clare! You’re the best!”

“Don’t forget Bell.” She shakes her other head with this, making it ring rattle. Something is loose inside.

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00240602

A room with no door (Shop 10, Kowloon):

Downstairs:

“Come in, Fern Stallin.”

—–

“Yeah, I’m not Fern Stalin.”

“Ohh, but you *aare*.” Pause.

“Anyway…”

“Cornfield,” the Old Man in a Narrow Room interrupted crisply. “I’m sensing… Corrnfield, yess.” The place had lightened up.

Blue Berry Girl, 1/2way back to Rules of Rose by this point, looked around without questioning more. She vaguely recalls twins named Cornfield, born in, yes, Valentine. A place called Valentine.

“Youuurr… *rememmberring*.”

“Listen, um, Old Man. It was nice visiting you but I have other places to go tonight.”

“Youuu… will *returrnnn*.”

—–

—–

Walking the RR in the Inbetween World. Watch out from behind!

—–

“Yoouuu… havve *returrrnned*.”

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husband

She clung tight to the back of a giant white bunny as he approached. She’d spotted the cursed, bright red cross on the chess first. Axis! Why is Opp wearing that outfit of all things? And here of all spots! The place where I was… well, *killed*. In a strong variant reality at least.

“Hi!” spoke Opp from the other side in a somewhat muffled voice. “I’m here with the outfit I promised — what’s up *today*?”

So it *is* Axis, Wheeler/Wendy realizes about the dark figure slowly — fortunately — making his way up the slippery white slope. Two steps forward, one step back — repeat. She drops from her “hidden goth” position on the bunny to the snowy ground; tells present lover Opp wearing a “Giant for a Day” t-shirt to zip it behind a matching mask. “What’s going on?” he whispers over. They rendezvous about every day this time. He was just honing in on her location, as she allows.

Wheeler/Wendy points around the rabbit they then huddle behind. Opp sees him too.

“I thought he was busy playing God over in that paper city,” responded Tropp, just as scared as Wheeler/Wendy now.

“Apparently not.” She considers the day and then rejects the theory. Not the anniversary of her death. That was February. Axis wasn’t here for that.

“Is he, I don’t know, playing a game of chest with us? You know he always makes the first move, even though he’s always black.”

Dark as a swastika, Wheeler/Wendy thinks, watching the inky figure inch forward even slower. The slope was steepening. More good news.

“I will make it up to the castle in my present form,” a determined Axis declares below. “No need to turn into a car or some other silly traction device.” But he slips again in saying this. He’s slowed to a one step forward one step backwards, soon to move in reverse. No, this will not do. A car it must be.

(to be continued)

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locations

Jeffrie Phillips decides to try something different out with Charlene the punk tonight. “Are you there?” he im’s her.

“Yeah, I think so,” she replies back after a lag in her parallel spot. “There’s a rhino, so…”

“Yep, that’s it. So… go ahead and see if you can get through the door. Then I’ll try with the gate.”

—–

“What happened to your last girl?” asked new gal pal Hina 3 days later at Teepot’s sake bar (and art gallery).

“Ah, she was just in a different place than me,” he spoke truthfully. “I wish her well.”

“Your place or mine?” Hina then asked boldly, not wanting to waste the moment.

“Mine.” But Jeffrie returned to his downtown apartment alone and without another tag along girl. He seemed to be flipping through them more rapidly these days. Must be the heat, he wrote to end.

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more connections

He turns away from her on the bed while she is talking, much to her relief. She’s tired of looking at the thing. He claims their sex is hot, hot, hot, but to her it’s always lukewarm! And he’s not tea so no reheating; one and done. “Santa,” she calls back toward him.

“Satan, please,” he requests, his voice booming even when projecting the wrong way. “Santa’s a last name.”

“Oh, right.” April Mae knew full well what his name was. He had to use the most obvious anagram possible. Might as well stick 2 horns on his head and prod expectant children with a forked candy cane or something. “He knows about you,” she then offers.

“I’m *not* the maker.”

“He knows that too.”

“I am Satan!” His tone was more defiant that ever.

“You are the Red Devil, true,” she agreed. Where did all the legends get that hot fire and brimstone stuff? she wonders again. Falsities!

“Be a dear and bring me the book, April Mae. The one where I’m a star — I need it to get to sleep.”

Well, she certainly wants him to get to sleep. So she can sneak out again. Tommy Pajamy over in cabin B might be willing later tonight. She’s been prepping him for weeks, bending too far over while shoveling the sidewalks, climbing too high with her dress on a ladder to prune the snow laden trees. She knows he watches. She has eyes in the back of her head.

She retrieves the book from the shelf and then hands it to Satan Santa, not looking down.  It’s a 1989 mystery novel involving a cooperative venture between the US (US) and USSR (THEM) that gets screwed up because a woman’s death is broadcast on the net. Then it turns up on a VHS tape that lands in the wrong hands. The woman is named Kat. Eartha Kit Kat Moon. And I believe she’s Chinese. Or Japanese. And she may not be a woman either.

(to be continued?)

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