My eastward neighbor Art Oluja changed out this picture in her installation.
And on the next parcel north: strange critters indeed.
It’s certainly October now. Donnie Darko’s month.
My eastward neighbor Art Oluja changed out this picture in her installation.
And on the next parcel north: strange critters indeed.
It’s certainly October now. Donnie Darko’s month.
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“Man that’s a long way up.”
“No kidding,” came a reply behind him.
“Wilson? Er, Wheeler?”
He then saw that she herself was just a kidd.
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“We’re going to try it again, Wilson.”
“Yes we are.”
“That’s already been done. In the old, normal Collagesity. The one that was filmed. This one is different. We have to find out how.”
“Certainly.”
“I’m going to change things up a little bit. When you enter the bar now, Karoz will be sitting at the end with the computer game. Karoz may stabilize a volatile situation. He’s been there before. He likes Rhoda, Rhoda likes he.”
“Got it. Go up to the road. Scan west, scan east. Look at the cannon, then enter the bar.”
“Did you do all that in the correct order before?”
“Yes.” But Wilson then realized he was lying.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Go ahead and insert Karoz into the picture. I think it will work this time.”
—–
“What’ll it be sir?”
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The wrong one moves forward, surprising me.
On Old Cannon Road. He scans to the west.
He scans to the east.
Then enters the bar, forgetting his mission or who he is.
“What’ll it be, Baker Bloch?” a now animated Rhoda asks. “Put down that gun!”
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“So go try it again, Wilson,” Baker suggests.
“Wake up Wilson.”
“Should I change this time?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Baker replies.
“Just go into the bar again the front way?”
“Sure.”
“Which one of us is which again?”
“Umm…”
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Baker Bloch continues to sit with his father into the night.
“Why’s that meteor attached to your hand for son?”
“I can’t really see it from my angle. I see a *Wheeler.*” Baker Bloch waits for a response which never comes.
Instead: “Open the other door. You’ll see.” Baker Bloch does as his father tells him and opens the other door to the Boos gallery.
“Nope. Still can’t see. Back of collage in way. I still see Wheeler, though.” Baker Bloch doesn’t get a response again, despite the additional prompting.
“It’s the Boos collage. Not Boos as in booze. I’ve had enough of that for a while!”
“I know. Good you can yell again,” Baker returns. “Means you’re getting better.”
“I sure am. And… I think I’m finally ready. Help me to my feet. I’ve been sitting a long time. Let’s go see that new girlfriend of yours. My partner as well. Starbucanneer. What a gal!”
Baker Bloch agreed but was still thinking of something else.
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“Oh no. Father!”
“Oh thank God. I thought you were dead. Father… get up. Are you okay? Nothing broken or sprained I hope.”
“No,” comes a weak answer. “I’m okay.”
“Then put the glass down and get up; that beer’s pretty much gone anyway. We need to take you back to, well, I guess to the bar. Father? Are you listening to me?”
“I hear you. Simmer down. I have a headache. I can hear my ears throbbing.”
“That’s because you have a hangover. What happened father? You never use to drink.”
“That’s what you get — oh me head! — when you suddenly own part of two bars. First one then the other. Horn of plenty.”
“Do you need some help?”
“No I can manage.” Space Ghost struggles to his feet.
“When did this thing get here?”
“It’s the colonnade. Baker B. put it there a couple of days ago. Baker B. created the *bars* a couple of days ago. And Starbuccaneers. And Gallery Jack. And this big rock you slept under or whatever you did. And also now he’s bringing back you apparently. Back from the dead.”
“I’ve never been dead,” Space Ghost snaps back. “It’s just a stage name. Like Cary Granite.”
“Grant. Cary Grant,” Baker Bloch corrects.
“No, the *Flintstone’s* version. And now you’ve made me raise my voice and hurt my head again. My head, my ears…”
“My beer,” Baker Bloch finishes for his father as he takes the last sip. Carrcassonnee would be pleased. “Never mind that. Follow me. Into the bar.”
“No, I’m not going back in there for a while. Take me to Starbucanneers. Buy your old man a cup of strong coffee.”
“Okay.”
“And where’s my cane? Oh, never mind, it’s in my hand. I had to replace it with my beer. Now I’m finished my beer and… cane returned. I’m ready.” Space Ghost finally turns away from the colonnade, reattached cane in his right hand; empty beer glass detached from same.
“What’s all the red buggers suddenly all over town? Place is infested with them, ow.” Space Ghost holds the side of his head with his free hand. “Darn headache. But I can make it up that hill, thank you. If I don’t trip over one of the red things on the way.” He starts to slowly climb the hill, and continues to complain. “Robots… back in the days we didn’t need machines to help us with our chores and such. We used our own arms and legs.” His son was now beside him, holding his arm and making sure he was stable.
“Out of my way Red.”
“Can you make it up that step, father?”
Space Ghost sarcastically mimics his son: “Yes I can make it up that step.” Then Space Ghost tries but fails to make it up that step. He sits down on it instead.
“How did it come to all this, son? How did I end up *here*?”
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