Janice spots a 15 speed bicycle hanging on an apartment wall upon exiting the Slaashsides subway, first of a succession of bad signs…
The stinking green pocketbook is still there, check.
So is Burro Alley.
—–
Johnny’d come back from a serious bike trek. He needed to replenish.
“New Mexico, pheh,” he mutters while gobbling.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0107, Nautilus, New Mexico, NORTH, Slaashsides
“Baker Bloch said there was some kind of bookstore here with the 2 page letter. No bookstore. No letter. Just some kind of clothing boutique without any clothes, right 88’s? Oh,” she continues speaking, just to herself she realizes as she looks around. “Not in this scene.”
Oh well, she thinks silently now. Might as well primp while I’m here. Shocking pink should do.
Stick in hand she tries to pucker up for the mirror but ends up just emitting a yawn. High up here, she realizes. Mountain air.
A little later:
“Laundry?” A beep sounds. Arthur Kill realizes his clothes are done. Now maybe he can find out who he actually is.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0106, HANA LEI, Mississippi, New Mexico, Tennessee
He had to face it now. This basement was his new home. Wheeler has chosen.
Moving on (and up)…
Barry DeBoy was *soo* happy. He’d found another Tintown, huzzah! And right on the outskirts of a proper town just like the other one in Mortons Gap. Some kind of doppelganger effect going on here fer sure.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0105, New Mexico, Omega, Southern
The 2 parts of the letter appeared before him, as if by magic. “Abra-” ended the first page and “-cadabra” began the next. Baker has much to ponder.
—–
He landed just out of sight with his out-of-place swimming trunks and beachy attitude. Arthur Kill, still confused over his role, still confused over who he *is*. Arthur? Kill van Kull, a much tamer cousin? Or, dare he speak the name, Lemont. Lemont Sanford. The overseer, the one who controls. Not him, though. Not yet. But he has to choose a cousin in the meantime. Else: this keeps happening.
—–
“*Not* here. Not on my watch,” speaks bartender Zane Tar, holding out a stop hand. “We know about the castle.”
“You *do*?” But Arthur knew he had to move on. These were military people at the bottom of it, good at digging out information. This was, in essence, an extension of Rose Heaven, where his user had gotten in so much trouble looking for the fabled Murdochh Castle of Loch Ness. “It was all a misunderstanding,” he’d said in his head to them, the collective, so many times now, a defense set on repeat.
“Actually,” he decided to say, “I’m just looking for a child named Archie,” and then took his leave. He would keep them hanging this way. Because Archie would lead them right back to “East Lynne” and confuse the heck out of them, for at least a while, until they could get their bearings. He’d check back later to see what they’d come up with in the meantime.
—–
“See you later, Clyde.”
“Good day, sir.” The policeman made a note about the HUD being missing this time. Cousin? he pondered, probably also reading his mind. Military people, pheh. But he’d try to use all that to his advantage… we’ll see.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0104, HANA LEI
I’m not sure what the new story will be but I’m pretty certain it will involve The Void, the place before birth, after death. The satchel contains secrets in its pages.
Nearby Baker Bloch stares into the water. Tough to tell if he is asleep or not. In a way he has to be — we all do. To even exist on this plain of reality. He dons the red cap of an artist again.
43 bucks should cover it for this wannabe cowboy of the plains.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0103, collages 2d, Google Street View, Jeogeot, Middleton, Midlands, New Mexico
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East_Lynne
The novel was first staged as Edith, or The Earl’s Daughter in New York in 1861[1] and under its own name on 26 January 1863 in Brooklyn; by March of that year, “three competing versions were drawing crowds to New York theaters.”[4] The most successful version was written by Clifton W. Tayleur for actress Lucille WESTERN, who was paid $350 a night for her performance as Isabel Vane.[4] Western starred in East Lynne for the next 10 years.[4] At least nine adaptations were made in all, not including plays such as The Marriage Bells that “used a different title for the sake of some copyright protection.”[5]
As the more melodramatic aspects of the story became dated, there were several parodies and burlesques made, including East Lynne in Bugville with Pearl White (1914), Mack Sennet’s East Lynne with Variations (1917), and in 1931 the comedy East Lynne on the WESTERN Front in which British soldiers fighting in the World War I stage a burlesqued version of the story.[2]
“Westeasterners (open the book (1931))”:
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0102, collages 2d, Illinois, Louisiana, Missouri
“A demon? No, I don’t think you are a demon. A *demo*, maybe, ha.”
“Thanks, Keith.”
“Call me Dad.”
She wasn’t going to call him that. She’ll stick with Keith, but she doesn’t say any kind of name for a while. Just to pretend she’s forgotten.
She wonders about the man at the table next to them again. Obviously a *recorder*. She’s almost got a name for *him*. Besides bastard. Keith notices the stare, whispers over: “This man bothering you?” Keith was thinking he could be giving her the eye. She has that way, he knows. Heck, if he were 20 years younger and he didn’t know this was his daughter… But he had to climb out of those depths, back into the present. He was Keith B., former drummer of the Blown to Smithereens and some others. Safely retired from all that rock n’ roll lifestyle and its wildness. He was tame now. He was ready to present himself as a nice and decent father for a change. Sobered up, cleaned up. He didn’t *die* in that Room (for instance). And neither did she for that matter.
—–
“He doesn’t remember me,” Biff Carter says to the camera without moving his lips. “Nor she, although she’s getting there. Almost a name now. I can read what’s in her mind. It’s the same as this book.” He holds the book up for us to see.
Safely sealed inside the spire, Dove in hand, Carrcassonnee begins her well deserved bath. *Now* is the time. Clifton “Carbon Glow” Mahoney quickly unfurls the track, rezzes the train on the other side of the castle, and sits…
… taking along a very special passenger with him.
END OF “SUNKLANDS 2022-2023 WINTER”!
“What are all these… plywoods?” the struggling, swaying giant walker boomed down. 10 yards made, about 20 to go.
“Never mind that Carrcassonnee, we need to focus on that opening in front of us — the main entrance to the castle. You need to get low enough so that you’ll fit through that door. I know you can do it. Get a little closer then start bending down, bending down. Sloow and easyy.”
Carrcassonneee and her great olive body cooperated. 15 minutes later she was through the opening and out in the open, 7th spire straight ahead.
—–
“We’re going to have to do it again, Carrcassonnee. Bend down — get a little closer first again. It’s going to be a little lower this time — sorry. Don’t lose your balance. I’m right here.” A lot of good I’ll do, Mahoney thinks at this point, if she starts to topple. All he can really do is be a cheerleader, urging her forward and to the scene of the bath. The soap had all been prepared. Dove, not Ivory. Because Carr has to *see* it all. Ivory would just sting the eye. They learned that the hard way back in Rubi, way back in photo-novel 1. Because we’ve gone full circle.
“What are we negotiating *now*, Young Me?”
“The return of Karoz Blogger to Mainland, Jeogeot continent in particular. Somoco specifically. The Julia House to pinpoint.”
“Ahh,” spoke the old hag that was also Shelley. “You want a return to the *N* (for it).”
“Not… necessarily.”
“You *know* what that means,” she says while nodding her head up and down in an irritatingly frantic way to Shelley.
“I… do.”
—–
Wasn’t going to happen, both knew, but they were playing along. The unexpected beaver float in the cove out back pinpointed *this* location. Something had to happen here. They were experimenting. They started again.
“You *know* you will retain your current form.”
“Yes,” said Shelley back to her older self. Much older.
“You and Arthur will continue to be married. Might be rocky. Might be bumps in the road. Maybe a pothole or two. But you will persist. I should know.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you want–?”
“No.” She didn’t.
“Get in the float,” the old hag then said. “Easy as that. Transport,” she explained. “From this photo-novel to the next. Just get inside. Enjoyy.”
Shelley stared over, wondering if this was on the up and up or not. She couldn’t tell. The old witch was ahead of her again. “I’ll… give you a big ol’ choco chip cookie if you do it. You can hold it in front of you. Like a steering wheel. You are a Carr… repeat after me. You are a Carr.”
“I am a Carr.”
“You are a *Carr*.”
“I *am* a Carr.”
“You are… well, you know the rest.”
—–
“Come on, Carr,” urged Clifton Mahoney, full transferred over from Baker Bloch. “I know it’s early but your bath is 5 days overdue. Get your drying moss ready.”
“Broken,” the great olive being replied.
“I know. We’re going to get you fixed up… cleaned up.”
“Not what–”
“I know. Come on, get up. I know you can do it.”
“Need… help.”
“Why I’m here.” And he moved toward Carr to help her get started.
Sunklands 