Tag Archives: ASYLUM

April 15, 2025 · 8:59 am

00460401

Another one looking for Roberts and Franklin, Officer Buford thinks, trying to distract himself from the carnage behind him. He can tell because she doesn’t seem to know her way around. Only regulars use the asylum, and noone goes downtown unless there’s legal or other problems or maybe to fix their car at Ben’s. This one doesn’t have a car. This one has some kind of legal or other problems, he’s determined by process of elimination. And so it is.

—–

She finally finds the right teleport spot and then walks over to the office, stepping inside.

“You!” says the receptionist, thinking she recognizes her either from print or film, reader’s choice. Probably print, though. Because of the not knowing the location here.

“Oh. Never mind,” the receptionist backtracks the reaction. “You’re not her. Can I help you, then?”

“I’m looking for Franklin,” Charlene The Punk Brown begins, taking all the oddness in stride. “Or Roberts — let’s make it Roberts,” she decides.

“Big House,” says Wanda (Wanda again?). “Investigating a Big Foot sighting.”

“Exactly why I’m here.”

“Not surprising,” Wanda quickly replies. “It will be a debunking, mind you. They always are. I’m just trying to save you some money up front. We have enough guillible people coming through here to keep my boat afloat.”

“Wondering about that.”

“You get use to it,” she says about the boat that keeps her afloat.

“Riiight, so… just use the teleporter outside again? One of the selections?”

“I’ll take you. I need to get out of here for a while anyway.” And so she did.

—–

Not so big, thinks Charlene, being behind Wanda a bit due to not quite getting the hang of these wonky teleporters still, pheh. But then she opened the front door to the house.

“Up here!!” Wanda calls from quite a far distance, quite a far distance indeed.

20 minutes later she was there after climbing up a rope from a trash bin.

(to be continued)

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August 10, 2024 · 9:20 am

00430612 (The Letter)

Gerald realizes there’s only 1 bush and not 2. Not 2 S’s in other words. He is a former witcher true, but his name is Gerald, not Geralt. And the “monster” he slayed in Tousaint — 1 s again — is Redd not Rhenawedd, exposed for the double face she is. The immediate giveaway is that she couldn’t be painted, thus artist Greg Ogden’s highly abstracted depiction of her appearing on his canvas much to his chagrin initially. Later he got use to the style, eventually descending further further further into this new art until only pure mathematics and pure chance were left, 2 faces of one thing themselves. You are what you paint.

Harking back to the Oracle there is a historic village named Tousaint in Ohio along the Toussaint River, the lone example of that town name in our country of the US of A. And in the same county of Sandusky with Clyde and Fremont.

Oops. Wrong map. 🙂

We recall that Mikie’s therapist was named Clyde, soon to be changed to Fremont as June-July-August inevitably slides into Fall and beyond. A larger community for higher ideas and ideals. And this returns us to Mars through the backdoor, Asylum bartender Teebestia with a mask herself waiting on Anderson, Norris and Hayes at once, as if she had 3 heads to match each of theirs. Triumvirate.

“I’ll open up the Table to questions.”

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July 27, 2024 · 7:28 am

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.

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June 24, 2024 · 4:23 pm

00430308

“I have a weakness, Clyde. I  can think wide easily enough, think about it all day long, all day and all *night* long. But I have trouble with *tall* — height.”

“Height challenged, yes,” spoke the psychiatrist back to his most famous and most wealthy client. Money to throw away on a doctor of the mind. All night and all day.

Clyde looked over at the 5’7″ Frank Lynn, soaking wet. He’d just emerged from the pool; took a quick swim to relax himself before the session. Albert didn’t have time to towel him down today, so busy he was with all the horses out back in the unmowed pasture. Dr. Clyde Ramsey came to him — house call. 2x the amount of money compared to back in his downtown office, he warned ahead of time. “No problem,” Frank replied, and they set up the 1st session. This was the 4th. This was the one where they started into the nitty and the gritty of the Martian problem, Asylum Inc. and all. This is the one where Frank revealed his big big plans for the future.

Albert came in through another door, smelling of stallions. Now Frank could get dry and gain an inch or two. Like the instant haircut he can receive from entering one of his many short cars except reversed.

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June 24, 2024 · 7:31 am

00430307 (1/2 mil at least)

But does he really?

He goes into his bedroom to make a call to Lester, telling him the assassination is done and that he wants his money and new house for the job. After Lester says it’s a done deal, all his personal belongings disappear before his very eyes.

“What the???”

Frank Lynn wakes up, rises off the wide if short couch he fell asleep on. 8:30 in the evening: time to get in a real bed, he figures. He has 7 king size ones to choose from now, depending on which direction he wants the sun to be when he awakens in the morning after a refreshing 8 hours, beyond just these dratted accidental “power naps” of his. Ghetto dreams, pheh. Aunt Jen can only haunt him from them on a couch like from his youth, falling asleep to “Aqua Dude Hunger Force” reruns on the boob tube or something. He’s so far above his gangster roots and Aunt Jen and her woman power ways it’s not even funny. He thinks about the wide if not high garage full of short, powerful yellow cars — horse-powerful. He runs through other aspects of his wealth and influence in his head. Asylum Inc. He *will* make it a reality.

Time to get back to the Red book colored blue. He has them all about the house to find easier. If he misplaces one, there’s always another to fill in right around the corner. Always puts him right to sleep. *No* ghetto dreams in an actual, full sized bed. Power.

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June 19, 2024 · 8:38 am

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.

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June 12, 2024 · 4:01 am

00430212

Second shift for the flying noodle kiosk seen several posts back. Night time in Nightsity. Gloria has her own way of doing things, which includes less hanging out and more work to be done. Less flying about all over the place and more being grounded and sure of herself. She dresses modestly in comparison. Ianna is such a flirt with her willy nilly flashing peace signs and all, she thinks while watching the first customer approach. Like this one. “Can I help you?” she says to Horn puppet Shelley Johnston Struthers, trying to hide the judgment in her voice about the Crazy Blue.

Nearby Edward waits patiently with the food at a different venue while Shelley retrieves her sugary drink from Gloria. She’s not happy with just unsweetened tea like her Eddie.

But this was all planned. Edwina certainly has Cokey Cola and Spriite and the like in back. Just hid that fact to Shelley, enabling her to talk to fellow operative Edward alone and compare notes on the story. 43, both knew.

“How do you think the photo-novel is going so far?” asked Edwina with the appropriate number on her cap, turned around to make it less obviously so.

“Good I suppose.” He resisted the urge to say “fair.” “I hear… we’re back in GTA V again. Fellow named Frank. A writer I think. Not a hustler this time.”

“Red book,” Edwina elaborates about the primary work involved. “Starts with Redd from Jamestown Street; works in her blue bud Page. Pages about Page too.”

“I guess we’ll see how it all unwinds.”

“I suppose we will. Look for a physical copy of the book on Mars from the future,” she added. “Red planet after all. Seek Teebestia there. Seek *Asylum.* You should leave soon. In terms of ships, take the one after 909.”

“Like Snowden, right.” He spies Shelley in the distance receiving her drink from Gloria. “Thanks for doing this, Edwina,” he said, knowing they’d probably shared enough information to get them started again. “And thanks to Gloria for being in on this too.”

“She hates the Horns as much as I do. She’ll do anything to get back at them for what they did to her sister. Have you seen Ianna? Flying all around, hanging all about. Brainwashed. Oh… here comes Shelley.”

“So that’s what happened,” said Edward quickly in a lowered tone half to himself, then turned to Shelley just entering the scene. She takes a loud sip of her Cokey Cola to show her displeasure about Edwina’s drink offerings.

“Happy?” says Edward to her as she takes a stool beside him, pulls the tray over with the two loaded cheeseburgers Edward ordered. Before the planned “incident.”

“Suppose.” An even louder sip, right in front of Edwina’s face.

—–

“Tell me some of her weaknesses,” said Gloria earlier to Edward, trying to arrange the rendezvous.

“Well… she loves sugar. Can’t do without it.”

“Bingo.”

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May 27, 2024 · 10:17 pm

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.”

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May 26, 2024 · 1:19 pm

00430108

“It’s bs about the Cleveland Rocks ultimately representing a phallus. And everyone who was hired by Asylum was given that list. They were ask to study it, write down 10 things they noticed. From this, they were assigned their positions within the company, a kind of aptitude test. Grandpa didn’t do well on it, didn’t even spot the obvious reversing of the D words Diablo with Draco in the supposedly completely alphabetized list, and so he was given the position of, let’s call it, sanitation engineer.”

“Grandpa,” asked Fern about the name. “Why did you call him that?”

“Because he was Grandpa Cliffs before he was Drew ‘Grumpy’ Cleveland. He’s *old*. The project was actually started in 1919, not 1972. That list was invented in 1919, both of ’em actually, although of course the second was advertised as the only one at the time.”

“He told us he was from ‘rough’ Grandpa Cliffs, as he put it, but implied it was a place. Just across the channel — I assumed he meant the river that flows below Castle Town, fixed in a gorgeous gorge.”

“No, that was his name,” insisted Teebestia the Asylum bartender, mask removed and revealed for what she was. A fount of knowledge about all things Asylum. She was old too, older than Grandpa, er, Grumpy, she claimed. “He was rough all right, though,” she continued. “Brought a rusty knife right with him into the compound on his first day. Rust is prohibited anywhere on Mars, you see. It’s because it’s considered a concealed weapon, even if you openly wield it in your hand. Mars is just that dusty. Can’t have rust or rust colored objects. So he was given a fine right off the bat.”

“And, let me guess, that was also on the aptitude test. Which Grandpa/Grumpy didn’t spot as well, didn’t understand the rule being openly displayed in the list.”

“RUSTYKNIFE, yeah,” said Teebestia, idle in the moment and free to talk at length. Only kind of rush they get in this place is 12-1 when the labs let out. “Should have been paired with MUSKET as an obsolete or extinct weapon. (The test) is all about pairings. GREEN-GRAY obviously.”

“Right.” Fern had time to study the list more later with this new information but she’d already started in her head. DIABLO-DRACO, GRAYBACK (or Greyback) and GREENGROW. Now MUSKET-RUSTYKNIFE. RUSTYKNIFE also with SPEARFINGER as a small projectile of death given long, sharp nails. And then CHOKE, BURN, BEAT, SPEAR — methods of death. EVE paired with JOANA indicates the overarching name and purpose of the thing. Fern could obviously have been president of this company. And perhaps she still can. “Leader?” she barked to Teebestia. “Wayne as in Bruce?”

Teebestia was looking for an opening to produce a copy of the red book from below the counter, slide it toward Fern as physical answer to a tough question. And so here it was. She had a stack of them down there.

“You want me to, study this?” Fern said, picking up the book and looking at the town on the cover.

“Start with references to a certain Biff Carter within and work your way out from there.” 3 customers walked into the bar named Sherwood, George, and Rutherford. She had to excuse herself with this.

“Whad’ll — it — be?” she asked them as if she had three heads instead of one, speaking, in turn, to the first, the middle, the last.

A dart shot into The Mouse.

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May 25, 2024 · 6:46 am

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)

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