I was under pressure to finish this tonight. An expansion of “Adventures in Tintown Part 4 of Tin” into 4a (original 4), 4b, and 4c. Combined you can create 3 diptychs (4ab 4bc 4ca) and one triptych which goes around in a big circle (4abc or, if you will, 4abcabcabc…). Much analysis could be done but soo sleepy.
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And so, only weighed down by the sand he had to tote along to make it all work, Santman’s career took off, at first rather slow and bumpy but then speeding up as more sand was dropped, symbol of a heavy past — poor as piss-ants they were in the day. Killer of children and babies alike no more. He had achieved Heaven on Earth. And the money certainly wasn’t bad either. Bought his first town over in Montana or Kentucky back in ’68, just before the Robolution that kind of snuffed deals like that out for a while, another type of death. But he personally made it through without having to change into a mechanoid. He figured all those other assimilations gave him some kind of immunity virus.
First he took over New Years Day — easy one. Then he set his eyes on Thanksgiving — about ’96 for that assimilation. Then Valentines Day. Then… Halloween. That was tougher. Had to fend off a lot of upset ghouls and goblins for that one. Then St. Patricks Day. The snakes the snakes. But he made it through with his patented snake popper, as he marketed it later, becomes a saint himself, a replacement one. Good.
Only one really significant holiday stood in his way after that. 4th of Juli, America itself. The Battle of Christmas vs. America begins.
Oh, he thinks in the moment, reviewing his past glory. Forgot about Easter! Dang Peter Rabbit, dang Donnie Darko. Yes America’s transformation into a full holiday state will have to be delayed until he figures that all out. Christmas vs. Easter instead. Red-green vs. blue-yellow, echoes of the Trojan-Durexian Wars creeping in. Perhaps this is even an extension.
(to be continued)
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“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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Pretty long ways from home, thinks Clifton Mahoney, now to the east of Chapel Vile on The Trunk instead of west. Maroonville, some call it. Others: Redtown, a generic nickname, also referring to one of the 2 encompassing sims of Red Marsh, not to be confused with Red Mars which currently doesn’t exist. Anyway, it all centers around this namesake cafe that Mr. Mahoney waits in, biding his time before an ace that also denotes a whole pack, bringing us back to Sarah and her gum, which, although it can be made to pop by those with talent in that area, I don’t think qualifies as an actual weapon. Maybe it’s code for gun, maybe not. We’ll catch up with her soon enough. Back to Clifton…
Wonder where Sep is? he ponders. Said she had something important to tell me.
It’s really strange. At the same time the other day I had Baker Bloch teleport into Maroonville through Red Marsh, I had another window open for a map to a now nonexistent clothing shop in the sim of *White* Marsh that Wheeler planned to then visit. Just coincidence — same *exact* time. I think of the red and white queens of Alice’s adventures in “Through the Looking-Glass,” opposite and complementary pieces of chess. That’s where I also found Leni, dancing up a storm in her 68 iterations, more than I’ve ever found before and perhaps the full pack. Hmm.*
Then there’s Whispers Family Photo Mall also found by accident. I miss the guy.
——
*and this is not the 1st time I’ve had a map sync involving the Red Marsh sim. See here:
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On the outskirts of Mortons Gap lies Tintown, or use to until it became another one of those pandemic casualties. There you could dig for Gold, which means you could find Self, alchemically speaking.
All of ’em.
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A mysterious red being directly beneath a towering redwood tree, extending all the way into space and a bit beyond.
Another appears in the center of a circle of pink albuca flowers (see: shoulders of Dr. Back before). Both are completely invisible to the naked eye, like outer planets.
This one is without a head, in contrast to the first. Dr. Back indeed.
Looking directly into the face of already decapitated Man About Time, Shelley struggles in vain to get away. Trapped.
Only one other blue around to help her, but she’s on a different level. She heard the screams for help, though.
Too late (OWWWW!). Although the now soul-less body still twitches.
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Geez that gray woman has been out there quite a while, Shelley thinks, having woken up in a strange camper in the sim above Mortons Gap but then recalling the story. She could hear the crashing of the waves when she stirred, a reassuring sound. Arthur must be around. They were just too tired to walk all the way back to the hotel after visiting the Ant Castle up on the mountain, quite a climb to get to. So they just bunked down here as the sun set into the ocean, just to do something different, they agreed. “No one around,” spoke her newlywed husband. “Why not,” she replied. But that gray person… actual owner? Telling me I’m intruding on her property? Could just ask, she thought as she took another sip of coffee and continued reading the article she started, it seemed, a 1/2 hour ago. Ooo, she thought. Just there. The woman took on appearance; just for a second. Yes, staring right at me, it seems (!). Better gather up Arthur and head back to the hotel. Probably down on the beach.
—–
He comes here often and just sits and listens. “Getz/Gilberto” always seems to be spinning on the turntable, the record that started it all for bossa nova, as he learned. Steely eyed Luther stirs the patriotic soup slowly and deliberately, like an automaton instead of an actual person. ‘Nother “gray” being. And what has Clifton Mahoney got on the docket today? Well — beach. Just like Shelley and Arthur. Coming up is a collision course of information that would change everyone’s world. The Ant Castle was not what it seemed (!).
—–
Barry down at the pier would be involved too. Because after 8 straight days of angling it was about time to head home. Art studio. Just below the castle. Barry’d seen and heard things there he didn’t want to dwell upon, didn’t want to be in such close proximity to. Thus the trip into town, to the beach, to the pier. Sanity in contrast. Warm sense of people around. F-ing cold in the gray granite mountains above Mortons Gap this time of year, but not necessarily that kind of cold. Remote kind of cold, the worst type. Barry liked privacy when he painted but enough was enough. But, also, he couldn’t stay away forever, had to face the devil sometime.
(to be continued)
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Shelley loves hanging around the beach. Arthur and she have such a great time night after night, day after day here… in Mortons Gap overall. She could see living here, staying here. A bit laggy, but they’re working on it, reducing shaders, draw distance, etc. Even minimizing screens, their view on the world, if needed. It wasn’t ideal. But — so pretty.
If she could just erase that full moon faux pas from her memory. What did Arthur do that night? she wondered for certainly not the first time. Because she’d found lipstick on his coat which wasn’t hers — she rarely uses it except when they hit the town. And the smell of lobsters. Or was it crabs? — she’d have to check the difference between the 2 later on when they walk down to the fisheries. Do it nice and subtle.
Nearby Arthur was building another one of his patented sand castles, complete with ants that he’d found on the vegetated dunes in back. He was trying to recreate the past. In truth, someone had put a spell on him. George/Musician most likely, if only from his dreams. He wanted to walk up to the real Ant Castle later that day, thus Shelley’s excuse to visit the fisheries kind of on the way. Ah heck, she’ll just ask him. Why does she care if he stayed with another woman that night. *She* was with a woman that night. Served her right. Painful, very painful, but… what was the right expression for it? Tit for tat, she decided. Or tit for tit — something.
She swung down from the palm tree, walked over. “About ready to go?”
He was about to coronate the new king and queen of the ants after building their thrones. “5 more minutes,” he requested, herding the crowd in the right direction.
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Sunklands 