PHOTO-NOVEL 24
triads 02
“She comes here every day, and every day a different game. I haven’t seen a repeat yet. She must be testing the atmosphere, maybe making sure it isn’t poison. 4 games left in the cache. I predict an actual, breathing human — *not* a mascot — will be arriving in the week. Wanna bet on it?”
“No, I’ll take your word for it. You’ve been here a lot longer than me. In this Castle Town. Isn’t that what it’s usually called?”
—–
We were taking a break from strategizing. I turned away for a moment, tired of looking them in the eye. I’d figured something out. Mascots — that’s what they were. Only mascots. Not real atall. Only symbols of a writer… and an artist. The two aspects of *me*. Maybe it *is* destiny that I take Baker Bloch’s place as leader of the blog and allow him to ascend to the White Palace to rejoin Hucka Doobie. I’ll have to talk to Charlene about it. But I’m kind of finished with these two.
He takes another sip of wine. They hadn’t even asked for anything to drink, not water, not booze. Nothing. That was the first big tip-off.
—–
“It’s time to play rock, paper, scissors, Barry, to see which one of us goes to Castle Town.”
“Oh all right,” answers Barry.
“Ready? One, two…”
—–
“Oh, and also a pad or something that I can write on, thanks.”
classical
She should have never gone into that cave. She was out in the open, the fresh, clean air with the star studded sky spreading out above her, and then she wasn’t. A path, but not leading to clean, fresh water. Dank, dingy, green, algae congested. Atrophied. Some say her life was atrophied when she got hitched to her twin brother Toothpick/Philburg back at the end of photo-novel 22. Only the Free Tilists, with close ties to the Deep South (of Black Ice), would marry them. “Amoral,” cried to Pentagonists, worshipers of all things 5 sided and 5 pointed and originating on Mars. “Blasphemous, a slap in the face of Our Lord God of Heaven,” bemoaned the Trilogists, better known as our Christians. Only the 4-square Tilists would touch it, but only in Catalpa outside the direct influence of the city council who had ultimate judgment in these matters and could expel the couple if the ceremony was held on their grounds. Instead: All Orange, between the wine red apples of Apple’s Orchard and the slick yellow banana symbolically lying at the center of Black Ice, which all revolves around like a Beanstalk or Pope to a helmet wearing monkey (crook) with one upturned and one downturned eyebrow. It was only in All Orange where it could happen. The 5th, but in a good way this time (we hope).
Barry De Boy settled back in the rocking chair with the maple leaf pillow and felt it was good. I have acquired the power of the three now, the scissors to begin, then the paper, then, lastly, rock (in the middle). Rock solid I am. Jeffrie Phillips I am. He he he. He he he he he. Ho ho. Hu. Huh.
“Hi!”
It was Waldrip. Or was it Waldrup. Waldrop? …drep? Anyway, I could feel his presence even if I couldn’t see him. Like a mouse.
He stopped rocking, stood up. “Who goes there?”
PHOTO-NOVEL 25
South 01
It’s just as I suspected. Dopplegangers everywhere, *twins* if you will.
We must follow Tessa to this Castle Town in the South or else: be lost forever. There’s the green ship remaining, a basic duplicate of the one Tessa took to reach her destination. Now is the time…
—–
“Final f-ckingly. Set her down easy!”
Devil Dave was waiting. “They have arrived, sir.”
“Thank you, er, Bendy. Bendy is it?”
“Yessir.” Devil Dave thought he was blacker — because of the poster.
South 02
“But I *saw* you there,” Tessa later insisted at the terminal cafe with the great view of Grandpa Cliffs. Devil Dave waves at Grandpa sitting at the far table and Grandpa waves back, realizing he was exposing too much while locking his knees.
Devil Dave returns his attention to the just arrived girl. “No, Tessa. That was a doppleganger. I have experienced much the same thing here. Our Second Lyfe is breaking down… *has* broken down. The only thing holding us together right now is Collagesity. So we must *choose*, young lady. The waffle house could have manifested in Collagesity but it didn’t because you were led back to Fryburg and the missing junk ship which you had already taken to Castle Town: here. Someone is following in the green one left behind.”
“*That* old piece of crap?” she exclaimed while shaking her head. “They’ll never get it off the ground and in the air. I *tried*.”
“Nevertheless, that is another doppleganger, a ship in this case.”
Fern arrived with their food. Yet another one.
dominos
On a break, Fern rolled the prophecy cubes and then wondered who Tessa was.
She better get back to her shift at the cafe…
—–
“I wish I had better news about the twins,” Fern Stalin later exclaimed to Lichen Roosevelt at the Yalta Bar and Grill down more in the innards of Castle Town. Actually, where we saw Barry De Boy last, taking up pen and paper for the first time and setting down his palette and paintbrush. Actually: both; he’s both an artist and a writer. Just like me. We return to the present conversation…
“All in this spell book?” Lichen exclaims back, surprised at the results of the equation. Q, she thinks. Barry knew all along.
One of the twins walks in. I wish I could say it was the right one but I’m not sure.
Actually I am.
00250104
“I’m tired of being a Menace, Grandpa.”
“Grumpy, please,” insisted the octogenarian soaking beside him.
“Right. You’re sure they didn’t see me.”
“No one can see you. Now.”
“But you?…”
“No one takes heed of me any more. I’m *ever-present* you could say. And I never do no talking. Being naked all the time has its advantages. No one takes you really seriously.”
Mick looked over, noted the substantial package Grumpy was obviously protecting from harm. Star in his days, he thought. Still thinks he can make a comeback in that industry; still able to keep it up for 20 or so minutes at a time. With aid from the red and blue pills. “I’ve chosen a disguise,” he says over to his one and only true, non-goofy friend in the world, now that the wife has passed away. But he doesn’t like to think about the farming accident with the tiger and the grenade down in Bellisaria. “The doctor has arranged it. He will be known later on as… the Doctor of Mouse, and then, maybe, perhaps, simply become Dr. Mouse. He will do it. He has assured me it will work.”
Grumpy Grandpa thinks back to the days when they were trying to talk him into an operation to change a body part. Too big, they exclaimed to him, catching him in the shower with it one day. Perhaps his mother, perhaps a brother — but word got around. Drew has a big package, everyone found out. The girls at the school started taking more notice of him, a lot more notice. The boys respectfully bowed their heads now when he was around, instead of taunting him with jeers about his weight and such. He had found his niche, even though he didn’t know it at the time. No more residing between a rock and a hard place.
Mick brought him out of the past. “They’ll start with the head; get rid of all the black. Just like Bendy: you know Bendy, the attendant up at the gate house.”
“No.” But Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland, aka Grandpa Cliffs, knew all about Bendy and what went right and also what went wrong with *that* operation. Disguises all around in this here Castle Town of Southern Omega.
the interplay of heaven and hell
I was there. Up on Grandpa Cliffs. He didn’t like it as much tonight. I was a Bad Kitten.
She laughs with 4 vowels and skips the 5th.
Her feet got twisted up and she was somewhere else. Astronaut AB; First Woman. Hidi(ng) no more.
I knew what needed to be done.
club
“I’d like to propose to you all over again. Like in the old times.”
Wheeler looked him over good. “You’re not Baker Bloch any longer. Else…”
“… I wouldn’t be saying this, yeah. I ditched Baker back at Collagesity. Or maybe it was in the White Palace; yeah, the White Palace. I remember playing the piano which I can’t do. I was in the dark all of a sudden. Then I was alive again. White. Rock beats both Paper and Scissors surrounding it. I was in the present.”
“Here, then.” Wheeler stopped looking him over good. “Good. How do you plan to do it? With a rose?”
“Just stand over there and I’ll get down on my knees.
—–
“It had to happened,” said one witness to the other in a low voice. “Else… the alternative.”
scene of the crime
Another big wave was coming in. “Well here we are, Wendy Wheeler. Lounging around on a beach with our oversized gin and tonics like an old married couple.”
“You’re leaving me,” she guessed. It was something in the tone of his voice. And, well, his history with women in general.
Jeffrey Phillips sighed, thus giving an answer.
“It was the Tennessee thing, wasn’t it? We didn’t go… far enough.”
“I guess, Wheeler, I just like them (*sigh*) cheap and easy.”
Silence for a while. “You’ll go back to Marwood then, to Easy Street — E Street.”
“Suppose so,” he said after a pause. “I mean, what do you care. You have 2 husbands already — Tropp and Opp or whatever…”
“Opp. His name is Opp. Tropp was just an invention by the maker of this blog.” She stared directly out of the blog and into my eyes. “A contraction of True Opp, just like sometimes I am referred to as True Wheeler — Treelor.”
“Yeah I never figured out what that meant.” He stared out of the blog as well, but not at me. Just at darkness. I’m writing this at 2:42 in the morning with the lights out. What I mean is that he isn’t as informed as Wheeler on the subject of the 4th wall and how to successfully break it. But he did have one trick he was about to reveal to her.
Wheeler/Hidi felt her hair get impossibly wet from that waterfall tumbling off the cliff over there. The blog, if successful, is one continuous collage, and she also knew this. Her marriage was a sham. “Jeffrey,” she then said, staring at it across the water while still getting a bit wet. “Are we even engaged?”
It was here Jeffrey admitted he had his fingers crossed behind his back the whole time, which led to this.
escaping Wheeler
“Looks like another ship is landing at Castle Town, Cpt. of mine. A trawler, just like ours.”
Cpt. Crazy (8?) looked over as well, beyond Grandpa Cliffs to the opposite shore and the town resting upon its likewise steep slopes like a demented sunset. His eyes were sharper than his 1st mate, his only mate. “Jenny,” he could just make out on the bow. “Must have repaired it over in Wallytown.”
“Good,” replies Speck. “Now, ahem… what were my lines?”
Cpt. Crazy picks up the script from between them, indicating his true seat as well.
“Says here you’re suppose to be enraged over the name. I-I don’t remember that in rehearsal.”
“Jenny,” Speck gets in the mood. “Jen-ney.” He remembers. It was the name of his old girlfriend. The one stolen by… “GUMMMMMP!” Echoes all around.
reverse mode still
I got out of the car the black dog was driving. He exited too, went over to the skeletons playing cards with themselves to sniff for more clues. I was told to touch something. I tried and tried and finally found the right object. Everything swung into place.
So that’s where the magic will happen, I thought while staring over at the chair. Or un-magic; removal. They’ll start with the head, they told me. Remove the black until I am white as a flower, menace no more. But did I believe them? I could call the black dog back over from the skeletons and high tail it out of here if I wished. I still could back out; I had that option.
—–
“Jenny,” he exclaimed, looking over at the crashed ship in Wallytown. Better phone up Wheeler and tell her the bad news.
—–
“But Speck and Crazy *saw* it,” the tinny voice came just later over the phone. “It landed at Castle Town.”
“Nope,” I countered. “The witnesses were wrong.” Just like with us.
—–
The wrong one walks into the Castle Town bar to meet her mates.
PHOTO-NOVEL 41
00410509
“I came here looking for ship parts. Maybe even a whole ship. Instead I found an X. X marks the spot.”
“You’re in over your head,” she said back, the first female salvage related person he’d met. And the 1st person of color, period. She rezzed in to help, to be truthful. RDBH had the perfect angle for an opening shot. He didn’t want to mess it up.
“Or a spot marked by an X,” he changed the wording of his former sentence. Now that she had come he could look down.
Ah yes, a bunch of stuff named Mare: cigarettes, beer, ‘nother different kind of beer. “Why are you running an, er, eatery stand? Salvage person.”
“I have to make ends meet,” she said plainly, matter-of-factly. “Else how could I offer goofy looking scavengers like you such good prices, eh?”
RDBH looked over, took her in better. Pretty face. Jewels on head and body. Attractive. But the prices were still too expensive. More than one way to skin a cat? “What’s your name, dear?”
“Pearl. Black Pearl most call me. To differentiate from other types of pearls: grey, white, so on.”
“Black Pearl,” he parroted back, making the birds on his shoulders share a smile. He seemed to have heard the name before. But where?
(to be continued)
Thieves Landing (perfect time machine (pair of cards))
“No. *Not* like Blackbeard. It’s Red Head Beardy… shoot, let me start again. It’s Red *Dead*–”
“Why don’t I just call you Redbeard, eh?” she suggested with an interruption, hand laying on his chest. Red hair also there, she then realized, running her fingers softly through it; red hair all over, actually. “Or how about just Red?” Again, he’d heard this before. He’d turned in his hair. At a motel, he’s picking up. To be more myself, he thought.
“Oh *okay*.” He rolled over while taking her hand, looked straight into her pretty green eyes like a door or a phone. “*Black*,” he playfully chided with a return name. “Now about that ship?”
—–
She couldn’t find the free one in the inventory she had in mind, goofy looking but oh so reliable and roomy despite the odd shape. She decided to just let him have her own (The Black Pearl). On one condition: she goes too. Wherever this mysterious “X” spot is. He said there’s buried treasure to be found in the past there. 150,000 American dollars, which translates to roughly 5,000,000 dollars present day. “We just have to go there and find it in the center of the X, buy gold with it, and then come back here to cash in and spend — I’ve got it all mapped out. We’ll have to land in Mexico and take a smaller boat to the opposite shore. Or maybe just swim if the distance is not too prohibitive across the channel. How’s your swimming skills?”
“Let’s take the boat,” she said, dismissing the swimming part, not wanting to grease herself all up before going into town, this Backwater place, he said.
The name had been changed from before to protect the innocent.
PHOTO-NOVEL 42
there’s levels to it
Brngg brngg! Brngg Brngg!
Damn, she thought. And I was just starting to enjoy myself.
“Hallo?”
—–
She walks past the filing cabinets, A-M on the right, N-Z to the left. Or was A-L and M-Z? Anyway, the Big Boss said the file wasn’t in them. Check the dumpster, he said. Or was it a she?
—–
Alright I’m here, she thought. F-ck, gonna have to pay a visit to the chiropractor again after this. They knew they were dealing with an almost 67 year old woman, didn’t they?
“They” did. When she stood up out of the dumpster after finding no file there: retirement. Reassigned to inactivity on a different continent, her services needed no more. Another would have to be assigned.
new home
—–
“Hallo? Yes, Mr. (Mrs.?) Johnston. I’ll retrieve that file posthaste.” Good back, he (she?) noticed when hiring. Good legs. She’ll do swell.
(to be continued?)
00420204 (evening run)
She’s trying so hard to fight the abstracting, thinks husband Sandman from the porch of their cozy Glynwood Stilthouse in the heart of the Omega continent. She’s run around all 9 lakes and all their 7 unique linden plants 3 times now in the correct order, just as the doctor ordered. It doesn’t mean anything, he spoke secretly to the husband. Just something to keep her mind occupied and off her troubles. Placebo, he admitted, although the exercise and fresh air will indeed do her good.
“So the enneagram is worthless in and of itself,” Sandman tried to clarify when this was illuminated to him. “The shocks don’t count, or are nonexistent.”
“Correct,” said the doctor back, who may be Mouse but perhaps not. But it’s looking more like that’s so.
(to be continued)
Luxembourg?
She was required to wear the hair at all times but she could change the outfit during off hours. Like now. Pink Hippo, lower reaches of Kangerootown over on the Omega continent, her new home of sorts. Where she decided to start the Wendy’s Hot Dog chain, at least until beau Jim Randolph Bastard Pirate reported back to her about the Red Dead planet. Hadn’t heard from him in weeks — probably dead in space, she determined, or crash landed on the planet at best with that rickety looking Humpty Dumpty ship of his. How right she was about the crash, but how wrong she was about the death. About to get eaten by alligators or shot by bandits (reader’s choice), he spotted a nearby fox and used a mod he’d installed just before entering the atmosphere to transfer his soul directly into it, switching over from his current body in immediate peril. Only till he could find another human one to inhabit. He watched from the new body as the teeth of the alligator sank in (or, in the other alternative death scenario, the bullets of the bandit sank in). He quickly scurried through the bush and away from the ghastly scene. Thank Gods for that mod. Actually, one of the God ones he installed upon recommendation of Atlantis High Priestess, who had lived in St. Dennis for a while, enough to know the advantages of God mode and attached mods in the “game.” Like bits for bytes.
Back to the Pink Hippo: Wendy had to decide by tomorrow whether to branch out her fledgling eating establishment to here in Kangarootown, about 5 sims west of the original store in Old Hen. She’d picked a central place in what you could call the burg’s downtown area. Now all she had to do was persuade the owner to give her the site. You can see it here — the red topped one. Just like Wendy. She liked that about the spot. Fate, she pondered.
Newt walked in and sat down beside her, a 67 year old recently retired German hailing from Brussels. Or so he said. “Buy you a drink, Wendy?” How does he know my name? she wondered.
Old Hen
Newt looked down after he’d finished, deep in thought. “Amazing,” he finally spoke. “What in blue blazes did I just eat?”
Wendy beamed a smile at him, just like on the logo. “It’s called a *hot dog*.”
“A *what* dog?”
“A hot dog. Made from the freshest ingredients. No pig anuses if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all (!).”
“Nor snouts, nor hooves. Only mechanically separated meat byproducts — I’ve been told to call it muscle trimming.”
“It’s humans,” Newt deadpanned. “Isn’t it?”
“*No*. Ridiculous man.”
“Okay,” he said, standing up and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’m going to have to do my research before we make a deal.”
—–
They were back at the Pink Hippo, named slightly changed to hide the innocent involved. “I did my research,” Newt started after he made his introduction. “I had to brainwash you into thinking our meeting never happened. Bottom line: *don’t* sell those things to the general public any more. I was right about the humans (!).”
Several people dancing nearby overheard the conversation. Soon it was all about town. Kangerootown would never have a Wendy’s in its midst, the name of the red topped establishment being sullied beyond repair. March turned out to be a really bad month of the year for the likewise red topped gal before him.
“Dance?” he said, trying to ease the pain. No smile now. Turn that upside down into a full out cry, which the dancers also recorded. Where’s the beef, Wendy? Where’s the beef?
Not in this reality as it turned out. *This* Wendy’s franchise was basically over before it started. Soon, quite soon, she would turn into a vegetarian and change the course of her life. But first we have to get her to Castle Town in the South.
(to be continued)
2 days earlier…
They had wined and dined her after she arrived. The town seemed to want the establishment as much as she wanted to put it there, enthusiasm matching enthusiasm. Town mayor Golden Jim, named for his money instead of his appearance, looks on below as Wendy attempts to pull the local version of an Excalibur sword from a stone…
…failing of course.
All visiting dignitaries have to go through the protocol. Mayorial assistants Mokeujin Gold and (especially) Mokeujin Brass, most definitely named for their color and not their riches — not being paid enough for their valuable services by the mayor — couldn’t help but laugh at sprawling Wendy on the surrounding sand. Golden Jim was above such gutteral amusement, taking it all in like the established ritual it was.
“Next up we have the sculpture of Soupy Sells,” he moves the procession along after helping Wendy off the sand garden’s surface, “the person most responsible for the town as it is. If it wasn’t for his soup… well, we all know the story.” He was tired of telling the story. Maybe it was time to think about retirement too, join Newt in the ranks of the unemployed. 64 fast approaching 65 he himself was. “Golden you’ll notice, just like, well, me. He was my grandfather. Some called him Golden Jack. Some called him Skippy because he also did that. Some: John. Others: Rob. A few even spoke his name as Luther. A person way from up in the mountains addressed him as Oregeno. And I believe (he turned to his assistants here) — correct me if I’m wrong, Gold, Brass — but the former mayor once called him Jasper. And then Evelyn, you know Evelyn who lives by the docks. Think she said his name was Saucy. Saucy Sells. But that was probably just a mistake because of the old popularity of soup and sauce together back in the days. Back in *Evelyn’s* days…”
He went on and on like this, producing new names for the man, the legend they most commonly called Soupy. The spark of love for his job had been reignited. Attention to details like multi-monikers. Golden Jim also went by many names, but that’s another story for another day.
1 day even earlier…
I found they’d arranged for me to stay with a prominent town businessman: none other than the owner of the red topped building that I’d had my eyes on ever since I arrived by boat from Wallytown earlier that day. Mayor Golden Jim escorted me over to his house on the western edge of town for introductions. We found him rocking in front of an unlit fireplace, apologizing for how cold it was and that he’d run out of “burny sticks” weeks ago.
Golden Jim immediately scolded him for this. “I told you Wendy would be arriving today; I told you to get your house in order; I could have gotten you all the firewood you could fit into this place of yours, pheh.” He looked around at the numerous cats roaming around here and there while sniffing the air. “And you could have done something with these *animals* as well. Place smells like urine.”
He stood up and turned toward us. An okama! A man who was basically half woman, although I’d never seen one up close and personal like this. He said his name was Majo, and then he leapt on a nearby cube stool face first and proceeded to do some kind of yoga exercise on it, another type of rocking.
“Feel free to use Fuzzy Wuzzy over there to jump in place a while and get your body temperature up. I do 30 jumps 30 times a day now, but I’m always doing this, cold or not. That’s why I keep the house cold because I’m so warm from all the exercise. My apologizes again, fair Wendy.” He stood up once more, approached us, looked me over head to frick’n foot. “Wendy of Alpha I believe,” he said with a kind of disapproving smirk on his face. He was staring right through me.
“No takers for Fuzzy Wuzzy? Very well…”
“… 28 (jump), 29 (jump), *30*,” and he leapt down on the other side now, approaching me until his face was only about 6 inches from mine. “I’ve heard you’re here for my *store*.”
00420211
When I awoke, I was encased in sand except for my head. Took a minute to figure out what happened. “Okay, *veeery* funny,” I said to anyone within earshot, hoping someone would fess up to the crime. “Veery funny indeed.” I moved around a bit and my left “sand tit” partially collapsed in the effort. Soon it was all gone, the fake body with no alpha indeed, as I worked my way free. I brushed myself off — Wendy’s dress, exposed arms and legs — of the remaining sand as best I could, looked around. Difficult to tell from facial expressions who the guilty one (or guilty ones) was (or were)… since everyone around me had what appeared to be *bowling balls* for heads. What gives? I asked myself. I walked up to the nearest one. “You there, er, sir. Did you see what someone did to me over there?” I didn’t want to indict the person just because he was closest to the scene. I checked his arms and legs — any sign of digging? None that I could tell. But of course he could have just washed them off in the water.
“Ask Okema,” spoke a muffled voice from the dark ball head of the man. He pointed in the distance to a crowd of ’em playing volleyball. Sumo wrestlers on a break from their regular sport?
It was time to find out who Okema was. Or did he say Omega? I decided to slur the name when I said it to be safe.
“Okay, chumps, who of you lot is named Okemga?” Jeez, one of these f-cks isn’t even wearing a cloth or whatever they call the undergarment, I thought. No one spoke up, just kept silently playing volleyball, with the only distinct sound coming from the ball itself contacting either hand or sand.
“Behind you, young Wendy,” finally said the true “Okemga”, which actually turned out to be his name. I’d morphed Okema and Omega into the correct word. What are the odds?
As he spoke, I remembered earlier. I was putting suntan lotion on my pale pink legs while Okemga looked over, no bowling ball in sight. Regular head — just staring. He admitted he was disappointed that I was wearing that masking dress in the water so he decided to create a pretend body with sand while I later (soundly) dozed on the beach. “Did you like it?” he said with amusement, ball gone now in the present too. “Enhancements — you should think about it, ha.”
I met him again 2 days later in town while walking around the red topped building one last time, big dreams for it shattered. I might have asked him out then and there (I can admire bodies too!) if it weren’t for Newt and the information about human DNA in the dogs. “5 percent?!” I shouted when he laid down the bad news at the Pink Hippo the night of March 1st. In like a lion indeed. I’d have to leave town with my tail between my legs. Back to Old Hen to shut down the original Wendy’s too. I’d have to start over… somewhere. I thought about vegetables and salads for the first time in a long while.
(to be continued)
00420214
Okama Majo rests comfortably on Fuzzy Wuzzy, his devious plan fulfilled. Heat back up to normal in his house — no need for exercise to generate warmth now. Cat litter cleaned and deodorized — no urine smell about the place. Wendy: gone. His similarly red topped store in the center of Kangerootown safe, phew!
And all because he switched around some of the language in his report to mayor Golden Jim, who passed it on to town council chair Newt for a final decision. Just a bit, and all from one sentence. It wasn’t that hot dogs from reporting companies in the referenced study contained 5 percent human DNA but instead that 5 percent of these reported *some* human DNA in their product, probably from workers’ hair or skin cells and so on. The words stayed exactly the same. He was just passing it along. If he gets caught he has what he feels is an air tight alibi of that it was someone *else’s* responsibility to proofread the document and make sure the words were in the right order.
Original sentence:
“5 percent of all reporting companies found human DNA in their hot dogs.”
Altered sentence:
“All reporting companies found 5 percent of human DNA in their hot dogs.”
Back to sleep after reviewing his alibi once more. Beloved warmth again. Makes him feel so lazy. Like a cat, he realizes. A sly, conniving cat. “Night night, Fuzzy.”
00420414
“AARRRGH. I’m so tired of crashing into walls in this stoopid game. That’s IT. I’m going to invent my own game where crashing into walls is COOOL. It’s how you win actually. Enough of this, PHOO.”
Marsha “Pink” Krakow stumbled out of her crashed yellow WV and into a convenience store, conveniently placed near the wreck. Don’t worry, she’s okay. A tiny concussion is all; smelling salts from day manager Eddy Jeffrings fixed her right up.
Never, she vowed after getting her feet under her again, *never* will I drive in a “Damage/Not Safe” sim again. *Never*.
Marsha and Okama become linked through the matched events. Obviously a pink one. Like a tulip. Or a train.
00420501 (Southern art gallery)
He was here to confiscate the so-called offensive painting and that alone, this Arthur *Kill*, disguised in another role. Even took the same first name this time. “Art like this shouldn’t happen in Saint Dennis,” the wife of a prominent town businessman said to the gallery owner on opening night. He countered that it was tasteful nudity, no naughty bits shown at all, “unlike, say, that one over there,” he said, pointing to another painting visible in the next room. “A bare bum! That doesn’t offend you but this does?”
“This one was done with more in mind. Chains!”
The gallery owner, raised in the North where his mama still lived (Illinois I believe), ruminated: I thought you Southerners *liked* chains and slavery. Maybe because the model isn’t *black*. But of course he kept all this to himself.
And so Arthur the policeman, gifted Shakespearean actor beneath the blue garb, was sent in by the powers that be to make a statement. Thing is, he helped seed the controversy in the first place, part of his overall plan.
“Oh Libra Neptune,” he quietly lamented from his position in front of the work while staring at it, contemplating the circumstances surrounding its composition. “I thought I paid you enough never to come back here.”
He also wondered if her unpictured cheeks had turned red again.
00420503
He enjoyed his time in Aisle of Palms rehearsing with his new band but it was always good to get back home. Back to his private, two palm beach beneath the house with its lounging boat and tent, back to his cats, big and small.
Plus the fact that all that talk about St. Dennis was kind of freaking him out. He *knew* where that was, he insisted to Baker Bloch and Wheeler Wilson, discussing the different angles of the subject at the new bar — Bull’s Bar I think they settled on for a name. Yes… and still guarded day and night by Grant Price and his security crew as hired by Bull himself, also known as Dragon. Bull Dragon sometimes, combining the two names. And sometimes even Ball Dragon or Dragon Ball, although he really doesn’t like the Ball version; best not to call him that, actually, because of his violent streak and all. Some say he comes from fabled Violence District itself; killed not one but a number of people there; kicked one to death in the middle of an alleyway, the legend goes. Anyway, being an omniscient type author to this blog and attached photo-novel, I also know that’s true, and that’s how Grant Price met him because he frequented the place too. Gray Man he was often called because of his suit and fedora style hat of that color. We’ve covered that a bit in the last section. Back to St. Dennis and Okama Majo’s different take on the subject. We’ll pick up discussion at Bull’s Bar two days prior. I’ll try to keep up better, ha.
He sat in the middle between the two as they chatted. They clearly wanted him to hear to further the narrative.
“*Anyway*,” continued Wheeler Wilson-as-Martha Lamb, “rumor has it that Atlantis High Priestess, this so-called Libra Neptune from the golf course back in novel 41, rediscovered the underbelly of St. Dennis, reverted back to her old, whoring ways. This is all in the movie too.”
“Red Dead Redemption,” Baker said back.
“02, like I said.”
“Okay. How does this… just go ahead. I’m sure it will clarify itself if we talk long enough.”
(to be continued)
some things were hard to understand (Violence District)
actual museum this time
I wondered why these two little figures of the same person were running around a Kangerootown table under the watching eyes of two looming rabbit creatures.
Then when I found two normal sized figures of the same in a nearby fort, my interest was really piqued. The name of the object was Magnum, created by Magnum Yoshikawa, obviously a self image of sorts.
His profile picks quickly led me to this shop in Kowloon’s Gate City, one of the most notable locations in all of Our Second Lyfe. Places like this are a big reason I keep hanging around the game. 🙂
His created museum there was *big*. Then around the corner…
Ah hahaha. Mr. Price! Well, the same Real Life guy who *plays* my Grant Price who is actually called Freddy Price. You remember, the guy who guards Bull’s Bar and is now the same or has incorporated the figure of Gray Man from the LSD Dream Emulator game. I’d be insulted if you forgot *that*.
This find certainly acts as inspiration. I must locate this “Greg” avatar if possible and purchase!
Reference video here, perhaps the best one about Second Life® ever made and certainly the funniest I would imagine. And the best video by the prolific auteur Mr. Moon period as far as I’ve been able to check, the Freddy Price ones included (although they’re very very funny in stretches too).
More on this soon (!).
00420516
“Yes can I help you?” she vocalized, not turning toward the visitor, not bringing any energy into her words.
“Wendy??”
00420601 (Castle Town)
He often came here to rock and think about the battle of rock vs. paper vs. scissors, which for him was won by putting paper (1) before scissors (2) before rock (0). 102 if read left to right, with rock always in the center like the ground zero it is.
He hears a noise outside. It’s 3:25 in the morning — no one else up, he imagined. Except ghosts.
He stops rocking, gets up, leaving the maple leaf throw pillow behind and thoughts of Canadian Picturetown along with it. “Who goes there?”
The right Wendy walks through the door of the establishment…
… with her first words inside being: “This entrance has changed.”
It certainly has, thinks Barry De Boy, very happy at the sight. It certainly has. No demo over her head now; he was seemingly dealing with a real flesh and blood girl again. They can… well, you know. This is what boys think. Boys like De Boy.
“The gatekeeper said I’d find you down here. Said it was his last night to work, the last hour, the last minute. Said he was here for me and then he could go. He put a Help Wanted sign on the door as he locked up behind me. I turned around just in time to see him leave. Go figure. Guess I’ve found my work in town after all.”
“Wendy!” he exclaimed, not knowing how to follow it up. Shock!
“In the flesh.” She twirled around, showing him the different dress. “And blood I suppose, ha.” She approached him. Dare she kiss him this early? It’s been years after all. Instead: “Share a cup of coffee with me?” She tweaked him on the nose, a sign of things to come.
“Of course! Over there,” he pointed to a nearby table. “I’ll find the brew.” He started rummaging around the back of the counter. “As you can see, we’ve also turned the tables to the side.”
“We?”
“Yeah, Me and Grumpy. We run the place now. Or manage it — Stew’s still the owner. Technically I suppose.”
“So no jobs I suppose,” Wendy spouted as she took a seat. She so so didn’t want to be the new gatekeeper of the town. Boor-ing, she knew. She’d heard Devil Dave complain enough about it back in the day.
“No… sorry. Can’t can Grumpy, you see. He has a wife and two children now (!).”
“Who could have imagined.”
“I know.” He’d found the coffee. Now to make the concoctions. “Espresso alright? All I can find.”
“Yeah. Perfect, actually. Make mine a double. No… triple. What the heck, let’s go with 4.” Could be a long night, she knew. Lots of restaurant talk to get through, potentially. Lots of talk about success and then failure. Utter failure. All tests show 5% human DNA, PHEH. I’ll get that Okama Majo, she thought. If it’s the last thing I do.
(to be continued)
00420606 (you *rock*)
She fell asleep on the booring booring job and came out to the town’s mall.
“… 28 (touch), 29 (touch), *30*,” and then the Vegetable Man, the guy made entirely out of edible plants, was done with his exercise. He turned his multi-textured green head toward gatekeeper Wendy in front of her station. “Join me next time,” he said, and was gone. Wendy woke up at her desk and realized Okama had contacted her in a different way. Perhaps he’s not bad after all, she pondered. Perhaps he is only trying to *help*. She thought about that the rest of the working day — no visitors to greet today; typical — and came to another conclusion for supper. No red meat; *not* typical.
“I’m proud of you, hun,” spoke Barry from his chair, knowing it was the healthy way to go. Now if they could just get rid of the blood stains, hmm. Karma’s a bitch.
00420608 (kenbaiki (ticket to ride))
She’d seen enough of Castle Town for now. She was buying a sky ferry ticket back to Kangerootown from whence she came. She’d heard through the grapevine that keyboardist/DJ Okama Majo had returned to his cat house there, taking his own break from Aisle of Palms and the Dream Emulator band he’s part of with classically trained guitarist No Lag V, hog calling kid Don without a last name, and animated singer Shelly Johnston Struthers who has 3 to make up for it and who specializes in Lennon songs like “Strawberry Fields” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and the like. But despite that, Okama named the band, not her. All because of his artistic hero Osamu Sato, so close to his own. Too close. Shelley’s found that out too. “You’re *him*,” she said recently during an acid drop sponsored by LSD, tripping the light fantastic and drawing truth from every corner of the universe, only to forget the vast vast majority of it later, of course. Gray Man works in all dimensions when you’re on that stuff; perpetual darkness. Must – stay – away, she thought to herself afterwards. No more sheets.
on her way!
00420609
He caught up with some reading while she was gone, the cafe having a nice selection of books in back of the bar — 3 tall bookcases full. He was interested in travel books, since he was stuck in Castle Town for a while, unable to leave because of several physical conditions plaguing him at once. Mr. Goldilocks, Wendy liked to call him, because up top he was susceptible to cold while down below: the heat. The waist, she pointed out, represents the equator, the only place things are right. Too bad you can’t live there perpetually, she says. Between the Tropic of Cancer (points to chest) and the Tropic of Capricorn (points to private parts) where it’s not too hot not too cold. Great Belt she also called it for reasons unknown presently.
So because of this Barry stayed behind; didn’t venture with Wendy to Kangarootown to confront Okama Majo once more about his seemingly dirty tricks at the time. Cats’ litter boxes unclean, he knew. Ran out of “burny sticks” as she said he called them, so the place was cold when she and mayor Golden Jim arrived — stank like urine too. But this was her beef, her karma, he said to make another excuse besides the bodily conditions. “You’re the one who has to make two wrongs a right,” he said to her before she left, tickets in hand. “Last chance,” she said back. “The sky ferry is only half full last time I checked. You can sit by my side. I’ll help you with your issues, pass you an ice pack when you need it, a hot water bottle when you need that instead or in addition.” “In addition, yeah,” he said, knowing he’d often need both at once. But he’d already made up his mind: he wasn’t going. He had books to catch up on, videos to watch as well back in his topside apt. graciously provided by the town council. For he was something of a cult hero in these here parts, having famously saved the city of NWES City over on the Jeogeot continent from, let’s call it, abstraction. Drew it back into the real by drawing the real. One work of genius popped out after another. Soon everyone remembered why their town — nay, their *city* — was so great in the first place. The buildings, the people, the food, the arts, the crafts, the beaches, the sand, the sun, the *fun*. He must go back there too.
If only he could get rid of these bodily issues once and for all, pheh.
00420612
It took a supreme effort for him to break away from the Big E or, alternately Big Schwa always sitting in the middle of his Aisle of Palms’ Kidd Tower dining table, ready for further examination and scrutiny. But he did it; returned to his hometown and his Bach/Reger/Kajiura played on a silver cello purchased in the Isle of Love. He played to his loving doll Mob (pronounced: Mobe), who listened with rapt attention as usual.
Good ol’ Mob. He misses her when he’s away… plus the cats big and small of course. And he just f-ing needed to get away from the band for a while. No Lag was pushing them in a classical direction, Shelley was pushing them in a rock direction, Don just wanted everyone to call hogs like him, like the kid he is. Be like me! he indicated all the time with his actions and speech. But bar manager Martha Lamb wanted him there as a kind of front man and bar owner Bull Dragon (or Dragon Bull; *not* Ball Dragon or Dragon Ball, though) went along with it, seeing the appreciative crowds. Maybe they’re getting *too* big, too popular, thought Okama not once but a considerable number of times in the last week as they did nightly gigs to growing audiences. Poor opening act Marsha “Pink” Krakow who wanted to be a Ball herself wasn’t hacking it, though. He felt sorry for her, was *envious* of her even. Furniture comedy, he speculated at the time, watching her perform only for the ogling Thompson Twins if anyone at all. Like Satie had his furniture music. “Pay no attention to us musicians,” the eclectic Frenchman spoke to audiences of his day, over 100 years ago, so far ahead of his time. He said to just enjoy the pieces of the art gallery they were playing at, and so on. And so it is with Marsha but in a kind of reverse way. “Just enjoy the musicians on the stage over there; pay no attention to me,” she seems to broadcast lately. A conceptual art comedy piece in the style of Kaufman or maybe Hicks. But certainly not like iconic 50s star Lucille Ball as she originally desired, one of the greatest of all female performers period. This was undesired art but maybe she’s seeing the irony of it. He’ll have another word with her about the whole, er, *concept* when he gets back. But he needs to stay here for at least a week to calm his nerves. He needs to stay away from the Kidd (Tower) and he needs to stay away from the kid (Don).
Knocks downstairs. Wendy has arrived at her destination. Confrontation time; brace yourself Okama!
00420614 (buck the system?)
He briefly though of slamming the door on her face and leaving her out on the lawn but he took in the different dress and the removal of Alpha and changed his mind. After all, he’d changed a bit too since their last meeting in section 02 with the whole Aisle of Palms band experience.
“Come in I suppose,” he said as he held the door open for her.
—–
After settling in on his comfy couch, she made it clear up front that she wasn’t interested in his building ideally located in the heart of town any longer. Red topped like her; she noted in sitting down that the place was plainly visible through the bay window behind the couch (see above). She told him of the recent dream down in Castle Town where he was made up completely of edible vegetables. This made her change her diet that very night. “Salad and a *little* fish,” she said about the supper we’ve seen her eating previously in this here blog and attached photo-novel, 8 posts back by now. “Barry — that’s my new boyfriend down there; anyway, Barry insists that the blood stains will be gone soon.” She indicated her Carolina blue dress again and the newly introduced element besides the removal of Alpha. The subtraction of latter seems to depend on the addition of the former, if only temporarily. Or at least that’s what Barry told her. And he was certainly enjoying the absence of Alpha and all the benefits derived thereof. He could live with the blood for a while.
“This… *Barry*,” started Okama Majo again, truly curious about more details.
“Barry DeBoy, yes,” said Wendy in the gap (Wendy Gap). “Like Barry the Boy except with a De instead of a The.”
“Very interesting, yes,” spoke Okama with only a little sarcasm. He decided he couldn’t just blurt out what was in his mind. He would simply assume they had a proper relationship; he’d heard rumors in K-town when she was here. “Has no parts down there as well as up here,” whispered one of the concerned citizens while indicating the appropriate places on her body, an ally for Okama and desiring the town remain a hot dog free zone against the wishes of *then* mayor Golden Jim. For his position had changed too. And now a good chunk of residents are pushing for Okama himself to assume the job; fill the vacancy. So there was a political element in the way Okama treated Wendy. He had to leave the door open for *that* possibility as well. If the band thing didn’t pan out long-term.
But he also had the opposite dream: completely take over the Dream Emulators, kick out, right at the start of the coup, the SUUEEEY! calling kid named Don and probably animated singer Shelley as well, leaving only No Lag. For he kind of wished to steer it in a classical direction away from rock too. He had his Dream Emulator dream and it sort of looked like this. He would become Sato, in essence, channel the higher being from the North.
So: two pulls here. How Wendy answered the next question could be the tipping point.
“Wendy, I hate to bring this up, but there’s Bastard to think of. And Barry already has Hucka. Have you conveniently forgotten these plot factors? Or are you a rogue actor now? I’ll say it again: Are – you – rogue?”
For if she was, maybe he could be too.
00420615 (Endlessly Antipoison)
He’d been having dreams of Pansy Mouse again and going in a classical direction instead of rocking the day away like he had been. Wendy was showing him the way. He was less scared now of the ghostly spectre.
In one dream, Pansy handed him a list procured from behind the counter. On it: 52 single column words, including Asylum. Featuring Asylum, perhaps. Headliner. He must not run away from it. He needs to put it back in the file in Filetown.
—–
She came back in the wrong dress. He knew their time was limited, wanted to spend it in the best manner possible. “Walk with me,” he said. Reaching the balcony outside the bar and grill, he suddenly took her hand and flung them both over the rail…
… but they were okay — only 12 feet down. “Warn me the next time you do that!” complained winded Wendy, even though she landed rather gently as did he. Much harder to hurt yourself in Our Second Lyfe than up in reality. Barry learned that the hard way.
Onward through the construction warning signs. Barry knew this tunnel starting below the balcony would be safe as well; would take them to where it all ended. Heaven of sorts.
Midge looked on, unseen by Barry behind the dumpster. But not Wendy. Just by her look she knew they had found the file.
(to be continued)
00420616
“It’s simply beautiful here, Barry. But –”
“Why did I wait so long to show you this?”
“Well… *yes*.” It could have help swayed my judgement, she thinks. She could still change her mind, but… a contract was signed. Wendy’s Hot Dog Restaurant is a go! Except switch hot dogs with hamburgers and meat byproducts to just pure beef. Okama talked her into it, just as he talked himself into giving up the dream of taking over the Dream Emulator band and kicking everyone else out except maybe classically trained guitarist No Lag V, which they usually just shorten to No Lag. He’d assume the mayor’s position of Kangarootown instead, recently vacated by disgraced Golden Jim, fired because he’d called the wrong person the wrong name, it seems. Anyway, Okama = Mayor, Okama invites Wendy to open her restaurant in his former K-Town store (basically just a store for mouse traps, he said, waiving off the inconvenience), and then giving her a 25 year month lease on the place for 500 lindens a month. That’s the contract signed; too good of a deal to pass on; had to act fast, she felt, lest he or she changed his or her mind. And her affections returned to Bastard — wherever he is up there on the Red Dead planet. St. Dennis, she’d heard for a possible location. She hadn’t given up hope that he not only lives but thrives, and is just waiting for the right time to invite her up too. Hmm, but she’s locked into a lease now. She better think about a second in command just in case.
“I was waiting for the right time,” Barry finally answered, allowing Wendy’s internal monologue to unfurl in a proper manner. “I thought–”
“We could go steady?”
“Well…”
“Barry. I still have Bastard — you know, Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate.”
“But… he’s dead,” answers Barry to this.
“No, I refuse to believe that.”
“But… they found his *skeleton*, the Red Dead crew did. They *buried* him… out to sea.”
“No. Not true. I *sense* he exists still. I’m just not sure how.”
“All those rumors about him surviving and living in St. Dennis are just that. Fiction — fable. The skeleton in the boat was *his*. There was even his trusty sword to go along with it. Wendy — face it.” He makes her face him. “He’s gone.”
She was tempted to slap him for the stubbornness. But after all, as Okama Majo also pointed out, *he* has Hucka Doobie now. She substituted the slap with that harsh declaration.
Barry quickly looked away, almost as if he’d been slapped anyway. “She’s with someone else, I’ve heard. A Marion Star Harding. Never met the guy. But he predates me, even. Last I heard he’s in Gaston. Do you know of Gaston? I had to learn about it. I learned it from–” He stops. He realizes the irony, the *synchronicity* of the matter.
He recalls piecing together a document about the place. From wadded up papers strewn about his shed near the Pink Motel. Home.
00420617 (ART)
She didn’t go with him to the heart of the park on the edge of Castle Town as he had planned, hidden in back behind its many walls and terraces. Instead she said she’d done what she’d come to do, gave him another quick tweak on the nose (a sign of things *not* to come), and exited back through the tunnel, leaving Barry to ascend the stairs running alongside the beautiful cascade to the place alone, “going steady” ring of amethyst inlaid in silver still in pocket, not burning a hole in it any longer.
Slapped in the worst way possible — call it a gut punch — he briefly contemplated jumping from a high rock on its far edge but quickly put this dark dark thought out of his mind. He had too much to do with his life moving forward, he understood, staring out at the steep green slopes of Castle Gorge below, beautifully lit in the late morning sky. Too much to do indeed. But for the first time a long long while, he was at a loss for words over events that happened.
One step at a time, he knew, thinking back to that oh so painful first step up to the top here and away from Wendy. Attaching the needed objects, he puts down the figurative pen and picks up the literal brush to begin.
END OF “SUNKLANDS 2024 EARLY”! (finally!)
PHOTO-NOVEL 43
00430102
“Where *is* he?” expressed not-so-patient Lichen Roosevelt to her dinner partner Fern Stalin, the brains of the group, the Scarecrow to Lichen’s Lion to Wendy’s Tinman and Dorothy in one, as if the UK and US united into a single country, not quite like that but close. They were, then, a trio and thus had to look out for each other. And Wendy was now nowhere to look out for. Missing. Barry was the logical path forward. Talk to the jilted boyfriend, get Wendy’s last thoughts, and then move on from there. One thing they knew: she was *not* in Kangarootown. Not yet anyway.
“He should be rocking,” blonde Lichen continued to complain to brunette Fern. “Right over there.”
She pointed to the chair with the maple leaf throw pillow seen toward the end of the last photo-novel, still as a quill. No yarn to spin here from De Boy. Lichen sucked nervously at the straw in her mouth, seemingly a perpetual oral fixation these days. Fern was just glad it wasn’t chewing tobacco or something even worse. A straw is a straw — harmless outside the constant twirling and whirling and the occasional slurring of the words emitting from her distorted mouth. But, true, it adds to her overall humor, augments the vibe she’s trying to put out there to the world. She likes to play the role of a dumb blonde, kind of like a Daisy Mae from Dogpatch, Arkansaw. A Capp caricature of a woman, a throwback to more primitive days. Daisy days.
Fern’s brains were spinning per usual. “Not rocking, eh? Maybe classical is the direction we should look toward. I sense — lemme look deeper — I sense… Liszt. Don’t ask me how. Just Liszt.”
“List?” Lichen said back, not understanding the word. But her word turned out to be even better in the moment.
“Yes!” exclaimed Fern to this. They had to find a list. If they had to tear this place apart, like pages from a book. Book! she thought to herself. There are books around back. They knew this from their time before in this place, this Castle Town in the Deep South of the Omega continent, an oasis in a desert of shame.
“Travel!” she said when they arrived at the 3 bookcases we also saw Barry sitting before in the last novel. She was basically straight-channeling the future by this point. Oases have peculiar energy, perhaps because of the condensing of energies within. Lends itself to palm trees and desert life. Lends itself to psychic impressions and deeper. Wellsource.
I suppose that’s what attracted them to Castle Town in the first place, that and all the offered games here at Yalta’s Bar and Grill, backgammon, chess, cards, so forth. And, of course, its name.
It was right in the center of the 3, right before their eyes. When she saw it she couldn’t look away.
And right in the center of the book: a list.
(to be continued)
00430103
“Those books in back aren’t for the general public,” spoke nudist and co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland to Fern and Lichen later on. “I only let friends back there, people I know, people I can trust who won’t sully the pages and so on. And I know all the books as well. I had ‘Around the World in 1000 Pictures’ not ‘2000’. That’s a later, expanded version I didn’t purchase. And I don’t take donations — not directly. I buy books. I *know* books.”
“Pure enough,” said Fern to this, still scanning the list before her on the counter. 26 words for 26 letters in order from A to Z. But Asylum isn’t among them — didn’t start it off. Instead: company letterhead at the top. She’d done a little research before confronting Grumpy with the list they’d found. Asylum Inc. was started by one Wayne Bruce in 1972 in Nightsity, California. Thing is, Nightsity doesn’t exist. Not in *this* reality. In 1988 it supposedly moved to Jasper County GA near Atlanta, apparently another lie.
Here’s a Google Street View of the address from the letterhead. Nothing.
The most confounding thing of all: When Fern and Lichen returned to the bookshelves around back to check for additional evidence, “Around the World in 2000 Pictures” was no longer there. Instead, a copy of “Around the World in 1000 Pictures”, brown colored instead of blue for the former, was present in the exact same spot, just like Grumpy said he bought. Even ultra-sharp Fern couldn’t figure this out in the moment. Not yet. It would take the closing of one eye and the opening of another to accomplish.
00430104
He looked at the paper that had fallen to the floor from the bookcases in back. He quickly phoned Fern.
“Listen, I have news.”
Fern thought at first: Barry’s back from his sabbatical, But, no, it was another list, printed on Asylum Inc. letterhead again.
“How?” Fern responded to this. “We were just there. We looked *everywhere*.” The thought passed through her mind now that Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland, a nudist originally from rough Grandpa Cliffs across the channel, was playing an elaborate prank on them. She pondered this more as Grumpy explained he was cleaning up, getting ready to lock up, just dusting the bookshelves as he does at the end of every working day, when the thing simply fell out, about at the location of the “Around the World in *1000* Pictures” book (not 2000, as we’ve already explained). He thought he’d just dusted the book but couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he had it spread out in front of him on the bar counter. He described what he saw to Fern.
“It looks very similar,” he said. “26 words again, just like with the first one. Looks like a whole new set of words, though. And alphabetized again.”
“All the letters of the alphabet?” queried Fern.
Grumpy checked once more. “No, looks like some are missing this time.”
“So we have groupings of words starting with the same letter,” Fern said. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
—–
“So here they are. I took the first and placed it next to the new one so you could compare. Whaddaya think?”
Fern eyed the new set of 26 words with hoax firmly in her mind now. Grumpy playing games with her, just to try to show off what he thought was his own intellect too and put her in her place? But the words would tell her, the patterns they make.
“Diablo and Draco — did you see, Grumpy?”
“Umm, see what?”
“They’re reversed in the alphalist. Only two ‘D’s, swapped with each other. She eyed him now, looking for signs of feigned surprise. The surprised expression coming from the big, nude man in front of her seemed genuine, though. He’d simply passed over the reversing in his scan of the list.
“And, look here, Greengrow and Grayback — same thing if you spell Gray as Grey, like if we were English instead of American.” UK and US united as one, she thought here, lovely red-headed, pinkish skinned Wendy a vision in her mind. Or maybe UK and France is a better match, Fern quickly amended, considering the bar’s name they were in and the Churchill that had to be involved. “But, see,” she refocused on the colors green and gray instead, poking the printed words with her index finger, “this has something to do with war. This has something to do with *the* war. Green-Gray, sometimes colored Green-White for reasons I can’t quite remember right now.” She waved off the attempt. “Never mind that: Asylum is involved in the war. This Asylum Inc.,” she summarized, “is maybe a weapons manufacturer, or maybe something to do with military training.” Brainwashing, she realized. They’re brainwashing men to become soldiers. Just like…
—–
“Describe ‘hole’,” she asked the bartender in the city of Mars where Old Mabel disappeared from.
00430105 (watery predicaments)
The junkies of the apartment took a drug so deep, so powerful, that they forgot to wash themselves much less the dishes. They couldn’t even take off their shoes before crawling into bed. 15 minutes till the sink overflows.
Fern Stalin wonders if the white horse has any chance in the matter *snap*.
00430106
“A word for each letter of the alphabet,” Wayne Bruce continued about his company, the famed Asylum Inc. started in the 70s on the west coast in a town that time had forgotten. He didn’t, and he’d drag others into his alternate reality as well. With the lists. He separated the top paper from the rest of the short stack and put it on the other side of the opened manila folder. “Second list now,” he said, staring at the new page front and center. “Black for the 1st’s white. Asylum revealed for what it truly is. Shadow government to the world everyone assumed ran from A to Z in an orderly fashion. This was only facade.”
“Here’s where he gets to the part about the Green and the Gray,” Fern directed to likewise watching Lichen, returned from her trip down the river to hunt for opposite shore sea shells. She’d come back home to Mama.
“… the Green… and the Gray.”
“Told ya,” said Fern with some satisfaction. She paused the film she’d found in an obscured archive in a hidden data farm — took a lot of digging to find this gem of a dangling carrot. She assumed Lichen had questions. *Should* have a lot but she’ll see about the total. Will help her determine how far Lichen has come along with her soil studies and overall brain development. She’s *funny*, Fern reminded herself. Funny as all get out at times. But she needs to develop the other side. Fern also reminded herself that she needs to work on the opposite side and find her own funny bone with which to work from. She told what she felt were two legitimate jokes yesterday that Lichen seemed to smile at or at least acknowledge the humor in. Advancement.
“How…?”
“How does Blue fit in?” Fern guessed about Lichen’s question. “With the Black, the Green, the Gray? Dark spectrum colors all I’m sure you noticed.”
“So… Red,” said Lichen, thinking back to the first list. “And…”
“Yellow, yes. And Golden and White. Light spectrum. Dark and light, Lichen. Dark and light.” She looked over at the light that had gone out of Lichen’s eyes. “Daark…” she said slower, trying to reignite. “And liight.”
Bulb went off.
00430107 (deep)
“What did you just call those rocks over there?”
—–
“Cleveland,” Fern repeats to partner Lichen what Asylum bartender Teebestia said to her while they were standing with their backs to the hole, gazing up at it. And the co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill happened to have the same name. Fern quickly determined it couldn’t be chance. They had to confront Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland with the news.
—–
“Little Big… right up on those rocks… was *taken*. Flung into the far corners of space against his will, his better nature. (Old) Mabel has been looking for him ever since. She thought the hole would provide the answer, or at least relief from her suffering. So she jumped… and came out the other side. Black to white; space again. The hole was a portal to a ship of vast dimensions. She didn’t find her big brother, per se, but found what happened to him, why he never returned. He was *assimilated*. Grumpy — you listening to me? You found that second list, said it was just on the floor when you finished dusting those bookshelves in back. But, truth be told, you’ve *had* that list, probably for a long time. What you didn’t know about is the other, matching list, our first but your second.”
Former porn star and current nudist Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland tried to retain a face of stone but failed. The facade broke down, he started crying even. In the animated blubbering, the huge package down below swayed back and forth like a swinging bridge disconnected on one side and in a heavy gale. He often wondered how it would be displayed when he passed on. In its own big, long jar of formaldehyde at some kind of porn flick museum? He didn’t want that future for himself. He wanted… more.
“I was told,” he said between sobs, “that it would make me *immortal*.”
A phallus! Fern realized. The Martian rocks represent his own. She needed to take a better look at them with this information. Where are the balls, for example?
Built right into the corner of the compound, as it turned out, the whole thing towering over the Asylum bar itself. But the overall smooth, classical phallus shape still lies unhewn and unexposed beneath a rough rock exterior. The sculptor, named TENNESSEE, still had much work to do. Trouble is, it had been over 100 years since she started.
(to be continued)
00430109
Fern and Lichen pull up to the Atrium building, determined to get to the bottom of some things.
“Is this 3633 Wheeler Rd.?” started Lichen with the easy stuff, softening them up for Fern’s blazing bazooka of a brain.
“Yes, can I help you?” spoke Don the receptionist, on the job since Thursday. He’d yet to acquire an eye for suspicious looking characters, which these 2 certainly were.
“We’re here to see Wayne Bruce or Bruce Wayne, whichever way he orders it. We’re here to ask some questions if you don’t mind,” continued Lichen.
“Yeah, *questions*,” took over Fern in a much tougher voice than cream puff Lichen’s. “Like… what happened to Robin?; why did he replace him with Superduper Guy for a sidekick?; why is Aqua Dude so jealous of Superduper?; did he want to be the sidekick instead?; and what of Antarctica? Penguin? Penguin and Joker both? Backrooms? And finally: Alberta? Is it Albert or Alberta? And what of that tea and the forgetting?; did Aqua Dude and his partner Bullfrog simply drive away after that, no deal formed between the lot of ’em?; why was this his ace in the hole? *That* kind of stuff.” Fern finally took a breath.
Don’s evasion training from 2 days ago kicked in at last. “I’m sorry, did you say 3633? This is 3643. You’re one down from where you should be.”
“Yeah, we’re not going to fall for that,” said Fern. “We’re just going to walk out that door, go looking for 3633 in the wrong location and then come back here all confused. Maybe you’ll say the reverse, then, that this was 3633 all along and you thought we said 3643. Most likely so. But by that time you would have cooked something up. Wayne Bruce or Bruce Wayne is doing business in New Zealand at the moment thank you very much. He’s in the building and we know it. Go *get* him. Or, heck, *else*.” She pulls a gold gun out of her gray capri pants pocket, trains it on his head. She wakes up.
—–
“Asylum is one up on the Black list from Atrium,” interpreted Fern later to Lichen over a breakfast of Toasty-O’s, new pepper and mint flavor, new shape of snakes and ladders respectively. “This is what we actually seek. Just like Snowden.”
00430116
“Well I’m glad you threw on *some* clothes. A bit of bosom still hanging out there I see. Can’t resist.”
“No,” she said nonchalantly, and purses her lips even more in disdain for the discourse. “Whadda ya want? Tobacco? Because that’s all I have to offer.”
“I *want*… to know why Clarence the Spy was here in the first place. And what the assignment is. You’ve already been a model in Aisle of Palms. To the painter Greg Ogden, remember? Why did Clarence approach you about going back?”
“Because he recognized me, I suppose. Recognized talent, like the first guy.”
“Well tell me about the 1st guy for criminy’s sake.”
“Bald. Old. Reformed stealer of art he told me. Gold I think is the name. Remembered me and the girls called him Old Gold after that, yeah. ‘Is Old Gold gonna pick you up in his Oldsmobile this evening?’ Stuff like that… silly girl banter. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh I *understand*,” replied Fern, feeling slighted about her superior brain power. “First you put on a bathing suit, then some revealing red lingerie, and now this, about as fully dressed as you can get, I suppose. I know your type. You didn’t like being *abstracted*.”
Redd said nothing to this except, “you done?”
“Yeah, I suppose I am.” She knew who “Old Gold” was, of course. She couldn’t talk to the wife about this for discretionary reasons. But maybe Greg would know something.
“One more thing. Do you know where Greg Ogden is now? We haven’t seen him since he finished your so-called portrait. I’m speaking for all the members of the Baker Bloch family, extended and otherwise.”
Redd looked around then leaned forward, reducing her voice. “Buy me out of my daily requirement of smoke sales and we’ll talk. I’ll be free to leave my post, then. Boss just wants X amount of money per day. You’ll give him that, then I’ll tell you the information you need.”
*Knew* there was something here, thought Fern while she reached into her gray capri pants to retrieve her wallet. Wait… how’d that *pistol* get in there??
She finally wakes up.
00430304 (Page?)
“I tried to lighten the mood early in our friendship by showing him the Tire Nutz juxtaposition, Lichen, which he didn’t know about despite being local too. You’d be proud of me that day. Two big tractor tires on top of an auto repairs shop just down the street from my dealership, with a phallic water tower in back if you look at it straight on. Obviously done on purpose. Can you picture it in your mind’s eye, Lichen my partner? Do you even remember what those things look like, how they’re configured and such?”
“The tires are nuts, right,” says Lichen, serious in the moment while trying to figure all this out with her lesser brain power. “And the Blue Balls were nearby?”
“The Kentucky sculpture, yes, with three balls instead of 2, so: moons. Made by Tennessee. This was the fulfillment of her unfinished Mars project, poked through into another dimension. But Asylum was behind all of this still.”
“So we’re beyond… the Black Wall?”
“I’m not ready to go that far, my blonde buddy. It’s beyond me right now. And you know how I don’t like limitations of the mind.”
“Dangerous,” responds Lichen to this. “Keep ’em at bay with jokes.”
“Hmm.”
—–
One sector over, Clara Bellissaria is keeping tabs on tobacco selling Redd back at her station, noting that she is a 2n1 now and that the new left is different from the old right. The white horse leads, the black horse steers. Hasn’t gone off the rails yet. But soon she knew there would have to be a decision made, and Fern through her.
00430311
“We’ve been controlling your dreams for a while, Fern, judging your actions and the consequences involved. We’ve been studying your tree in short.”
Fern knew to be quiet in the moment. Fern knew this was important.
“We see you’re *clearly* qualified to join our group, The Masters. What we, as a group again, aren’t sure of is if you should become president. It’s either me… or you.” He looks at the golden gun on the table. Fern wakes up.
—–
“Were any jokes involved?” asks fellow cereal eating Lichen that morning at the breakfast table, the sun rising over her right shoulder in the window behind her from Fern’s perspective, just like it did with her “rival” in the dream. Lichen’s usually twirling and swirling mouth straw kept still as the sun kept rising.
“No,” she answered. “It was all dead serious. The guy even had a skull for a head. Dead — serious.”
Lichen knew this was bad and that somehow someway she had to enter Fern’s dreams with her. A mind meld came to mind.
(to be continued)
WOW
“Do you not know me yet, Fern? I am the one you’re trying to forget.”
Fern wakes up, remembers everything.
—–
“Yellow Jack is where Philip Strevor turned back into Trevor Philips and resumed his Id role in the Grand Theft Auto game V,” explained Fern to Lichen later as the sun rose over her shoulder again. “Miss Janet was the key, and refusing to provide him service and saying he was still banned from the joint. He remembered his drug company, recalled his home in Sandy Shores. He was reassimilated, Lichen. Frank Lynn became the lead man after that, although we didn’t know it at the time. Frank Lynn, through Morro Bay, points to Nightsity. Did I explain the Morro Bay link yet?”
“I — I don’t think so, Fern.” Straw still not twirling. Still.
“But I have a new theory, Lichen my dearest,” she said, avoiding the temptation to spoon another pepper snake and mint ladder into her mouth swimming in what little was left of the now discolored milk in the bowl before her because of all the dissolved flavoring, the last of their kind. She wanted to speak as clear as a bell so that Lichen knew what was going down. “Aliens — now I believe it all points to the hippy egg camp outside of Sandy Shores and not Sandy Shores or Trevor or his trailer or business directly. A man named Night made it all — can’t be coincidence. But not with a K; with an N: the K person would not approve of equating his precious lord and savior Jesus with heretical aliens, you see.”
“I — see?”
“No, you don’t see, Lichen. But you will.”
00430402
“I’m glad we added it to the list, Lichen, because it needed to be save.”
“Liszt?” she responded.
“Not quite. Very close!”
00430515
“What are we going to *do*, Fern?” They’d run into this huge plywood cube almost immediately after leaving the bar, blocking further progress, blocking what was actually their favorite place in Castle Town, down over the rails there and through the southward tunnel. The garden spot park on its edge where we last saw Barry De Boy. And Wendy.
Fern reaches into her gray capri pants and pulls out a golden gun. No, not that, she thinks, and then puts that in the back one while she reaches deeper into the front. Phone. She’ll just call Lexi, see if she has anything to do with this. Dialing…
“Hi Lexi. Listen, we have a problem here over in Castle Town.”
(reply)
“No, the one where Lichen is at.” My Shelley, she thinks but doesn’t voice, looking over at the blonde hair, the spinning blonde piece of straw in her mouth, more agitated than ever. Lichen didn’t like this, didn’t like change. But Fern knew they had to leave.
(reply)
“That’s right. On what you call the Forbidden continent but what Lichen and I like to call Omega, yes.”
(reply)
“Oasis in a desert of shame — you remember. Flattered. Speaking of flat…”
(reply)
“*15*?” Fern knew that the members of the Firesigntheatregoers group numbered 5 the last time she checked. Shelley, Baker and Wheeler, and then 2 others.
“What’s 15?” Lichen asked over. Fern ignored her for the moment, absorbing the new names. Took a while. Well if you aren’t going to answer me, Lichen thought, I’m just going to go over to the rail and look down at where we *should* be by now. If it weren’t for this blasted *cube*.
Dumpster down there gone as well, Lichen noted. Interesting.
00430516 (DITCH the switch)
Drew Grumpy Cleveland now had to wear 3 hats instead of 1. Co-manager of the Yalta Bar still he was, and then fill in for Barry De Boy (other bar co-manager) and Wendy (town gatekeeper), both of whom had skedaddled off to who knows where. So the bar was self service a lot of the time, thus Fern and Lichen having to serve their own beers before that fated walk where they found the big cube blocking their passage forward, dropped down from heaven or such by the Big Bosses and therefore couldn’t be moved or deleted by anyone else. But the same was also cutting down overall business here in Castle Town of Omega’s deep south, and so Drew had time to nap on, actually, all 3 jobs. Just like Petty in Aisle of Palms — at least before he was sacked because of it — managed to keep up with his sleep due to low tourism and attached cash flow in his several jobs there. Grumpy also had time to study the bookcase lists — like now. He had the 2 side by side again, just like he presented to Fern toward the beginning of this here photo-novel.
White to the left, Black to the right. But, somehow someway, Diablo *wasn’t* switched or reversed with the following word Draco in the second (Black) list like before. Going along with this, former porn star and current nudist Drew was president instead of janitor at the Martian Asylum Inc. business, roles reversed there as well, lowest flips with highest. He knows even if he loses all 3 Castle Town jobs his place on a pedestal in heaven is secured. And perhaps that’s the reason for the highest of higher ups to drop the cube on the town in the first place. To change reality so that Drew is king. We’ll see.
00430604
“I first saw what Mmmmmm Grassy Knoll later verified as some kind of Tiler in the slums of Kabusie, Green being his nature through his mask. He was posed in front of a red green yellow blue shack appropriately enough that we’ll also see around the fringes of the city: the Badlands, the Oil Fields, etc.
“Just afterward I spied him conversing with another Greenie on a nearby bench, solidifying the connection. Green tiles too, you’ll notice.
“Then to up the ante and finish the deal we shortly run across *3* identical, different Greenies (with brown shirts) meeting in the middle of a busy Kabusie street next to the roundabout Grassy also cited. Green tiles on either side of the street there too.
“So bringing back Washington state into the picture like with Kabusie, I have decided this is actually about the Green, the White, the Black,” Fern Stalin summarized at the Yalta Bar and Grill in Castle Town to her pal Lichen Roosevelt, with no Churchill still to be found. She’s talking about 3 central Washington rivers now, and how their histories intersect toward the beginning of the last century. “Green use to be White up to Black,” she started in this vein. “Then in 1906 the course of White changed after a land altering flood and Green no longer flowed into it just above a town called Auburn. Instead Green became its own entity, separate from White, up to Black about 10 miles north, which is the Black River. Then in 1916 things changed again with the opening of (Seattle’s) Lake Washington Ship Canal, an event that lowered the level of the namesake lake by 9 feet, thereby drying up former outlet Black as its water flowed instead toward Puget Bay. Thus Black no longer flowed into Green. Disconnection in that direction. Follow me?”
“Disconnection… of both Black… *and* White… to Green?”
“Very good, Lichen. You’ve been studying your soils again. And that started… what?”
“The war.”
“The war to end all wars. Green vs. Gray — or Grey with an e, either one — depending on which side you want to emerge on top or maybe depending on which side of the ocean you’re on, British or American. Like Diablo and Draco. Trouble is, it never ends itself. Ouroboros. ‘Nother one. And Old Mabel’s Little Big got sucked into all that when Mars entered the fray, as was inevitable.
“Gray is Black and White together,” Lichen continued to grasp and grapple with Fern’s concepts. “Therefore, Gray is separate — disconnected — from Green. Therefore… um.”
“We must bring in the Indians to continue,” offered Fern. “Where Black and White historically intersect at what they called the Inside Place — pre-1906. True Gray. Or Grey with an e. We must go there next. Find the within spot, the still one. I just hope it’s there still,” she tried to joke. Lichen didn’t crack a smile. She’d figured out something while Fern attempted jest, perhaps a transfer of talents in the moment. Sages. They had to look for sages. Little and Big Soos, hard to differentiate from each other at the source. She excitedly told Fern this, which led to the uncovering of these old pictures from photo-novel 3. The expression “wow” comes to mind (!), since the name here is from a 6 mile tributary of Washington state’s Green River near Auburn called Soos and not the Gravity Falls character.
Keep in mind that Mabel’s name also originates in this TV show. Along with her twin brother Little Big’s.
00430608
“Found her, Lichen!” Hiding behind that flamingo, pink for pink. Another revisit of an origin story you’ll notice: Voyageurs, where we all 3 started from. Remember you did that fabulous cow gag where you had me believing Wendy had 4 stomachs when we began studying her? Wonderful!” Fern wanted to encourage and bolster Lichen’s sense of humor as much as possible since she was slated for a stand up gig at Bull’s Bar on the 9th, setting aside her natural sharpness. Or trying to.
That checked off, it was on to their next task. In Washington state. “Keep your eyes peeled for anything giving hints that the energy of Black jumped over here after drying up to continue its existence.” And eventually be shown to the world, she realized while starting up the SIXMILE trail on her bike and thinking about the camera, Lichen right behind her. I’ll remember to give her some lines the next post she’s in, maybe dealing with her bar act (Sorry Lichen!).
Something was wrong here…
… very wrong.
Fern and Lichen decided to stay here for a while and eat their packed lunch to see if the phenomenon reappears at roughly the same spot. Fern believes it could have everything to do with Soos Creek in the foreground she’ll be staring at while dining. Tree barking Lichen knows better. The phenomenon has everything to do with the ring she secretly stashed up her bunghole in her pants pocket before the ride. Owned by someone who is also a Ryder. They would not recreate it while stationary and off the path. Must be on. Moving on…
There (again)!
00430611 (Mr. S)
They were just experimenting with the one bike between takes, merely rubbing noses it seems, when the director called them back to the set. “Actually,” he said when they returned to the plywood backdrop in the background above that pictured all things Soos Creek on its other side, “I think we’ll just go with *plywood* this time — let *plywood* be the actor.” The girls logically thought this idea was the result of his rock cocaine imbibed during the break but he was altogether serious. Plywood actor it is, a hire from the Robots Guild. Since he could travel at 181.56 miles per hour and the Guild was only 5 miles away, given a favorable wind and a pretty straightforward path between points A and B it only took him around 2 minutes to reach the set once the call was put in.
“Aaaaanddd ACTION!”
“Hmm, where’d they go?”
—–
PHOTO-NOVEL 44
—–
Sunklands 