October 18, 2020 · 10:42 am

Scarlet (Creative) Trinity

One day I’m going to get this boat of mine fixed and row row row all the way around this island, like it was (in) a stream.” Dimmy Gene then takes another sip of his homemade Sumatran blend, further pondering about a hill full of phantoms he’s heard about on its opposite side. He involuntarily shudders and winces at once.

He recalls his old girlfriend Little Oakley Annie coming for a visit in the Fall of ’26, just before the end. “I’m going back home to Green River after this,” she spoke to him, pistol waving around haphazardly in her right hand as usual. It would do her in; Oakley was no more after that, no more visits. Buried at Green River on that hill overlooking the vale. Dimmy then ponders about Teepot, which he hadn’t thought of for a long long time. Maybe he should switch from coffee to tea for a while, he segued, starting with green. No: red. This rogue Sumatran is starting to taste like Raid, like something you’d set out to get rid of pests or something. Darn hurricanes: cutting me off from the real coffee I love. He sips again, looking out at the wavy water and wondering if yet another would hit the west coast this Fall. Clouds were darkening again…

An island surrounded by a River. He ruminated where he got the idea while sipping and then wincing once more. But he dare not pull this tarp up and look at the damning holes again. The Phantom Hill trip won’t be happening anytime soon.

(to be continued?)

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October 18, 2020 · 10:41 am

variables

“I’m tired of all these books, Ross C. Go into the future and get me some clean ones, without the virus that’s going all around the place.”

Ross C. bleeped and blipped and estimated that it would take 5 man-hours to return from the future with the equivalent amount of books currently in Andy Warhole’s library, 1/2 of art and 1/2 of other. He never reads them, however. He just likes their appearance in this room when visitors come around. Which should be tonight for Marilyn, Hilter, and the rest. The party starts in 3 hours. Not enough time, Ross C. realizes. She tells her master this.

“Then just get rid of the lot of ’em,” Warhole waves off. “Build me a big aquarium and fill it full of colorful and exotic fish. Get the color pattern from my Marilyn screenprint, the one from Niagara (movie).” Ross C. does the blipping and bleeping thing again and now estimates this will take 10 hours to create, or twice as long as the new library of books. She tells him this.

“Then let’s just, I don’t know, *move*. What are we doing here anyway? This is not my apartment; these are not my books. I don’t have an apartment in the City. I live on the east coast, next to the clean, refreshing Korean Channel full of war ships and war planes and flags and explosions. So exciting. Move our asses, yes. That’s what we should do. That other art fellow lives here instead, Barry or Barren or something or other.” Warhole looks out the window. “Why he’s just painted that Super Building over there, turned it into a *Supper* Building to make Dinner Girl and her lot happy.” Warhole sighs. Ross C. waits patiently for more orders. They always come. She knew they didn’t have to move since they don’t live here in the first place. Or do they?

Warhole settles back into the plastic pink couch, resigned to host the party since everyone is already invited. “Destroy the bookshelf, yes. Just destroy the wall. Why do we have 2 rooms in this City apartment? Studio apartments are where it’s at. I am an artist after all, Jesus. Destroy the wall.”

Ross C. estimates that it will take 2 1/2 hours to destroy the bookshelf and the wall between the 2 rooms of the apartment, fusing them into one. But that doesn’t include the cleaning up, which will take an additional 1/2 hour. “It will be close, master,” she offers in her metallic way.

—–

“I loove what you’ve done to the place, Andy. It’s so — open!”

“Thank you, Marilyn.” Ross C. hides in the corner behind the door with the filled dustpan, unable to escape when the first wave of guests arrived.

—–

“PERfect!”

Party over.

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October 18, 2020 · 10:41 am

string theory

Dinner Girl often dreams she is her great great grandmother Din Din, or at least her winged statue in NWES City’s huge police station harboring a vast law enforcement system. Liberating the city of all men who don’t understand or submit and making unions with like-minded strong, weapon toting women across the globe, like the Amazonians. Great people they are, great tribe. Except for the, well, sawing, and I’m not referring to snoring here. What is *left* is the one. Leforest should know, now called Phyllis in this here blog and blog derived photo-novel 22… well, you know. Leforest Bresford. Let’s see what she’s up to. And where the *heck* did Hucka Doobie go? Oh well… on with the show. The show must go on, as Mercury X. Rising once sang to complement the going insane one.

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October 15, 2020 · 8:18 am

zzz again

He finally figured out how to remove the giant acorn of a head. He was relieved to find his own head still within, or perhaps it just grew there, like a seed in a pod, ready to hatch forth at the right moment. He pulled and pulled and pulled and finally it was there. Fully formed, seemingly. But the bikini top and especially bottom with attached tail remained. That was part of the new body apparently, part of the assimilation. 2 Sandy’s in one now. One Piece Sandy again. He had (seemingly?) woken up, but not in a good way.

And to top it all off now,  he had big hands, like the greeter at the door of Bar FF. Odd name; he couldn’t think of what the initials could stand for. Probably something Japanese related, he realized. He couldn’t see the writing on the wall while staring down at monstrous appendages.

Sandy wasn’t alone at the bar. “I believe you know my father,” the 1/2 snow 1/2 sponge being spoke over.

—–

Snowbob’s *mother* Snowmanster exits the closet again, looks around. “Well *this* is different. Underwater, eh. And apparently I can breathe underwater, lucky me. Now to find Old Grey once… oh. There you are!”

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October 15, 2020 · 8:18 am

sawing noise

“I am glad we finally get to meet face to face, er, Other Sandy.”

“Sure ‘nuf! Have you read the fairy tale book yet. Allll this turns into a big fat pumpkin in the end, or in my case, an acorn!”

“Yes, I picked up a copy of ‘Fairy Tales’ from one of these zzz houses but it then disappeared from my hands after I read that particular page.” Dream selves, Sandy thinks to himself here. Synchronicity in action.

“Yeah, this is where it allll goes down, Mr. Other Sandy.” Southern drawled Sandy Chic with acorn wide cheeks was glad that Sandy Beech didn’t pee in front of her at the lake, although the bear, being less self conscious because of the wild animal thing and all, couldn’t resist. He put down the rod and pulled out his rod, hehe. Wait. She stared over. She was thinking the thoughts of both of ’em. Gosh darn shoot!

“I hear you are from Texas, Sandy Chic,” Sandy Beech speaks over, perhaps unaware of the total synchronicity between them in the moment while looking at maps in his head. “That’s a big state for a, um…”

“Big squirrel? Were you going to say big…”

“I didn’t mean–”

“Hiiiii YA!” Sandy Beech’s head was detached from his body by Sandy Chic’s mighty karate chop across the dining booth. Spongebub would be proud.

Yet Sandy’s bodiless noggin still thought. He realized he had really always been in this form. A talking head.

——

“Annnnnd CUT! That was great, Sandy. BOTH of you! I smell an Emmy the size of TEXAS awaiting us!”

“Umm. Is he alright?” Sandy Chic had assumed the body.

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October 15, 2020 · 8:18 am

y not

Investigation of Diamondfyre’s Planet X parcel coinkydinkally led me to a sim called zzz, which I assume is last in an alphabetized list of such. I sit across a small lake from a dream version of myself we’ve seen once before in this here photo-novel (22 of 20), white rabbits on her side and a bear and a red capped snowman on mine. The bear is not pissing into the lake although it may appear that way from this angle, and he will probably be pissing in it soon enough given all the beer he’s been drinking with me. I might be too if it weren’t for the female cartoon squirrel Sandy soberly staring toward us on the opposite side.

Here let’s turn the camera a bit for the next photo so you can clearly see Francis (bear) is fishing just like me, and also view the roaring waterfall marking the source of the stream that flows into the lake. Source and Lake, then, just like in that game at the temple with all the tiles, starting with The River (here).

So we sit at the beginning of TILE in effect, or the end of the beginning. We have equated this River with the Amazon, and in at least one other post, the Mighty Mississippi of our US of A. But what we are building, in toto, is obviously the Earth around The River, perhaps square shaped like the box the game Carcassonne comes in but also perhaps not. Depends on if we’re happy or unhappy maybe.

I didn’t really notice how much Sandy Chic’s head is shaped like an acorn until I photographed her remotely from behind. Good one Spongebub Squaredpants creators. And good one MAPS creators, because we have this in KY.

Squib next to Sandy Gap next to Acorn also obviously represents another Spongebub character Squibward, because the expression “damp squid” is sometimes mistakenly phrased “damp squib,” like with some in the IT profession who are smart on technology but not as sharp with words. And we already know that SS’s Spore plays an important role in photo-novel 22. In fact, there he is again at a (non-horseshoe) curve in The River representing the Amazon and/or the Mississippi (or the Nile or the Yangtze or the fill in the blank). What could he be pondering with his computer wife Karen Y.?

Of course. Plan Z!

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October 15, 2020 · 8:17 am

male

“Where’s the rabbit?”

“He’ll be up shortly,” Toothpick answers Supper Man. Both are getting married in 1-3 weeks. They have to decide what is first and who is marrying who. The latter should be easy.

“Dinner Girl wanted us to meet again, have tea. She thinks we can help each other. She doesn’t want a double marriage. She thinks we should go first. I say we should go second, see how it goes for you guys.”

“And Dinner Girl isn’t (also) your sister?” asked Toothpick, following up from earlier speculation.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Listen, we’re not the same person.” He leans forward, but dares not touch any part of Toothpick’s body for fear of passing through. Invisible. Nonexistence, even. He’s worked too hard on his abs to fritter all this away. And now that his favorite restaurant has closed up shop it should be even easier to keep the lbs away.

Toothpick/Filbert looks left as a distraction. “The rabbit over there is indicating our old friend Certain Death, Supper Man. No running away from all that. But then there’s the 561 steps now leading from End back to Beginning and the 561 again. Through 24687531 we can be saved.”

“Bahh.” Supper Man even spits toward Toothpick a bit here while exclaiming his exasperation over the supposedly sacred (heart) number. The spittle indeed passes through Toothpick’s skin, muscle and bone, some reaching the back of the chair behind him.

“Why do you disbelieve the power of the even in a row and then the odd in a backwards row?” Toothpick then considered the 9th is involved. He’d seen it once or twice before. The counter to the Zero, perhaps the Zero Hero. “We are getting married in the Temple of TILE after all with the sacred book now open at the front for everyone to see. We have the story of the CITY. The CITY is TILE.”

Supper Man scratched his head. “You and *me* are getting married in the Temple of TILE?”

Back to square one.

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October 13, 2020 · 6:22 am

North again

“Well? How did you like it?”

Toothpick turned on the bar stool. “Who are you?”

She rubbed her big red horns seductively. “An Aries, why?”

Toothpick adjusted. “*What* are you?”

“They call me Wanda,” she said in a bass voice for a woman. “Big Wanda. Because of the, ahem, horns but maybe not. 1/2 –.” She stopped here, saving some grace. “I’m what you became absorbed in,” she goes again. “Just a moment ago. Just over there.” She points to the nearby black couch. “Like the one in the Bigfoot Bar, except that one’s gone now. There are others.”

Toothpick thinks back to Bigfoot. Yes, he remembers now. This was his sister in another guise. She has horns. They’re still testing couches and realities both. Yes he had been absorbed. It was nice. Too nice. He thought back to the pleasantries. A belt was involved. The Great Belt of Marwood or thereabouts, purchased in oppositely directioned and colored Black Ice down south at its Black Diamond market square, or at least as a demo. Near where they were born, actually, in the Deep South (of the Black Ice sim). The original one broke; all he has now is the one with the attached squares that say demo and follow him wherever he moves with it. Like the Gone Fishing square from before, prior to the horned one taking over. He takes another gander.

“Are you Satan?” He thinks back to well known Aries and settles on the idea of batting champ Peet Rose, red as a. Why Peet Rose? Why not Jonny Bench or some other bench player, like Leeroy “Steamboat” Kelly who filled in for the Browns when Cleveland Jim Brown became a star on Hollywood Boulevard?

—–

In a related scene, Big Wanda’s sometimes, gun toting partner Little Oakley Annie, a Leo, was visiting her own grave but having trouble remembering the name of her own star. She only recalls (with a shudder) the wide, yawning abyss just beyond, the Great Black Swamp devoid of such. Her star was the first out. Polar came to mind but that wasn’t quite it. Pole star?

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October 13, 2020 · 6:21 am

“Baker Mason”

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October 13, 2020 · 6:21 am

letters and numbers but mostly letters

“Red yellow green blue,” the introduction began. “NO purple. NO orange. NO nothing else. We have our 4. I am Phyllis and I approve this manifesto. Let’s make this shit happen.”

561 words. In the next paragraph.

—–

Future scholars picked out key words like Olive, Gray, Residents, Oklahoma, Pink, Brown, and Geronimo as anchors to their attempts at analyses, even though the sentence, “Keys — you can have them; I’m producing my own delicious peanut based spread for my bread.”, appears plainly in the 166th paragraph (before perhaps one about milk) as a seeming warning to this approach. 1/2 and 1/2 again, since almost everyone agrees that this sentence *is* the key since it is the only readable one in the whole 561 paragraph document (except perhaps for the sentence about milk following it), with the ending paragraph simply, “End.”, and the second to last, “Tartar mosquito.”, and the third to last, “I am instant.”, and so on back to the 561 word 1st paragraph — most scholars don’t count the clearly worded introduction just to be clear. So the 166th paragraph with the sense making sentence has, let’s see (pulls up calculator), 395 words, of which 16 are in that key sentence quoted above. Some turn to maths for explanation of the inexplicable Manifesto, usually capitalized in these TILE friendly and frenzied days. Jim Baloony of Yale’s Harvard points out that 395 divided by 16 equals 24.6875, which when extended to the logically equivalent 24.687531 contains all the even and then odd numbers in order and then reverse order between 0 and 9. “Where is the 9th?” he questions, and then turns to the “perhaps sentence” (as it is called these days) about milk to make his theories more palatable and easier to swallow. It reads: “And so on the 5th day he cowed.” Several books about that sentence alone have now been published, one by Bart Smipson, a skateboarder from Tull, and the other by his vegetarian leaning sister Lisa, co-written by someone who chooses to simply be known as Marty. And then there’s the whole Zero Hero cult that has grown around the mention of Gong in paragraphs 3, 40, and 340.

(to be continued?)

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