COLLAGESITY PHOTO-NOVEL 03
Hearts
Old Mabel was in an unfamiliar place. She tried to get her bearings. “DJ Ned — Heartsdale,” she read. “This must be Heartsdale,” she concluded, and then found herself buying some heart shaped glasses from a nearby store named Blown-Apart.
She stepped out into the street and had a rethink. “Not Heartsdale,” she said now, “but in the heart of things still.” She recognized the junction of Old Cannon and North roads — barely. “Collagesity. Far in the future.” She looked around. “But where are all of Baker Bloch’s collages?”
A person approached Old Mabel from the south that she soon learned was named Buurb. He will be both familiar and unfamiliar to my many blog readers. Stay tuned!
COLLAGESITY PHOTO-NOVEL 08
61×49
As soon as he stepped foot upon the crossroad early last year, Buurb knew this was actually Collagesity set in the future.
It was 20 meters down the road where his more psychic wife first realized this, but that turned out to only be a strong reflection. Merely a T-junction.
Because this was the ‘X’ that led home. Mabel would be waiting with a pot of something or ‘nother. Perhaps bean stew tonight. He better make his way through the trash again.
present future
Bill (Wheeler) came back to Collagesity to retrieve some tweezers and got chills while standing in front of the town library and staring at this view down Old Cannon Road toward the Rubi Woods.
Time to head home again, Buurb thinks.
queens
But instead Buurb finds himself heading left, toward the freebies library at the end of Lost Heaven Road. What to buy today? he considers. Maybe something for Mabel this time.
—–
Yes, more bean stew for Mabel. He loves that stuff. And — Buurb couldn’t resist — a Green Lantern mini-avatar for himself, hehe. He can hear his wife now: “You’re *such* a Sheldon.”
Bill (Wheeler again) couldn’t figure it out. Why would this mysterious Ellen insist on going first and then make such a weak opening move? She counters with her own weird kind of opening: Pawn to Queen 4. Because at this rate she was going to win in 13 moves or less. Anyway, she’d check back tomorrow and see if Ellen had stopped by to play again. Poor girl; maybe not the brightest of us all.
—–
But Bill was wrong about that.
storied house
“It’s stronger than I remember, Buurb. If it wasn’t for this house…” Mabel trails off here, thinking of possibilities.
“We’re not ready to go out,” counters her husband. They were married in the backyard of this very structure last year, but it had been added onto since. 3 floors now, with this being the topmost.
“Collagesity needs us,” states the wife. “Needs my — our energy.”
Buurb shakes his ponytailed head. “We wait and see what happens in the center of the Atoll continent. We wait for Nascera. We wait for the chess game to proceed. We wait.”
storied house 02
It was a beautiful house, but quite prim heavy at 195li. And that’s unfurnished. Impractical, most likely, to set up in present day Collagesity except on a temporary basis. And Mabel wasn’t going to go *back* without it, I don’t think. So it looks like they’re stuck in Heartsdale for a while longer.
Although well beyond its glory days, the town still retained some interesting landmarks. There was the coffee and sweets shop on the corner of Blown Apart and West Anglia. This is Mabel and Buurb’s favorite table within they’re sitting at here, with the great view toward their house (their house??). Mabel usually only drinks coffee. Buurb sometimes gets a whole wheat danish roll, like today. Mabel knew there wasn’t any use in trying to change Buurb’s mind over leaving, so she instead talked about New Island and how they got here. She sometimes read her associated diaries to Buurb late at night while they, let’s say, sipped cognac and munched on taffy popcorn.
It all revolved around the vinyl version of “Sometime in New York City” and the void in the center of Lennon’s solo career it represented. Slavery? That’s what they often discussed, and, yes, occasionally argued about. Very occasionally. For Mabel was against slavery of any kind in any fashion. Buurb made some qualified exceptions.
“Take the South after the Civil War,” he said today after taking the first bite of his roll and then setting it back on the small plate.
“No, don’t go there,” his wife demanded, also wishing her husband wouldn’t speak with his mouth full.
He chewed and swallowed; lightly smacked his lips. “Given 5, 7, 8 years, don’t you think President Lee would have freed the slaves himself? And the South might have been better going that route. Take carpetbaggers…”
“I *said*, I don’t want to hear it.” She ‘d have nothing negative spoken about Stove Top Lincoln. Andrew The Tailor Johnson, however, was often open for potshots. But she wasn’t in the mood this morning. She kept thinking about the house across the street. It was and wasn’t their house; another quandary. They were married there, true. But they also still lived in the trashy alley that followed from Old Church Street beside it across St. George Street at its front. The sale hadn’t been finalized. And the mortgage would be 2 full months’ wages between them (!). Could they really afford it? Were they digging a financial grave they would never emerge from? But the house! So perfect. If I could just get it to Collagesity, Mabel thought, we’d have a piece of property with no attached tax, no attached anything; that’s how things work there.
“Look at Pitch Darkly,” she said to Buurb another time on this subject. “Look at Woody (Woodmanson). Refuges… like us. The Bakers take them in, make sure they’re wanted and provided for. You’d like The Bakers, Buurb.”
“I knew Baker Blinker,” he corrected. “Or I at least knew someone who claimed to be her.”
“Oh yes,” Mable said, a pang of jealousy crossing her heart. Her Heartsdale heart. “Precious Snowflake.”
Because she was still around. We’ll revisit her soon and find out more of her story.
… witch
“What are you doing out there silly?” speaks Burrb through the window pane at his wife. “You’re 15 minutes late — can you hear me?” Mable nods. “You’re 15 minutes late,” he repeats.
“I was trying to find the diary,” her muffled voice sounds from outside.
“The dairy?” he playfully replies and smiles. “Down the road and to your right.” But Mable wasn’t in the mood for games and just indicates the book with the hand in her hand and goes around to the front door to enter.
30 minutes later, Mabel had spilled the wine about Mid Hazel, Karoz Blogger, Precious Snowflake, and the Ohno sim in general.
Buurb demanded a field trip.
—–
But they weren’t going to ascend that hill to the haunted Palmer Lodge in the middle of the night.
Oh no (sorry).
roamings
There wasn’t much in the way of art in Heartsdale to Mabel’s disappointment. One gallery showing mainly soft core erotica — well, a lot of it wasn’t even erotica, just women posed in various suggestive manners, let’s say. But there were some other types of works mixed in here and there, like this painting called simply “Dancer” that Mabel kind of liked. And this one below named “Country Road”. When visiting, Mabel sometimes imagined traveling down this picturesque road — outta here (like in that old John Denver song).
In Collagesity, there were rumors that you could actually go inside Baker B.’s collages to different Real Lyfe locations. Maybe the same could apply here, she thought.
—–
The town had plenty of empty buildings and apartments. Mabel again wonders what it looked like in its more golden days. When it was closer in time to Collagesity. When did the split occur? Does it have something to do with the house? *Their* house? It must be, Mabel concluded some time ago.
—–
Mabel had begun to smoke. “2 packs of Lucky Stripes, Jim,” she requests to the owner of the town’s lone convenience store. “And a couple of snickers.” It was a habit born mainly of, well, boredom. Not much to do in Heartsdale, as you the reader have probably picked up. Buurb worried about her continued health, but he figured it would turn around once she had her house. Then they would be focused on fixing it up, showcasing it even for the rest of the community. Maybe open a gallery in part of the downstairs. Mabel could paint up on their favorite floor, the 3rd. Scenes of town, even. She would turn around, he believed. Returned immersion in art would aid immensely. The parts of Heartsdale that seemed sour or boring would have new light shed upon them. It all revolves around the house.
Mabel returns to their alley apartment, planning to light one up as soon as she got inside.
topmost
As mentioned, Mabel and Buurb loved the 3rd floor of their potential house. A type of heaven for them, I suppose. Buurb could write and Mabel could do art. Their respective passions, besides each other of course. Or this is how they fulfill themselves through each other.
We start at the northernmost window (of 3) looking west…
… then pan out to take in a nearby chest with a smaller container, perhaps a suitcase, on top of it.
This is in the room at the top of the ladder heading up from the 2nd floor. Then below we also peek into the next room. Both contain a variety of what could be called refuge or junk, but the married couple still love the stuff and dare not throw any of it away once the house transaction is complete. Whenever that is.
Mabel often wonders who this melted girl in the portrait is. Could it be her as a child, somehow? At any rate, looking at it always reminds her of her beloved twin brother Little Big for some reason, still off fighting in the Green and White War in some distant part of the galaxy. Last she heard: Aldebaran.
More of the second room; that would be Buurb’s writing desk in the distance, which would double as a place for them to have brunch, tea, etc.
And then we have Mabel herself sitting in the 3rd room. This is projected to be her art studio where she’ll rekindle her love of painting (and drawing). But what to paint remains a big question.
Maybe that perpetually burning fuel tanker down at the gas station seen through the south window here, hmm.
topmost 02
Mabel’s primary goal today remained the mission, however, and speaking with Precious Snowflake who she knows is the same as Baker Blinker. On her way, she stops to take a good look at that tanker. “Yes, this might do very well for subject matter,” she says.
She walks into the fire within but remains unharmed.
Onward to the mission…
gone
Buurb came home from a hard day of peddling his wares. Something was different. The alley leading to his home was gone!
Sealed up by brick, it appeared. Why hadn’t Mabel phoned him?? But she was probably out doing stuff on her own. The consulting, yes. Maybe down at the mission dispensing free gravy to the poor, removing unwanted lumps when needed. It’s all about Montana lately for her.
Stunned, Buurb walks around the block starting left. The Queen’s Arms still here, yes. He hadn’t totally lost his sense of direction — this *was* the correct block, the correct road. But no alley on its north side now.
But then, just beyond: the alley!
Turned at a right angle (to the block)? He cautiously starts down it.
More complicated than before… more doors.
But no sign of Mabel’s and his apartment. None of the number of doors he tries seem to lead anywhere atall, in fact.
Nervously tapping his good foot on the stone blocks, he phones his wife. “Com’on Mabel. Pick up. Pick up…”
gone 02
“So you see, PS. It was never suppose to come to this. You over there. Me here.” Baker Blinker then looks down the pier toward the center of town. “Oh Me Gods. Here comes Buurb. You’re not suppose to be seen with me. Gotta scram!” Baker Blinker disappears. Precious Snowflake is alone when Buurb walks up. He didn’t spot Baker Blinker sitting with his Heartsdale friend. Else his brains would have been even more scrambled up than what they already were.
“Thank God, Precious. Someone I know. Are you alright? Is the mission okay?” He spoke rapidly, not letting Precious get a word in edgewise. “The town! It’s changed. I’ve walked all around it now, trying to find… *someone*. And here you are. Not at the mission but here. But this place is new too. A coffee shop, eh? Mabel would be pleased. Have you seen Mabel? I’ve tried and tried to reach her on the hot phone but no go. Do you have a phone? Perhaps yours would work better in this… new environment. Are you okay?” he repeats. “God I have to take a leak, Precious. I can’t even find a bathroom I’m familiar with! You know my condition.”
Precious Snowflake took it all in. She remembered the blueness, the change. Pink to blue and blue to pink. The mixed up boy-girl. Leeman.
Or Leemon.
“You walked right past someone on the way up here,” she said nonchalantly. “Did you not see them?”
thankfully
Axis certainly gets around. Here’s he’s on an island in the northeast part of Heterocera (Eggar sim). It’s hot down here at the beach, and he pulls off his duster coat and carefully lays it by the shoreline. He must get back to the art store soon. Too bad he can’t wear those paint splattered paints they sell for free within…. merely a mesh figure he is. But perhaps they’ll fit burgeoning artist Annie to the T.
Or Bill.
Or Mabel.
One way to find out…
—–
“Aren’t they just the dreamiest, Turch?! Now when Baker Bloch reopens the Red Umbrella we’ll be back in business. Buurb should be here soon.”
“Sure,” reassures Turch, because he knows Mabel can’t take another loss like her brother Little. But probably she won’t have to. Most likely, yes.
—–
“I can’t do this Precious; put your wings back on. I have to find Mabel.”
“I… understand.”
Queens Arms
“Well pardon *me*, I guess. Robots, hrmph.”
—–
“It’s tough losing your hair, isn’t it Grandpa 02?”
“I suppose, Grandpa 01. Oh. There’s Grandpa 03. Tapping at the window. We’re about ready to commence.”
“Shame about Grandpa 05 last week. Died on the john.”
“We still have Grandpas 04, 06, and 07. Along with us three.”
“The originals, he he. As of about 2 minutes ago.”
“Right. Another beer?”
Grandpa 07
like in urchin
“*There* you are, Gramps! I don’t know how I keep missing you.”
Space Ghost (“Gramps”) turns, takes a look at Buurb, and then faces forward again, rocking a bit faster. “You haven’t changed,” he spouts grumpily.
“I know. I think I’m going to give it another shot with Mabel. I’m not quite ready to end a steady marriage.”
“My boy Baker Black,” the elder Space Ghost grumbles, mispronouncing his son’s name, “said to wait here in this town until the boy turns back into a girl. Then and only then can I go home.” He glances at Buurb again. “And you’re not changing, hmph. So I’m not heading home yet.”
“Collagesity, you mean,” speaks Buurb, who again thought of Mabel’s invitation to join her there to live in *their* new house, she keeps putting it. She’s certainly not prepared to break the bonds from her end either.
“1 1/2 years I’ve been here, give or take a year or two. Do you know how long a year and a half is give or take that?”
“Well,” states Buurb, trying not make *too* much fun of the old man, “that could be a negative half year, meaning you haven’t even arrived in Heartsdale to begin with. You stayed in Collagesity, and, even on top of that, lost a half year there.”
Space Ghost shakes his head, not taking this in correctly. “Babble. That’s all you young folks do these day. Rambles and babbles. You might as well be little robots walking forwards and backwards and every which way — always getting in *my* way, phmph. Now, back in my days… (Buurb thinks: here we go) In *my* days…,” Space Ghost repeats, turning to face Buurb and even shaking his cane a bit at him, “boys and girls remained separate and pure. There *were* no mixed up boy-girls like you.”
Buurbs attempts to remain patient again. “Oh, I’m sure they were around, Pops. It’s just they didn’t tell you they were, um, mixed up. It wasn’t socially acceptable then. It’s a lot better these days with the interwebs and social media educating people about such things.”
Space Ghost wasn’t finished digging at him. “Then *why* did you marry Mabel?”
Buurb shrugs. “I changed over. I knew I didn’t love Precious Snowflake any longer when I began to love Mabel. My sex changed — before I was a woman, now I’m a man. It’s not *that* unusual Gramps. Out friend Turchin McGur–.”
“He’s not *my* friend,” Space Ghost cuts Buurb off. “*He’s* the one who took Mabel over there in the first place. You should be together here or you should be together there if you’re a couple. But not you here and her there, see. Figure it out. Who *are* you? *What* are you?”
“I’m Buurb,” the hobo-man declares firmly.
“You *were* Unch,” Space Ghost snaps back.
“Urch, you mean,” Buurb replies. He’d finally lost his cool. “And it’s Baker *Bloch*, not Black. You don’t even know your own son’s name, let alone the true state of the world.”
Buurb immediately regretted flying off the handle. Kindness, he thought. I have to be kind to the Grandpas. They don’t know what they’re talking about half the time. But also: so much shared wisdom between them. They will be missed, each and every one.
“How was John’s funeral?” he then thought to ask, changing the subject.
Happy visions
“I keep looking over at that tower, Buurb, and see Henry Winkler keep climbing up and down those ladders. *Henry Winkler*. Does he live in Heartsdale? I guess he has to, given that I keep seeing him over there. From ‘Happy Guys.’ You remember, don’t you? Fonzie Bear I think he was called. I wonder how he got *here*?”
“Sometimes he even looks over here and waves at me or something.”
COLLAGESITY PHOTO-NOVEL 13
Bald Seal Prelude
Baker Bloch next checked Hana Lei for survivors, but the members of the band Lamb — Peter, Paul and Mary — were nowhere to be found. Baker thought of the perhaps odd coincidence that the 3 locations beginnning with “H” in his overall lexicon were all clustered together if sorted by number of posts. 15 for Hana Lei here, 16 for Heartsdale, and then 14 for Horizons. But none of these places seemed relevant any longer — all used up for meaning. He couldn’t stop thinking about the 3 “H”‘s, though, and how it perhaps — again — points to the Omega continent (through Kentucky). Better get back to Bauerbridge, then…
… but the high dune had been masked by a thick thicket of trees. Big Thicket? Edward Swift once more?
April Mae’s small cemetery remains at the edge of the thicket, where her husband Septimius Felton was buried and which we see her visit several times in the last Collagesity novel (last?).
I’ll just do a little grave maintenance while I’m here.
The Angel of Death reached out for Baker Bloch’s hat again.
COLLAGESITY PHOTO-NOVEL 19
Corsican Collagesity 07
She was walking in circles around the neighborhood. Each time I got close she disappeared around the next corner. But it appeared to be… me!
I decided to stop chasing and just wait on her. I’d figured out the pattern. I noticed other people were walking around too. But they didn’t catch my eye. Olive-green jacket, grey-black backpack, faded demin jeans.
She ran into me (me again!), and even pushed me back a bit. This was no apparition. Solid! She was taller than me. And — dare I say it — less, um, frumpy. Prettier to put it differently.
I knew she *had* to be indicating something of importance. “Look here!” she said in her repetitive striding. But the block of structures she perpetually strolled around didn’t have much substance to it. I couldn’t even find a place to sit (using remote viewing) to observe her better. So I just stayed on this corner she’d pushed me into; thought about the next move.
—–
It took her about a minute and 15 seconds to complete the circuit.
I had come to Heartsdale to search for more information about John. Instead I found something quite unexpected: that I had already been here, *was* here in a different way. Taller, hmm. Did I mistakenly switch out bodies at some point? But this doppleganger sweeping by me like a second hand on a 5/4th watch was not ensouled. She was just a marker. But — it — was — *me*. Think, Yoko Ona, think.
—–
“She doesn’t appear to be a bad witch listening in on her thoughts, Hucka Doobie.”
“No, she is truly mystified as to what is happening in this Heartsdale with its Ned and, um (checking), Pop in the Pavilion.”
—–
“Hucka, I think this mystery is bigger than the present novel, or moves beyond it. Better start the next.”
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2020 MIDDLE”; START OF “COLLAGESITY 2020 MORE MIDDLE”!
COLLAGESITY PHOTO-NOVEL 20
Heartsdale 01
“She finds a heart that is a yoyo in a hotel plaza, Hucka Doobie. Yoko is close to yoyo.”
“Listennn.”
—–
“I’m going to walk right over to that phone and make a call. I can’t find that girl of mine *anywhere* in this confounded town. Alleys go this way, pathways go that way. It’s like a maze!”
Amazing, thought Yoko Ona from the other side. This must be one of John’s friends!
“Oh. You using the booth?” he asked after spotting her.
No, I’ll fix that. She rewinds time.
Zach Black walks up to the phone with Yoko Ona on the other side. He doesn’t spot her, as if she’s invisible. He picks up the receiver. He can’t remember the exact number so he presses in all of ’em, in a row. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 and 0 to end. That should do it, he thinks. It rings on the other side.
“Hello?” Feminine voice, good. No new jack-ass boyfriend to deal with, perhaps.
“Audrey?” he speaks into the receiver with his cool cat voice.
“Yes?” Cool cat back at him.
—–
In another part of town, David A.B. was talking to Linda Halsey about that failed transformation attempt over in Urqhart where she hails from. “Sorry about that,” he says to her in a conciliatory way. “We will try harder next time.”
What about *my* transformation, unobserved Yoko Ona thinks in a neighboring chair.
And then she spots *another* of herself walking against a rock textured wall across the street. How many are there??
Heartsdale 02
She decides to check into the motel she sits in front of with David and Linda. Why not? Too many mysteries to explore here in one sitting! Multiple me’s, she ponders while waiting for the desk clerk to respond to her presence. She never does, so Yoko Ona pipes up. “Excuse me miss… do you have any rooms available?”
“Rooms? What rooms?” Sarah McDooglehan then shakes her head and looks around the lobby, as if snapping out of a trance (true). “Oh… *these* rooms. Well,” — she puts her finger to her temple instead of checking any list she has, which seems odd. “Two is available. I’ll register it in triplicate. 222, then.”
“I’m *not* paying for three.” But then Yoko Ona reconsiders. *Is* she?
“One it is,” Sarah returned. “Not two, not three. Here’s the key.” She removed it from her pocket and not the wall with the others. Another oddity.
—–
She has to wait for the maid to finish dusting and removing that dead body before she can bring in the rest of her stuff.
Heartsdale 03
She woke up in the middle of the night with a realization. The maid was still trying to move the dead body out of the room to no avail. Perhaps she was attempting to be too quiet about it. I know who the motel receptionist is, Yoko Ona thought while staring up at the ceiling long crack in the ceiling: Cindy A.! This is where I met her and also started interacting with the others of the traitorous A.Team. Todd I believe. And Jim! Who could forget Jim and his maths. Figures began forming in her mind with this. All the numbers again (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0). She decided she needed a middle of the night martini for further pondering. And so as not to disturb the maid and her duties, she tip toed out of the room, silently shutting the door behind her in search of a bar.
To move beyond 02 and especially 03, she knew she’d have to get by the security guard known locally as Big Black Smoke — learned that from the maid. She, in a whisper of a voice, had warned her about the corruption existing at the motel after dusting the bathroom for the 3rd time. 3 again. A.Team with three members. She’s getting closer! She runs smack into Big Black Smoke while spacing out about 3. “Morning misses,” he spoke, not fazed in the least. “Out for your morning walks again?” Plural, she realized. He thinks *I* am 3. And he’d been moved in front of motel door 03 with the collision for further emphasis. Heartsdale was certainly trying to talk to the famous widow of a woman! She walks further into the town proper and its beating Null Heart after affirming Big Black Smoke’s guess.
(to be continued)
Heartsdale 04
She stands at a crossroads outside the motel. David A.B. and Linda Halsey are still talking in the lighted patio outside the lobby. They would be doing this as long as the motel itself existed, she realized. She stares toward the mysteriously highlighted red-blue-green gate to the east (sky-sea-land). She’s *been* here before, she realizes while studying it and almost being hit by a right turning, beat up station wagon with Illinois license plates in the process. BDR529. Not quite all the numbers but getting there.
“Where there are churches there must be liquor stores,” she remarks confidently while walking between two. She goes in a direction no Yoko has ever gone before, messing with the patterns.
—–
“So this is what you do all the time, Baker B.?” asked observing Marty at Collagesity’s Blue Feather Table Room.
“Pretty much,” admitted the male baker version to the famous composer/musician variant.
“W-where is she going? She’s just heading off in a random direction.”
“Not random,” spoke Baker Bloch. “Hopefully.”
“What is this place?” Marty further queried.
“Heartsdale. It’s in title.” Baker looked over, confident in his randomness. “She’s been here before,” he added. “Or *I* have.”
“And this has — something to do with John.”
“Absolutely,” I crowed. “Bakersworks,” I said to end.
Pirate
Bastard buccaneer Randolph wondered how his eye suddenly got better and he doesn’t have to wear a patch any longer. Oh well, must be a stereotype. He eyes the old, dusty upright book in front of him, pondering the cover again. Peter Oesso should be here shortly, he thinks, furthering his evil plans for world domination. It’s only a matter of time. The Descent of Chaos.
He also wonders about the tanker burning brightly outside, and why it hasn’t exploded further.
Then, while still staring at the book with the hand and the 3, he remembers his former existence. Jim, the convenience store owner who sells Lucky Stripes. And indeed he has a patch.
He also remembers the burning tanker at the gas station is in the past as well.
The Martian steps into it.
roles
“Well, go ahead and read me my A B C’s or 1 2 3’s or whatever. We’ll head down to the station, then, and see who’s who and what not.”
“Break it off, Kevin,” spoke Jenny, out of her role as Heartsdale police officer Candy Candle Cane. Because she’s always on fire. “Big Black Smoke is out of room 03 again.”
“Uuhhh. I don’t care.”
“Shhhhh.”
—–
You have to go back, Jack. Blue is Pink and Pink is Blue. They’re calling for you.”
“Then I will take your name with me to remember you by, um, Precious. Jack Blue I am from now on.”
“Ingratiate yourself with Green, Brown. They will guide you. Leave Olive alone,” she warned.
They switched places and he ate her cake too.
—–
“Jack Blue, huh? You don’t *look* like a Jack. You’re certainly blue, though.”
“And you’re Green,” Jack Blue quickly followed.
“Pink is dead.” SEAN “Green” Penn’s head hung low, remembering the day he heard like it was yesterday even though it was 5 years ago. Now he was in Little Rock, Arkansas but certainly with a bit of the (New Orleans) blues left. And now a Blue itself shows up. Himself, herself. Something.
“I know,” Jack Blue tries to console, also thinking about Brown. Plans gone awry! “Let’s turn our attention back to the map and the next step.”
Green wipes his eyes and tries to focus. It all comes into place eventually. The Big Picture.
Our US
“Do you think Yoko Ona will make it back to the motel, David A.B.?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he waved it off. “SEAN’s here now.”
—–
“And Arkansas right in the middle of things,” a studying SEAN “Green” Penn utters within a secret room behind the motel desk. Clerk Sarah McDooglehan didn’t mind. Since she was a dummy through and through. She’ll come to life soon enough as Yoko’s Cindy A., designer of planes and then murderous rockets. Enough to get the job done. The shot hit both Pipersville and Sink X at once — right in the middle. Just like Arkansas. And Missouri: 1/2 and 1/2.
“Check this out, Green,” spoke Blue from a table also in the room. “Martin Allen. Just like in Floyd County, Kentucky.”
“And Bennett County, SD. And NE. And MS. But everyone knows that has to do with poles. Polar explorers. Like Richard Byrd, except different.”
Jack Blue looked over. She was glad she decided to bring SEAN “Green” Penn back into the picture. Needed tangents. Like Peppi outside. She knew this was a Diamond of a case.
(to be continued)
slavery
Yoko Ona had returned from what she’d seen and was determined to walk right between them, the *forgeries*.
“Excuse me lovebirds,” she said, eclipsing both from each other in the moment.
—–
“What’s going on?” she called over to security guard Big Black Smoke, still guarding the Room 03 door as if his life depended on it. “Police tape?” She *knew* this wasn’t here before. She wondered if the authorities had finally been alerted to the body inside. Had maid Hidi come out from hiding with it? Despite the tape she decided to go in. Big Black Smoke, another dummy, didn’t lift a finger to stop her from entering. As long as it’s not Room 03…
—-
Secure in the fact that the body was still within — bridge-like portal exposed behind a wall — Yoko Ona took a relieving pee in the toilet before entering. This witch was not who she appeared to be.
—–
“It’s John,” exclaimed observing Marty over in Urqhart (or Thereabout)’s Collagesity. “It’s got to be!”
—–
Standing on its head, Yoko peered into the first of the other rooms, beyond the original. This was Two beyond One. She didn’t like what she saw.
Two
“What else do you want, Domino? Audrey will be here any time now!”
“You got to go cold turkey on the turkey,” is all his nephew had to say about his supplier showing up soon. “If you lay down the needle then you’ll hear the music like I hear the music, the voices, the… ‘Everything’!”
“Still babbling on about Firesign Theatre, pheh — The *Bill*. And don’t you *dare* call me dadd-i-o (again).”
“I — wasn’t. I just want you to listenn. It’s the one after the ‘Giant Rat’ thing you didn’t like before. You haven’t heard this yet. I think you’ll like.”
Domino lays down the needle.
—–
45 minutes later, Audrey shows up with the junk. Sometimes lover Zach Black greets her with a beaming smile. “Girl, you’re just in time. We’re ready for a re-listen!”
“Great.” She lays down the supply on the bed and settles back for a long one.
“Did you know a cave is just a hole turned on its *side*?” Zach continues excitedly. “Imagine that. You gotta listen to this honey. Lay down that needle again, Domino.”
“Sure thing dadd — man.”
other direction
“There’s yet more to see in Heartsdale, Hucka Doobie.”
“Sure.”
—–
Kate McCoy was brought in because she can read braille. She translates the diary. “We can see into Room 05 but not 04. We are blinded in that direction.” She changes into little Katy Kidd, eyes turned up toward Phillip’s.
03
Heartsdale 00
Zero was a figure of some importance so I decided to circle around him in a permitted pattern to indicate this. He marked my 5/4th time with his special watch.
Yoko 01 showed up and was mystified why she was already here in Heartsdale. And now the drama continues…
Teddy
I was hot on a trail again. Zero also owned this Heartsdale horse, hitched in a small woods behind its central Blown-Apart store.
And there’s the *other* circling Yoko dummy.
the blue and the pink and the ??
“It really is a nice location, Baker Blinker. Sorry about the (missing) Mission.”
“‘Tis okay. Perhaps there’s another portal on this Isle of Heartsdale. Maybe Zero somehow? Connected to all the figures (numbers)?”
“Possibly. I plan to ride Teddy down to the bay soon. Maybe we’ll find more there. Remember, *laugh*, remember how you ran into Buurb down there with Precious Snowflake? Boy you had to amscray quick! Don’t want to confuse the young boy-girl any more than he/she already is/was/will be.”
“Yes, I am both Baker Blinker and Precious Snowflake at once,” speaks Baker Blinker, staring over at herself as the crows gather in the church spires once more. “But I’d like to add to my repertoire.”
“You had Tillie,” replied the male Baker quickly.
“Yeah, but a gaseous, dumpy clown doesn’t really count in the long run.”
“Karoz,” guessed Baker Bloch about the dismissal.
“I want to be — attractive.” No one brought up Wheeler but it was on their mind.
After a pause, Baker Bloch asked: “Will you be coming back to the *new* Collagesity over in Urqhart or thereabouts?” Baker didn’t ask if Karoz would be joining her; it was implied.
“I suppose the Temple of TILE remains an attractor (for Karoz primarily).”
“And the Julia House — still at the top of the waterfall. Might be a Julia*n* House now.” He smiles. He imagines Karoz smiling with him across the sea.
Julia(n) House
ice cream eyes
What happened in Room 03? she pondered while looking down at it. Did Jane kill hubby Ben Wolf just because he called her — *Plain*? Where’s Olive, I mean, June now? After the separation. The hills look lovely over there. I wish I could go hiking in them. My suit is too big for my torso.
She ends her reverie and turns in the old church with the high spires with the crows.
—–
“Linda Halsey, yes,” Mid-Hazel spouts with her ancient, crackly voice while checking. “We lost track of you at Jim’s Bar. The bomb was dropped, true enough. How did you manage to get out? We know about the others. Please reveal.”
Heavily suited Linda Halsey stood her ground. She knew she was just a pawn in a bigger game that expanded across the galaxy, nay, the *universe*. And in the middle… well, a…
—–
“Don’t say it again, Hucka Doobie.”
“*We* — just did.”
legs to stand on
The crows are still up there, thinks Venus down on the ground below the high spired church. Mid-Hazel is still here in Heartsdale — manipulating John.
And I am *certainly* unable to help now the Mission portal is gone. Right Snaily?
directions
“Sometimes I don’t know where the blues begin and end, Esmerelda.”
Remaining silent, she stares out at the rocking and rolling boats as well. He’s obviously concerned about the waxing and waning Oesso logo on his chest, she thinks. Instability! The threat of re-absorption into the machinery. But she knows it also probably won’t happen. This was a test, after all. “Do that thing you do to the gas emblem,” requested the head honcho with her all white eyes spanning the universe itself but in a bad way. “See what happens; see if he has any weakness that we can exploit.” Nothing of significance spotted so far. He seems destined to leave again. “We can’t trap him,” she imagines saying to a displeased Mid-Hazel, dreading the rest of the day.
The Oesso logo remains stable now. He returns his attention to the table and the map upon it. “Any-way. Here it is, what you witches have been looking for. Mountainsburg to the west, Formosa — the LOST island — kind of to the north, Kate to the east. And a Little Rock in the middle, just enough to eventually get us out of New York Orleans.” He then looks at the Cat-Witch’s colorful wafer cookies just beyond, wondering why the south pales in comparison. Further away than the rest from his angle? A symbol of Oesso itself? *Cat-Witch* is to the south, he reminds himself. The whole lot of ’em.
Esmerelda studies the map of Arkansas carefully, looking at the handwritten parts. Peter Oesso can’t cheat at this game because he doesn’t know how — yet. Best to strike a deal early before his presumptive ascent. “Sold,” she says. “You can have the girl.”
“Great.” He stares out again. “Now can you make at least *one* of these boats stop rocking so I can get the heck out of here??”
weight and purity (mystery continues)
In encroaching dawn, he looked over at the parcel that use to contain The Mission of town, employed as a portal by Mabel and others to transfer between here and Collagesity back in the days. He wondered what remained of Heartsdale to exploit character-wise and story-wise, but then remembered why he was sitting here in this throne-like chair. The Diamond.
At the same time, he was also in the wee garden against the far wall, raking weeds from a row of carrots. Mmmm, his favorite. Should be any day now…
I then counted them. They were exactly 24 in number, leading me to discover the difference between a carat and a karat.
He was also across the road playing another late Schubert piece as the ravens again gather in the tall church spires beyond the empty Mission lot.
Mid-Hazel has returned.
ungodly
“The spotlight is on you, Yoko Ona. It is your decision where the brain goes next. Does it return to its original owner David A.B., making him *normal* again? Or somewhere different altogether? But (weighted pause): your choice.”
Yoko Ona knew it was no more her choice than anything else ’round these here Heartsdale parts. She’d already been cloned twice! Replacements are standing by, as they say in show business. David A.B. it is.
Now to just find the right time for slicing his head open once more.
—–
She studies his every move during his perpetual interaction with fellow coven member Linda Halsey. He steps into the road right…
… here.
The next day he’s taken to the hospital after being sideswiped by a beat up old station wagon in front of this very same motel. There Yoko makes her move.
diet of worms
Since Lennon’s death in 1980, McCartney has fought an uphill battle to assert his place in history, often finding himself dismissed as a shallow hack, a Salieri to Lennon’s Mozart, as Lennon’s widow Yoko Ono cruelly put it. So even as McCartney’s tunes continue to carry the load for the Beatles’ back catalog (14 of the 27 chart-topping songs featured on the group’s wildly successful “1” compilation were predominantly Paul’s, and another four were at least half-written by him), little of the prestige reflects back on him….
Seeing the mid-’90s “Beatles Anthology” releases as an attempt to rectify the historical record, McCartney asked Ono if his name could be placed ahead of Lennon’s, if only for the song “Yesterday”….
But Ono was adamant that the Lennon-McCartney billing should not be altered, arguing that it would be “opening a can of worms.” McCartney did not forget: Two years later, when Linda McCartney died of cancer, Ono was not invited to the New York wake.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there at your, ahem, wake. I’m sorry that you had to die, and in such a bad way. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that old thing,” she waved off. “Yeah, I died. But it really wasn’t me. As you are really not who you are either. Clones are standing by, as Mid-Hazel likes to say. I am only a product of Oregon; Merlin merely points that out. Where is Merlin anyway? Helping Golden Josephine out of that tight dress she likes to wear when digging more greenbacks out of men?”
“I don’t know,” Yoko returned simply and plainly, wondering who Merlin is. Another dead person?
(to be continued)
—–
lean on me
“Are you going to open that can of worms *now*? You can’t fish properly without them, you know.”
In the boat before Baker Bloch, Yoko Ona seethed. “Who are you to tell *me* how to run my business? They agreed upon McCartney-Len –, I mean, Lennon-McCartney, *years* and years ago. I am honoring my late husband’s wishes. Marty just wants to rock the boat. He’s a trouble maker. In fact –.”
“He’s not even Paul,” Baker Bloch guesses. “A switch occurred. Arkansas,” he followed, thinking of how five progresses into six. Not quite all the numbers but getting there. Didn’t matter, though. *Here* he was Marty. All the signs were that he was Mozart instead of the other way around. And Lennon Lemon was, well, the other one, the *Jealous Guy*. He told this to Yoko Ona, standing her right side up so he could see directly into her eyes, into her soul, tell her what went wrong — and perhaps right as well but wrong especially. At this moment, in this instant.
Something happened to make Baker Bloch rethink his strategy. Yoko Ona returned to her boat, putting away the worms for good. There would be no fishing today in the Heartsdale Bay. Mid-Hazel had her tied around her little finger. It was the more powerful witch Baker had to deal with from now on. He had met his match. Time to send in the female (again).
(to be continued)
sickness
Teddy had seen it all coming and had tried to warn his master Baker Bloch about the impending event. With his hoof he had counted to five this day before the bay but purposefully stopped at six. Marty was not who he seemed to be. *No one* was who they seemed to be, not Marty, not The Mann, not Peter Oesso, nobody. Here they were all variants. The numbers one through five represent the time before the peak, when Penny Lane was a memory and not a song, when Strawberry Fields was a place as well. After the release of the double single — and accompanying album — something happened to The Beetles, indeed the world as a whole. Arnold Lane, another place that became not a place, played a role in this as well. I’m here to tell you: something happened.
Storybrook’s deserted Arnold Lane
Marty’s nearby, red-topped, bible-less church
review
Cassandra City still holds promise but probably not for this here current photo-novel. Baker Bloch must take his leave, rented apartment in town unused. Big Dick, a Phil actually, waits patiently in the corner of his hotel lobby, looking forward to more communication through the aether.
—–
Story possibilities in Heartsdale, a major driver early on in photo-novel 20, have most likely been exhausted as well. Let’s return there for a similar, final shot: Baker Bloch in front of Small Wood posing with Teddy, a black and white horse owned by an avatar named Zero.
Both glimpse Philip Strevor through a broken gate to the sidewalk. Strangely, the duplicate Yoko Ona that also walked around this particular Heartsdale block is gone now. Yoko as a whole has probably moved on from this sim.
—–
There seems to be more in Iris, a place to be focused on still. For example, there’s a kind of, um, inexplicable “hole” in the center of the 4-5 sim region owned by [delete name], who may actually, in Real Life, be [delete word]. If so, *Crooked* seems to be a link. The prominence of the Moth Temple seen in the background here, the “eye” of the whole Heterocera continent, could play a role in the hypothetical overshadowing of this mystery spot.
—–
Toppsity? I’m not sure what took place in the trial of Yoko Ona. We *know* that she spat on Baker Bloch when he tried to turn her right-side up from upside down while both were fishing in Heartsdale Bay, the last Heartsdale related post in this here photo-novel actually. You don’t spit on the chief avatar of a blog, the one the owner most identifies with, and get away with it — at least in the blog itself, where we still are last time I checked. (pause) Yes, I just checked. We are still in the blog.
But the witches of her coven eliminated original judge Tronesisia: drowned, with a possible saving ship arriving too late in the early afternoon after the late morning accident. Then the several witnesses we know of — Miss Raincoat (aka Sammy Whatammy), Uncle Stinky, and probably Crayola as well (aka Tammy Whatammy?) — have all been linked to maleficent forces too. Wait, let me check that again. (pause) Uncle Stinky has *not* been associated with such forces. He still can be used by the prosecutor George A., who we’ve not talked about since that particular post either. So we should return to Toppsity and finish the trial. Defendant Yoko Ona may be called to the stand herself. *That* could be interesting.
PHOTO-NOVEL 23
Bake’s
“Peppins, Pippins, Pippens… the name shifted all around down through the months, now almost years. It all had to do with that Peppi machine: that was the center it all revolved around, The Diamond some call it. David A.B. put his heart and his brain into designing that machine; literally for the brain. He knew what was just around the corner. A beat up old station wagon with an Illinois license plate reading BDR529, intent on harm. He didn’t have much time.”
“But what does this *mean*?” ask Poetry Dancer, with Jeffrie Phillips for the moment. Until Charlene Brown the punk woke up about 11 o’clock. Morning walk he could say, building up a sweat by running in place for a couple of minutes. Poor Charlene — so involved in her cryptozoology dissertation writing late into the night that she was oblivious to the transgressions. Jeffrie was taking full advantage of that. The bastard. But a smart bastard, perhaps the worst kind.
“It *means*, my dear, that the death was planned; on purpose. We must track down this Sammie Parr, who is in the collages after all. She is an amalgamation of 5, just like me. That means…”
“Pot-D. *Sorry*. I mean Pan-Z of course.”
“Yes. A rival member, perhaps rogue. *Obviously* rogue because of the murder and all. David A.B.’s brain must have been in there all right.”
“But what will they do with it *now*?” queries Poetry Dancer further, no ugly in her face for the moment.
“They got him to the hospital through trickery, just like before. The brain I mean, and not the host.”
“Of course.”
“It’s Mid Hazel,” he suddenly intuited, putting collage pieces together in his own brain. “She’s up to something.”
“Oh dear.”
“More… *cake*?” he said after a weighted pause.
PHOTO-NOVEL 49
00490211
We’ll return to the theme of all encompassing, all absorbing toilets soon, but first we must introduce yet another location into this here photo-novel 49 blog story, and, yes, I can hear the reader groan and/or sigh here from the weariness of keeping track of them, ha. Place called Heartsdale which is no stranger to the photo-novels as a whole, having already appeared in (as I’m checking) 03, 08, 13, 19, 23, and especially 20 of the run. 20 is also where Paperville has been most prominently featured, but that might be what we could call an “accident”. Let’s say that for now. Anyhoot, Heartsdale seems pertinent because of this Missouri based motel within the 1 sim urban area named “Mad Misery” due to a sign malfunction. Actual name before the breaking: Madry Wise. Scene of not one but several tragedies according to the attached story.
from photo-novel 20
1-2-3-4-5 the rooms are numbered along a north-south line within the sim…
… just like with the Wilson City-Wyatt fused town seen in section 01 of the current photo-novel also found in Missouri. Pretty sure they’re, let’s call it, synchromystically connected. Another TILE.
But let’s start in the “beyond the game” 6th room where we can secretly peer into at least the 5th. Wilson. (TBC)
00490212
“Tell you what, Bardie. I want you to write me something, get me out of this pickle I’m in here in this Missouri motel renamed for the misery it caused. John over there is not my lover, I have that much.”
10 seconds later, Bardie says “much,” which wasn’t much given the gravity of the situation.
“I know someone ordered us to remain here au naturale. Just in case.”
“Case,” he echoed about 5 seconds later, quicker this time because he was on to something. This *was* a case. June’s diary.
And more. UFO?? (TBC)
00490213 (Show Me, Peach)
He came into the room holding a top secret file and spoke directly into the 2 way mirror connecting our 5 and our 6. “You need to look toward Franklin,” he said after removing his disguise and showing his true face which mirrored the ones on the 100 dollar bills littering the floor. “Franklinn,” he emphasized.
—–
“FrankLYNN!!!”
“Oh god what is it this time?”
00490308 (319)
I’m not sure when the original motel was expanded from 3 to 5 rooms but it fits. And a lobby with a secret room behind the registration desk where you can peer into at least the 5th which has replaced the 3rd as a new end of the thing. This is where we find Peter Oesso and his fellow au naturale bud John waiting for the return of the Boss. Buick + Red Point tells me this might be Bixby, or someone who can turn into a green hulk figure if provoked in a certain way. Call her fat, for example. Or even curvy.
David A.B. and Linda Halsey aren’t positioned in front like they were before. Nor is Yoko Ona around, walking the streets in her multiple self style. David A.B. can’t absentmindedly step off the front patio of the Missouri motel into the road and be sideswiped by a station wagon with Illinois plates like in photo-novel 20. The beanstalk remains an out-of-bounds concept.
You better figure out how to get out of Missouri — Miss Ouri — or you’ll remain trapped here forever, I can hear her say in my mind. Key, I knew. Where is that gall darn blasted key?
00490514 (Blue Moon Kentucky)
Martin Allen? Where had I heard that name before? Ahh: *here*.
The front door creakily opens in the next room, as they’d set it up to do. “Your turn to film,” he said to likewise au naturale John in the chair next to him.
“Um, no. Think it’s your turn, Peter.”
“Would you like to see the film?” It was here John realized Peter had turned the nearest recording camera around for better use that it was intended: porn shoots. Selective of course. Because this tended to be an old folks stop along Highway 66, perhaps revisiting a past trip from the 50s, 60s or 70s when the interstate didn’t exist or else wasn’t as overwhelmingly used as it is now. “Geezer sex doesn’t sell,” the boss told them emphatically. “Not really, not that matters for us. We’re in it for the big bucks. Don’t bother wasting film with those. Waste it on the important ones I listed out before.”
“Hey!” Raps at the two way mirror. “In there! Turn camera three around! I can *see* in there!” The Big Boss. Not a geezer, not atall. Young and full of passionate energy, probably too much so. But she’d given up on the bare bones of the business to follow a career in music. And what a career she’s having! No one knows she’s here, doing this stuff still. Peter Oesso and John Lockfry the 2nd are paid well to hide that fact. Plus she said: “Blabber to the press — *anyone* — and you’re dead.” They knew she meant it. They’d seen the snuff films, one or perhaps several of which involved former employees with loose running mouths. Cheechee and then death. Not a combo you want to be facing.
She stepped all over Benjamin Franklin’s green toned face in leaving the room too. Gig over at the stadium tonight; she had to get prepared. Just reminding the boys here that she could stop by at any time. Anny-time. They had to remain without clothes. They couldn’t take any chances. TBC
Sunklands 