Tag Archives: Alysha^^+%

November 12, 2021 · 9:46 am

00300115

He was zooming in on the real-as-life bell now and not the imaginary sun. So dark, so *Axis*. We’re suppose to forget about the war, he can hear his father’s voice echo in his brain now. Yet the bells continued, the wedding of black and white over (“No go, no go!” the people demanded). And so here it is still, sitting outside the church like a leftover piece of Hell. Damnit, Zoomer, he thought about the officer to his right, why aren’t you moving! The footsteps were getting closer. 4 beats now since the doors opened, letting the pianist and the dancer loose in the nighttime world again. Vampires? Chef-detective Petty thought. That’s at least one thing we need to eliminate. No more waiting. Zoomer wasn’t turning but he did. Iffy had turned three beats ago, make that five. Probably because he was best at his job. John Lennon isn’t proud: beats turn to beets and we’re back to square one. In Idaho.

“I da ho you’re looking for,” confessed Raspberry Girl/Annaball-bell to him back at the station after intense scrutiny and pressure. He was about to bust an important chain in the City Gang bunch of women of the night. Weakest link…

(to be continued)

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November 12, 2021 · 8:08 am

dualities (no fire)

He was playing Schumann under the gun, this Franz Wagner. Raspberry Girl, aka Annaball or bell, was in the background getting limber on the bars and warming up for her shooting. And what a night it was (!).

—–

“This was not the night it was,” corrected W here, coming out of the background. “You can (still) only shoot zombies in this town and zombies are identified by the German war helmets, spiked or non-spiked. Probably something someone came up with in a bar, inebriated halfway to Hell, perhaps through a drugged drink.”

I stopped playing in the Middle of C. W zoomed in; Raspberry/Annaball-bell had projected out of sight, perhaps zooming herself, through the ceiling and into the sky via built up centrifugal force. Who knows what can be read and studied in this black and white town full of bigots, zombies and some other stuff. “Helmet Newton might know,” I said my thoughts aloud to her, “if we could identify the Hell who he was.”

“She,” W inserted. “Don’t forget the ‘she'”.

He continued…

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November 11, 2021 · 9:07 am

200 Motels: A Space Oddity

“We’re closed,” she states levelly to Duncan while he says nothing, just peering in a store to see what’s there. We’d be closed to you lot anyway, she thinks while continuing to sweep, not paying him any more attention. Long… and dusty… road. Where’s your raspberry girl, she additionally thinks a few seconds later. Word’s gotten around.

Since she doesn’t have a name, some have just started calling her Annaball or Annabell as a joke, and always in white with the attached, mocking graffiti, like this one here on the northwest train tunnel of town. Always the crossed out “a” corrected with “e” — John Lennon would not be proud. A white girl should not be messing with a black man in any shape, form. This was a warning to all the Annaballs or bells of the world: stay in line; stay in your color.

Three glowing white nuns, white angel in background to reinforce the Heaven aspect, pray for their souls as they watch the heathens up front, also praying.

But not for forgiveness. For enlightenment. How to marry black and white in this town full of bigots and make it work. Two words (again): Helmet Newton. This is the place.

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November 10, 2021 · 9:51 am

redding

“I could just ram this smaller grey boat crosswise through those bigger black and white boats over there and end this.” Josh Richardson: professional insultant.

Called back to Maebaleia? Tour aborted? Fern Stalin better hightail it out of here in her own, much larger vessel. If she could only get the darn thing started. “Turn baby! Turn!”

—–

We’re losing characters right and left in this new photo-novel. We’re up to 30, W. Should I call you W still?”

W: “Sure”. Small pause. “Whatever rings your bell.”

“Bell, right.” He’s remembering. And Clare, the other head, the one actually attached to the body. Better find them, talk to them about TILE. Before the boy returns. But her house next to the snow and granite, Tennessee and Kentucky schism chasm is gone. And Clarksey is a bit too far away to use yet, both in space and in time.


*huff huff huff*

“It’s a conundrum, W.”

“You set them up. You knock them down. You’ll push through. Find me,” she ends.

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November 9, 2021 · 9:48 am

00300106

“Hey, a red and green balloon,” Duncan said later after the two disgruntled women left, tired of the spectacle. Duncan noticed. Moving quickly, he purposefully took their high falutin seats, daring anyone around to say anything. They didn’t like black people ’round these parts but Duncan had gleaned they were also scared of them.

“Never mind that,” the as yet unnamed raspberry beret wearing lady said, staring disbelievingly in the opposite direction. I know it was something blue and yellow but I wasn’t sure what yet. We’d have to wait until another night (night night!).

Later: Oh. Just the rising sun.

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November 9, 2021 · 9:00 am

mistletoe doorway

“Grapes?” he guessed while passing the stomping, pretty, beret bedecked lady.

“Raspberries,” she exclaimed back in a shaky voice, her legs and attached body going up and down, up and down. Soon all would be red and it wouldn’t matter. It was the first of many sightings for the girl in this as yet unnamed place. A place in Sunklands with Pietmond Boy and Norris roaming about it, perhaps zombies now but perhaps still alive. 1/2 and 1/2 would be another guess to insert here; eye for an eye.

On with the show…

They have quite the audience.

Always wanted to dance with a white girl, he wished to say but of course bit his tongue.

“Would you look at them down there.”

“Disgraceful,” the other agreed.

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November 4, 2021 · 9:58 am

treatise

She wasn’t f-ing around any more. She owned the Dixie Belle gambling boat and all the characters that had passed through this here photo-novel, 29 in a series… Just: 29 in a series. She had complete control, *not* Alysha. Alysha was left back on Maebaleia — I’m not sure why but there you go. Now we have blonde Lichen Roosevelt. And, with her, dark haired Fern Stalin. And then the 3rd, but not red headed Alysha (or Wendy). Fern originally thought it would be similarly red Indian Wells, 1/2 brother to Rose Wells and the one she was studying for the Crabwoo Revitalization Project or Blue Feather Reinvestment Initiative or whatever the f- they’re calling it these days. Buster brought in Duncan to protect, then changed his mind and assigned White Mage to the case, but has, again, changed his mind because of Dixie (Belle). Duncan indeed does have karma involved. He pulls out a fish taco to eat on a break from acting. It almost reaches his mouth before he remembers the boy. George! I left him back in VHC City to fend for his own! He must be, jeez, 17 now? Maybe 18. I believe his birthday is Tuesday (of last week’s month). Oh (relief!). He now remembers he left the boy with his Aunt Clare, his *sister*. They didn’t have the same mother but it was close enough. Last time he spoke to him George was having more dreams about Yelloo. That’s where we should head next (Fern directs — former director Percy Pierce assigned to another “film”). The border between granite and snow. The ultimate division between Tennessee interior and Kentucky exterior. Like Static…

—–

“I see,” she muttered after turning page 15 and starting to read 16. “Cowabunga *is* a misdirection, interesting.” 5 seconds later she turns another page.

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November 2, 2021 · 5:12 am

SID B.

It was hard to tell how old she was from this distance, this Raspberry Girl. She wore old style clothing that’s for sure. But I knew she was my salvific force, the thing I needed to live on in the minds and hearts of others. So I decided to approach her.

—–

“A date?” she said daintily. “But you hardly know me. We just met.” I had to get to know her better, study what made her tick. Why the change of time revolving around her. Two thousand zero zero: party was suppose to be over, out of time. Yet here she is. It was a cloudy day, which means she’s not the brightest. But perhaps that is an act as well — probably is. I *sense* this.

I am a powerful entity or personality I know that. I can change the course of history. I can come back. But I have to have help.

(to be continued?)

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October 31, 2021 · 2:13 pm

00290608

Alysha had changed again. I only knew her because of the red kid’s shoes she still wore. And the face scars of course. And those eyes I suppose, although they were more heavily mascaraed than before, if that’s even a word. We jointly stared at the chest (box) advertised as filled with photos and personal belongings the owner can’t part with because of the spirits of long dead relatives. The belongings are described as a mix of benign and antagonistic, the latter group apparently applying to potential visitors. Like us, I suppose.

“What could be *in* it?” she asked, staring at the surfaces and corners, looking for clues. The key remained unfound. We’d searched the entire place, named “Swamp Shack Brown” but obviously leaning more toward plum. Or raspberry.

The “Swamp Shack Purple” on the other side of the currently atrophying body of water tucked in the southwest corner of Soap just lost its violet furniture I was going to use in a post somewhere. Party over, I suppose. Instead we are compensated with the brown shack being this color, just as the Artist Formerly Known as Prince could have lived beyond the Purple Rain of 1999 and entered the new century with a raspberry beret. Or disguise… hmmm.

“Have you found anything?” I spoke down, thinking about calling her “honey” but deciding against it — too soon. Her dark eyes darted here and there but didn’t fixate on anything. What was she seeing?

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October 28, 2021 · 6:59 am

Satin’s rule

I often dreamed of the explosion that killed Heidi Biker Chick, our former director, soon to be replaced by new director Percy Pierce. It was always the same: I was inside the bar, trying to identity her in the flames and smoke, being burned alive myself. I perish looking for her; perhaps a ceiling beam falls on me, cutting short my horror. But where am I when I wake up? Where am I *now*? (gasp) I sit up: the beam didn’t need to be pushed off me, although I lie in the same position that I died — on the floor. How did I get from my bed to the floor? Everything seemed strange.

In the dreamscape I just left, the fire kept spreading. Now: the fire station itself just next door. Ruby! They’re after Ruby. Better send in the army but, trouble is, the army started it in the first place. Me again, then, I suppose.

I get up. I finish planting the bomb underneath the table where Heidi Biker Chick would meet Hank Graphite later. I know the meeting would start at 7 o’clock sharp. Heidi: always prompt, always professional in her approach to time. 5:05 now. I set the timer for 2 hours. I walk outside, down Violin Lane, back to the depot and the train that brought me here to this brave new world. I am re-swallowed by the tunnel. I wake up for real.

I look over for Alysha but it is 1 year and 2 months too soon. Better get back to work.

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