Tag Archives: Bartholomew Smipson^*~~~~$

recognizer

He found himself playing this game in an arcade. They’d sent Hidi back home, saying the place, this Eveningwood, was too dangerous for a gal like her, all tempting and such. It was a job for a man, they said. A black man. “Me?” he asked, knowing the answer. The look in Buster’s eyes told him. “Me,” he answered himself. Thus: here.

He’d never heard of The Smipsons but he was told to play the game with the little yellow fellow named Bart. He needs to be fast on his skateboard to outrun all those giant tigers, Duncan thought, seeing the kid soar through the air like a bird or a plane.

If only he’d learned Roman numerals before entering that zoo.

“Yelloo!” Homer Smipson said in greeting. Duncan had his clue.

Peter Oesso upstairs, in contrast, had nothing.

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pink punk

“Did you know I have a hole in my back, Jeffrey? Do you even notice these things?”

“Let’s not argue tonight, Charlene.”

Pause. “Anyway, I guess coming here gave me an excuse to wear that hot pink dress I haven’t worn since, oh well, I suppose since I walked under that marquee in Picturetown and then glanced down the alley at skateboarding Bart Smipson. The bastard.”

“Now now, Charlene. He’s just a kid, a ragamuffin of the streets.” Smaller pause. “Plus, he’s probably dead. We’ll find out soon. Because of the next place we have to visit. Fern’s already been there. Which means you will be there. Eventually.”

“Pheh.” Charlene the Punk reached behind her shoulder and felt the hole in her back, suddenly becoming self conscious of it. She then drew her attention forward again. “And who’s this suppose to be? Me in the past I suppose — presume.”

“That’s the idea. Felicia Mae Appletree, but not the Smipsons teacher, the one who would have taught Bart most likely.”

“Pheh.”

“Instead, the child, the daughter. Maebaleia tattoo already on her back — she’s too young for that.”

“I have a tattoo of a *hole* on my back,” Charlene complained. “I don’t want to hear about some itty bitty upper back tattoo.”

“Central back.” He had walked behind the bar and checked. That’s how he knew where they needed to head next. Fern must have planted the idea in the young Charlene’s head. If this is Charlene, and it appears it is so.

“Does she *talk*?” Charlene the Punk says exasperatedly, about ready to leave if some kind of music doesn’t start soon. And no Residents this time or she’s outta here real real quick. She’s already told Jeffrey that, who assured her that’s it’s only Pink Floyd music offered here. She checks to see where his hands and fingers are, though, and notices that some remain hidden either in darkness or in clothes. She will not be entertained by the mastications of Homer; she was never one of those kids.

Boxes of donuts were rolled out on the stage. Charlene the Punk was outta here quicker than a pig with wings.

—-

“Have a seat, er, Felicia,” offered Jeffrey after the exit. 10 years younger, underaged even for him. Probably all for the best.

“Tell me about the tattoo; I dig it,” Jeffrey requests after the entertainment starts. Turns out she was one of those kids after all. She’d just forgotten what she had dug.

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00240702

The pageantry of Elvis Kannelvis’ hole jump brought out a number of the local dare-demon wannabe’s, like Ricky Pageant and his even more dare-devilly and showboating skating partner, er, Millgate (partially hidden by street lamp here).

Ricky is the step-brother of Annaliza Pageant who we’ve met in photo-novel 14 as the Intake Manager of Sinkology U. just down the street. No relationship to the pageantry of the current event that we know of.

All sorts of tourists showed up, only mildly disappointed when Elvis Kannelvis pulled a no show and Blue Berry Girl had to fill in for him. “Elvis who?” many said, unaware of his moderate fame up until this point in his dare-demon career. “Lizard what?” they might add on, not hearing of his main claim to moderate fame: the Lizard Gulch Jump of ’86 which resulted in only 2 spectator deaths, despite the prognostications. If only there would have been more, Elvis Kannelvis often lamented in secret.

Some people were confused about the nature of his newest dare-demon event. Was he going to *jump* the hole, as in jump over it, or jump *into* it. And, if so, what was the point of it all? What did he expect to accomplish in either case? The width of the hole didn’t seem that impressive, but there were all those jagged little peaks around it that could prove a hazard and got some mouths salivating for blood. But what about the depth — where did the hole lead? Was it bottomless? some speculated. Was there a hot breakfast and a golden staircase waiting for Elvis when he reached the bottom? Crazy stuff like that, fueled by the excessive sugar intake no doubt. Hank’s Urban Ice Cream Parlor was running a 2 fer 1 scoop deal throughout the whole of it. He knew it would pay off for him big time in the end, whatever the results of the event.

—–

“There’s *my* little dare-demon. Smile you demon!”

“Oh stop it Ray.” (*blush*)

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Menace revealed

Herbert Gold brings April Mae flowers.

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edges

She was told not to leave the mountain she was on. “Don’t go past the Easter Island head,” her half-sister rather commanded on the phone yesterday, knowing the Fall of Man lies all around. They chatted about mom. They chatted about… Bart. “On the lam,” Lisa states, acknowledging her fears. Never got over the Great Black Swamp. “Beware the Wheelers!”, then, “Beware Wheelers!” Or was it “Heelers”? — she couldn’t remember. All she knows currently is that Bart is in the swamp without the ability to TILE, to come back to the flock and rejoin his sister. She recalls the day her grandfather — poor grandad! — told her about the experiments, one that went right (sister) and the other which went wonky (brother). “The sister will be a good companion for you in future times of trouble,” he stated, listening to the ever-present sound of whales, which of course she heard as well but thought they were sharks. “She is older, she is wiser. You will see her every now and then and that is good enough. I’m estranged from Marg, and she’s blocked the visiting rights. But when the time comes, Lisa will make herself known to you. Bart as well, but: Beware Bart. He will be possessed by the Great Black Swamp by that time. The Soothsayer speaks.”

And so now she’s closer to her half-sister than ever, who rescued her from a sticky situation indeed. Kicked out of Green Yarn, a thought of new home where she could examine the whole Ray (short for Rainey) phenomenon in full and the inclusive 2 Barrys, who may be just one Barry now. Heck, Ray and Barry may be the same — the name of the former is included in the latter, after all.

But back to the half-sister…

(to be continued)


snowy peak again

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red

I figured a major part of my job now was to figure out who 102 actually is. Or was. This Maebaleia or Satori horned demon highlighting DANGER could be a clue. I know Danger also equates with Dead: Dead Cat Soap, etc.

It’s Bart Smipson but it’s not Bart Smipson. Another ragamuffin of the streets.

It was that t-shirt. He was covering up the t-shirt with his arm. He didn’t want the passing camera to see (!). Or he was indicating the shirt to… me; crossing it. Blood on his… shirt. We’re entering ghost territory (again). He disappears behind a telephone pole. A dead end (in Picturetown). We’ve seen enough. ENOUGH. Gates closed. Text begins again as Barry X. Vampire takes over.

We lie in a pool of blood as Bart Smipson towers above us, Giant for a day.

I think I’ll bring Biff Carter back into the picture. He was the one to let it happen — was on his watch. Demoted to private dick he was after that, no better than a Moby Prick consigned to swim the Southern depths of hell below aerial, pie in the sky Heaven. He was in dark toned, ironically named New Eden. Sometimes he was back on the beat thanks to a shortage of personnel in the local police department due to all those pills. But what of Orkley Andy who was probably the same as Oakley Annie the Ohioan gunslinger? Let it pass, let it slide, Cpt. Henry said as history repeats itself. 3 dead is pretty good numbers for that kind of escapade. We got away with something. Let him get away with it too. Say it was his dog hiding under his couch; go with his story. Hunter the dog — a good story, a *true* story. And so Biff Carter wrote that particular slant in his report, not mentioning the bodies (soon carted away by the ever-present zombies) or the red dress smiling on the ground before him (soon carted away by a female zombie or perhaps a male one experimenting with his sexual identity). All evidence gone and taken care of. He heads down to the Red Dress Diner to talk about all of it with Phyllis at the time…

—-

“Wanda, hi. Where’s Phyllis? I thought it was her shift — just spoke to her over the phone.” Where’s your red dress? he thought.

“Axis. We really need to talk now.”

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Giant for a day

An invisible cartoon boy, Martha Lamb thinks, studying Falmouth 36 once more on the 4th floor of the Fal Mouth Moon gallery. Hugged and loved by a visible cartoon girl with red shoes. Perhaps they are future lovers, or perhaps brother and sister. Maybe he has a defect that hides him from view — a malady — but is loved by his sister still. Odd that I think this, she ruminates.

Then over here, further away in a field, the inversion: girl invisible and boy visible. The “E” on the next collage over blinks on and off. This *is* love; mutual exchanging.

“He’s in the Great Black Swamp, Hucka. In the past!”

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reverse nudists come reverse nudists go (story of the boy)

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atmospheres

It started in earnest on that first night Tessa saw snow flying. She turned her small head round and round, taking in the wonder of it.

Wheeler seemed to have kind of ended her travels. Now was the time to focus on the meaning of Cow as a whole. Her own half-brother!

She looked up to him, giant for a day.

—–

Meanwhile, at 181 181 Rosehaven Thornwood:

“Peet Archer must have missed the big amethyst cluster because of that blocking tree.” She walks over.

“Quite pretty, and right on The Diagonal of the sim (188, 188).” But Wheeler/Hidi can’t stare directly at it, distracted by the eerie mist all around. Better get back to the Blue Feather for a reset.


Another, more visible crystal cluster at 174, 174.

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2(0)1

“Thanks for helping out, Charlene Brown.”

“I’m busy: but I’m here.”

“Okay, so there’s the two girls who must have seen Bart, yacking in front of the Giant Tiger painting. This would be caddy-corner to you standing at the intersection of, let’s see, Main and Elizabeth. Bart should be skateboarding by you right this instant.”

“I see nothing.”

“So let’s just swing the camera around and… Charlene? Where’re you going? Come back!”

I finally spot the pink dress wearing punk again just beyond the Rosehaven Yarn Shop, about to walk under the Regent Theatre marquee. But she’s way ahead of where she should be. Where’s she going?

“I see him Baker Bloch!” she suddenly exclaimed as I pull back beside her at Main and York.

Three Beatles were crossing the road in front of me and I knew this was a special, sacred spot.

“And that’s how Bart Smipson travels between Picturetown and NWES City,” I write in a letter later to Hucka Doobie. “Through that alley with the 102 graffiti. He’s indicating how he does it!” I sign my name with love and stick it in an envelope addressed to the White Palace.

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