July 26, 2025 · 9:05 pm

00470415

Almost as soon as they entered the toilet haunted by a pair of hands and who knows else, Zoomer’s police-issued light went out. “At least our galoshes are holding up,” Petty tried to shine another bright spot on their investigation, figurative this time, the most important kind some say. But Zoomer and Ziegler suddenly were nowhere to be found. In the darkness, Petty must have stumbled into a commode and fallen down into the sewer itself, the source of it all. As soon as this happened all the bathroom lights came back on by themselves and all the pissers and otherwise who had followed the police trio in easily found their own way to commodes and urinals and, if needed due to limited space, sinks and even waste bins and wall corners by this point.

Light also eventually found Petty again as he bumbled and stumbled down that pretty if stinky sewage cascade seen in the below snapshot to a confluence of flows in a more open area. Rattling sounds behind him. He turns.

“*There* you are you little devils,” he said, but the spotted hands kept to their task, fiddling with a bike chassis, almost as if they were trying to repair it in their inept way while actually just scuffling it about aimlessly on the concrete floor. “You know, that bike is lacking wheels,” Petty tried to help, understanding the hands probably couldn’t see and were working on limited feel alone. “Or a seat for that matter. You’ll never be able to get it to work if that’s what you’re trying to do.” No “answer” from the hands; did they even *hear* him? he thinks. No ears too after all. That must be it, he determined. He decides to go over and gently rattle the chassis himself, make the hands aware that he’s here too.

But as he bends down and grasps the bike part…

… he’s suddenly leaning against the wall on the other side with his feet in it instead, his hands grasping something else. Inside he sees the center which is also the end. He unfolds, revealing the full truth. “WOW-za,” were the last words he speaks in this post. We can proceed.

(to be continued)

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July 26, 2025 · 4:12 am

00470414

“I’m having a little trouble playing the ‘Pathétique’, Shelley. A little help here, hmm?”

“On your own,” she said, busy with her own activity (limbering up for her shooting). And so it goes.

—–

“Okay, where’s the body, Zeigler, Zoomer?” asks Chef-Inspector Petty, freshly arrived on the scene. The Z’s, he thinks here. Appropriate… always asleep at the wheel. “I mean, there’s an outline here. That means….” Then he spies the blood coming from under the toilet door. “O-kay, what’s going on over *there*?”

“W-we didn’t know what to do Inspector,” Zeigler the male officer of the two tries to explain.

“*Chef*-Inspector,” says Petty to this, being petty about his official title as is appropriate here. “Don’t forget the day job. I certainly can’t.”

“Hands, sir,” takes over Zoomer the female one. “We don’t…. know how that much blood can come–”

“Open the door,” commands Petty. “I want to see.”

“You won’t like it,” says Zeigler.

“Open — it,” he metes out. “And for God’s sake arrest or at least fine that man — I think — taking a piss against that wall! No public urination, nevermind the circumstances!”

“Yes sir.” But neither move.

“Wellll?”

“Which — one,” stutters Zoomer, “would you like us to do first?”

Petty sighs deeply. “Just open the door.”

After it’s opened remotely, he watches all the toilet related objects thrown out of the blackness — toilet paper rolls, toilet brush, urinal deodorizer — then settle on the floor and subsequently disappear. Finally, after all the clanking and skidding and rolling is over: “Hands, huh?”

“Yes sir,” said Zoomer. “We shown a flashlight in there.”

“Hands doing everything — all the throwing,” emphasized Zeigler. “We don’t know how much blood–”

“Stop,” he said. “Go,” he points. And they put on their police-issued galoshes and went inside. Other wannabe pissers and otherwise quickly followed in their footsteps. Only public toilet within a 1/2 mile radius, you see. Messy, haunted bathroom or not, they had to go too.

(to be continued)

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July 26, 2025 · 4:11 am

00470413

“Why yes I’ll accept your goblet of wine almost naked and equally tall Colossus before me, ha ha ha.”

Shelley Johnston Struthers wakes up drooped over her laptop, realizes she’s got to finish the current photo-novel before August 31st or overdue. Hiding the tempting body evilly illuminated by the black hole sun behind her, she gets back to it.

—–

“It’s YOUR fault, you know. The death of Susan here. You killed her!”

“No, YOU killed her!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

—–

Oops. 7 o’clock already. Time for Newt to watch TV with Wheeler. Better say my goodbyes and head out. Maybe for the last time, PHEH.

(to be continued)

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July 23, 2025 · 6:09 am

00470412 (the great 100,000 book library in de skies)

“Lou, dearest,” he whispered over. “Buy your old man a can of soda while he’s busy studying will ya?”

“Sure thing Daddy. What’ll it be? Kolya? Pepi? Maybe even a bottle instead of a can?”

“Shhh, babydoll,” he said to her louder voice, finger over lips to reinforce his point. “Keep it down. Other people are studying here besides me.”

“And me — just sitting here twiddling my thumbs,” she responded in turn, tone not much softer than before. “Wishing there was an actual town again to visit while you read these old dusty things.” She became curious. “What’d you finding anyway? You mentioned a MOA or something or another.”

“Most Ancient One, yes,” he hissed, finger pressed against lips again. “Right underneath the library here, I’m speculating. That *whole town* you’re after. Files within!” Oh GOD. He shouted he was so excited. And now the whole rest of the library is staring. He waves at all of them, trying to indicate he’s sorry and that the outburst was just a slip-up.

Right through that Big Red Machine there it is, though. The secret passage. ‘Nother one.

He could walk through…

… and be in a different world altogether. And so it was.

“Ahh yes, thanks Lou,” he said after carefully popping the top and taking a sip. “Hits the spot.”

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July 22, 2025 · 1:50 pm

00470411

—–

He went straight to orange like his mama told him to.

“How much, Dimmy?” asked Marilyn M. the shop attendant eyeing him from the front desk while cutting cloth for an order.

Dimmy fished around in his pockets and pulled out the two bills he’d brought with him and held them up for Marilyn to see.

“No, Dimmy,” Marilyn replied patiently, use to such dimness from the now not-so-young boy. Boy in mind, man in body. The former will probably never grow up. “I mean, how much thread do you want — string, as you put it? 5 meters? 10?” She had 10 meters of cloth in her own hands now. Time to cut again, SNIP.

2 football fields, he remembered. Mama told him 2 football field’s worth. So he asked Marilyn how much that was.

“Well, that’ll be 200 yards worth of thread. That’s a lot. Are you sure you want that much? That’ll take more than 20 bucks but, tell you what, I’ll give you 200 feet for exactly that price.” Wanda needed to get home to feed the young’n’s. She wanted to wrap this up with the dimwitted man-boy, as in wrap the needed thread up and send him back home himself. She figured his mama told him feet instead of yards for that particular number since that would be priced around the 20 dollars she gave him. He just got the terms confused when converting them to football measurements in his head on the walk over. Dimmy — kind of knows his football but not much else. 2nd string fullback for the Newtown Fighting Newts. With his physical talent he could have been a star. But, you know, the mind…

Without more words, he handed over the bills.

His mother watched him walk through the front door without the needed bag and became furious. “TOYS,” she barked. “You forgot the TOYS. Or did you misplace them on the way home? Did you even get the string?” Dimmy, use to such outbursts but still hurt by the stinging words, pulled out the wrapped thread from his back pocket. “Well, at least you did THAT much. I can make my line across 1 2 3 4 gullies but I can’t position toys along the way. What am I going to DO with you, Dimmy Gene? Your father, God rest his soul, would be SO disappointed in you now.”

(to be continued?)

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July 22, 2025 · 8:16 am

00470410

“And so that’s how the crash occurred, and for what reason. You should have figured this out long before. Blue Boy.”

Blue Boy? he thought. OH, she thinks I am…

—–

… a different person now, thought older and more mature Newt. I am no longer Pepi – Can – Kolya, he counts them off individually on his desk beside his steampunk computer, old like him but still quite functional for his needs. He likes the way the dimensions of the monitor seem ideal to display full screen versions of his blog pictures (for example).

“Sir? (pause) Sir?”

“Oh yes, young Fink,” he finally comes out of his daydreams and acknowledges the boy’s presence. “Heading home again?”

“No sir. Just arrived. It’s 4 o’clock.”

“Oh.” Newt looks at his watch; still not on his arm, though. 4 indeed. Not 7. Where didn’t the time fly? ha ha, he thinks with a laugh. “Heading upstairs, then?”

Yes sir,” said Fink. “With your permission of course.”

“Of course — our arrangement. You show up at 4, go upstairs and use my attic computer for 3 hours, come back down here and say goodbye at 7 along with a bit of a chat, and then you return to your treehouse home to do stuff with pal Jake while Wheeler and I enjoy our TV shows before my bedtime.”

Fink was thinking: he and Wheeler have different bedtimes? Interesting. But of course said nothing about this. Instead:

‘Yes sir.” And before he took his leave he decided to remind Newt that the mechanical contraption Bimbo from their native land of Oooooo will FINALLY be arriving tomorrow afternoon after a 4 month delay.

After a significant pause while Newt still stared at the screen before him, he said, “right, right,” and moved to shut the door on the young human. “You’ll excuse me, Fink. Sensitive material on the computer now. Not for young eyes. Goodbye. We’ll talk at 7.”

And then he went back to his desk to have a bit of a weepie. He’ll miss the fellow!

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July 19, 2025 · 10:36 pm

00470409 (Miss Ouri)

“Done in by (the Nautilus continent region known as) the Wild West,” thought Can, drinking from a bottle inside the dresser that was his Dream while glancing left at the dangly orange legs that match her eyes. “*Not* a witch,” she begged just before the ironic crushing. Of *course* she was a witch. Just like…

… oh no, he thought in a panic, position suddenly reversed from before. NOT a witch. A decent person overall. Just…..

….. separate.

What has he *done*???

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July 19, 2025 · 7:31 am

00470408

She turns away from it and looks down into the Ratskeller. One of the Eighty-eights and town manager Rag Doll, also known as Evelyn Hart, are waiting. Dare she go sit with them? She could still run away. They seem to have not spotted her yet at the top of the stairs. But she’d been studying that painting with cashmere robed Shelley for a while. They could have looked up here when she didn’t notice. Can’t take a chance, she realized. That’s how town rumors and gossip get started. And she’d had enough of that already in this place full of time and space.

But it wasn’t just one of the Eighty-eights down there. It was 2 of them, Eight and Eighty together. She’d imagined seeing Rag Doll aka Evelyn Hart all along, all this time while both glancing down there and simultaneously studying De Boy’s painting up here with Shelley. What gives?

—–

“I’m here to see the manager,” he said to Sue Anne the counter attendant of the moment. She waves her arm in the direction of the only other person in the diner while saying, “How about the owner?”

Promotion, ahh. Rag Doll aka Evelyn Hart was not in the same position Alessandra (= white-clad Wheeler) assumed she would be in this town of New.

She dug right into him. “You were suppose to turn right at the can. What *happened*?”

(to be continued)

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July 18, 2025 · 5:38 pm

00470407 (Mine, man)

She’d finished her shooting. She’d put back on her finest cashmere robe. This was the result, proudly hung in the hallway leading down to Newtown’s Ratskeller. Barry De Boy’s self proclaimed magnum opus “Toy Play Thing Mine”, part of his “Does This Look Square to You?” series, being exactly 814 x 814 pixels in resolution. And directly kin in this series to the similarly square foldup of the “Foxtrot” album cover by Genesis from ’73 we’ve just seen back in post 01 of this section, also associated with Shelley and the request by new SC librarian Miss Ouri for her to come out from under the lamp and “get big” before them, which she refused to do as was appropriate and logical and decent. ’73: a good year for progressive rock albums indeed. Magical. Spread out centerfold in that case here:

The corresponding folded out version of “Toy Play Thing Mine” has been lost to time, which is in all likelihood for the best as well. But we do have this from “Foxtrot” again, specifically the long and epic “Supper’s Ready” track from side 2, as a kind of indication to what is going on. Green-Gray perpetual war results here again…

We now know that that “Foxtrot” described location of a plateau full of green grass and green trees with Narcissus gazing lovingly at his reflection circles back to this:

And its slowly but surely increasing number of *toys*.

Careful with it. Carefull. Very precious it is. And perhaps fragile. One long gust of wind from the real world all around could eradicate the magic and the spell. Make sure the colors are out of sight as best as possible, white here included. Hide the growing toy avatar village of Flathardt on the edge of this green plateau well. Do not put stuff like blue roses more toward the makeshift path than runs through it all as a possible tipoff to its presence. This is enough of a blue rose case already without such a physical marking. Flatness like this at the head of a hill does not occur naturally. Keep that always in mind during visits and updates.

Now if only the daily mountain rains would stop, UUGH.

(to be continued)

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July 17, 2025 · 9:09 pm

00470406 (3:19)

SHORTLY…

Hmm, another owl’s beak along with a whole, attached owl, or a rendition thereof, he thinks. I wonder if Madge lives here? Maybe that’s why I involuntarily walked here after leaving the pharmacy. Those owl beaks sure have power (!). Couldn’t *wait* to nibble on one.

—–

But there was only ruins within. Madge, nor anyone else, dwelled in this spot in Newtown in the sim of Newt on the continent of Jeogeot, also the location of Newt’s “other” home of Nawt Vaya, the one he doesn’t hang around as much lately. He’s on too many trails here. But this one: dead end. Better get to the park and meet Wheeler, he thinks while looking around at the barren stone walls surrounding barren stone and grassy floors. Where one trail ends….

At the same time in space, Alfred Hitcher leaving the downtown grocer with actual soda also suddenly has the urge to visit the park. We know the soda will be gone by the time he gets there. Perhaps he drank it along the way; might explain the subsequent hallucinations. Teaming up with no good lie-about Fisherman Jim to fight for the right to own an imaginary island, humph. In his wildest dream! But that’s what the fold out part did to them, additional drug enhancement present or not. Power enough on its own. Remarkable.

(to be continued)

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