We understand the mysterious cactus bud art depicted on this Northerner’s rock is actually Podge and Spleenburster, who we already know from the Monoflo Pinion book found in Hambone.
It’s the oldest story in the world. Two men bicker over territory only to resolve their differences via a nice, shared meal.
I include the whole story at the end of this report for context. Note that it’s the Great Fissure in the book, not the Great Fracture. Northern appellation, then.
According to Gabriel (again), an alternate text with just words and no pictures is titled “Olive Green Pink”, which he claims is about 10x as long, or about 200 pages he estimates. I am still looking for a copy. I assume it goes into much more detail about the lives of this ghoul and mutant, along with the smoothskin or cowboy, the Pink of the title obviously, as Olive is Podge and Green is Spleenbu(r)ster.
Another note: Gabriel is a channeller.
THE GHOUL & THE MUTANT
I’m going to *search* out meaning in life while I have it. Like this Great Fracture or Fissure. What is it? Why do people live around it? Fractured — like this world, this estate. Why exist here?
I’ve got to get out of here! thought Duncan Avocado while staring out from the Great Fracture or Fissure sim at the Spiral Jetty over in Hambone. Create some interactive land art; take some Real Life photos; something! Jackson Bloch did it. I can too!
But, no, his assignment tonight was to head down to the Last Drop at the west lip of the Fissure and interact with the locals; try to get some dirt on what’s going down. Besides lip rocks.
“I dreamed last night,” began weight challenged Gabriel again, “that the Fissure was a great mouth, trying to tell us something. You know, that rock in the middle, that pillar, was the tongue.”
“We Camptons like to call it *Fracture*, reiterated Jed across from him for the hundredth time. It was a great debate: Fracture or Fissure. Another one of those split worlds, like we’ve seen with continental names Maebaelia or Satori. Another of those South-North separations, even. Because the South side of the Fissure, Camptons included, preferred Fracture, while the North side — Gabriel, et al. — preferred the obverse. One could *observe*, from above, the mouth speaking, true. Breaking away from Gabriel’s glare, Jed allowed him to continue his story, name problem set aside for the moment. “Alright,” he encouraged. “Go ahead.”
Duncan listened carefully from a nearby chair as the fourfold truth was told about the sim.
soaking it all in…
She thought the new thing on the tracks looked like a ballerina but knew it wasn’t. This one was without heart.
“Oh hey guys. Already time for another fairy watch?”
“Don’t touch it, don’t touch it,” they implored.
“Oh I know.”
They didn’t know what to do with him after he just appeared out of nowhere in the heart of Collagesity. Right in the ballerina. He seemed to like popcorn, but kept feeding the little heads attached to his body instead of his own head. He claimed to be from a place called The Great Fracture. On one side: him (he explained). On the other: Nevermind or Nevermore, names which he exchanged freely. Then to the right a person called Hidi or Heidi or Hayden (something) — again when we asked to clarify the spelling it never came. The “direction left” he couldn’t talk about yet. That would remain a “stalwart mystery” as he put it in his tinny, warbling voice.
“I can’t get these dal garn chips open, Bauer. I’m just going to have to bites through the bag.”
Something different came to the sim of The Sand Seas today.
Nearby, spatially and temporally: Patrick still likes cats.
“I like cats. Man.”
But who was this man he speaketh to, just emerged, dusty and dingy and gritty, from The Sea of Sands to the immediate south of here? Jethro?
No, not him. Although he may play a part in our play later on. Instead: Monsieur Gold. Looking high and low for granddaughter Tessa. Searching near and far for step-children Lisa and Bartholomew. Dealing with the connivings and machinations of Madame Silver and fellow evil villain known as The Parasol all along the way.
“Any other place to sit here?” he implores to Patrick the crazy cat lover across from him, not wishing to presently accomplish the function his tire seat was designed for. Disgusting.
“No,” responds Patrick, attempting to smooth out a cowlick on the back of a cat.
Nearby (spatially and temporally):
“God I hate murders. Despises them.”
I think it may be Jethro’s brother/cousin. Baer? Bauer? I believe I’m onto something…
Something different came to the sim of Bauerbridge today.
129,127 — close enough.