Tag Archives: Big Black Smoke/Claude^*+%$

November 15, 2022 · 7:48 pm

00350515

The Musician had a plan. Play his last gig at Pink Think before returning to Nautilus and take Shelley with him, freeing her from the prison cave closest to The Void in Gemini (4006m). That’s how he can keep her from opening the door to her cage. Power. Power behind powers. He thinks she’s ready. He’s delusional. She’ll never forgive him, although she feigns acceptance to escape.

Albert and Biff sit around the wall still from the ensuing gig at their tea table, the music too deafening to their more sensitive ears. Plus they’re all too familiar with the notes and beats. They’d rather remain in the bar with at least equally-sensitive-to-sound Marilyn, a light in their darkness now. True they were were resigned to their entrapment here in Gemini, not being as blind as The Musician. But they were still trapped.

Marilyn? With Fern now, catching up — Fern said it was super hard to find her in the sim, what with all the cubic meters to cover from top to bottom, all 16 stories of 256x256x256 of it. Claude never showed up, intervention with the 3 beastly boys delayed. Or did he? Fern changes to demonstrate what happened.

She was back on top, ha — in charge. “The *clue*,” she said while nursing a red cocktail 1/2 in Claude’s body, educating Marilyn/Lichen as well as putting her back in her place, “was the receiver part. I live in a receiver, like a jeannie lives in a bottle. Get it? Like ‘Jeannie and the Tiger’. You remember? We watched that summer before last — it was just showing, by accident let’s say, on the Cartoon Network where we usually hang out. We switched over from ‘Dirty Duck’. Do you recall?”

“I remember,” said Marilyn, marveling at the brains, the brilliance, of her partner in crime once more. If only she had my humor, she thinks. Always pretty dead serious about stuff, like this. I’m not really surprised that Fern has outmaneuvered me and don’t really care. I could make 10 jokes about the situation right now, make light of it.

Yes, I suppose they made a good team, nay, a great team, especially after Marilyn/Lichen decided to ditch the horse and the association with The Void. Because this was the ultimate lesson learned for the traveling bartender in the sim of Jem– Gemini. Avoid the Duck.

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November 14, 2022 · 3:45 pm

Still in Gemini…

“Yeah, I don’t actually *live* in a receiver or am the *same* as a receiver. I don’t know what got that notion into your head. And I even have a pretty modern (phone), cell and all. I can even look up things on the Interwebs with it, like the difference between a mouse and a dormouse. Just doing that–”

“Fascinating,” Marilyn playing Lichen Roosevelt said on the other end, a word she just heard on TV. “I only thought,” she defended her logic, “you know, like Paul Warfield.”

“Paul Whatfield?”

“Never mind.” She backed out of Miami back into Cleveland. “Jim Brown,” she blurted out to her surprise. “Jim *L.* Brown, not the other one, the twin.”

“What about James?” replied Claude the Receiver. This was old school talk, like high school. He’d left all that behind in joining the University of Life here in 1000 City, or so it was advertised. 4 more years to go, a long long 4 years, with debt mounting up each semester he stays. He’s learning about the birds and bees this morning from old Ms. Crumplebottom, facing away from him and preparing to add information about flowers and trees and the Moon up above into the overall equation, like work clothes. Whatever, it all ends with Love. He wonders how she can remember back that far; all the parts must be long broken down there. But I suppose there’s always heart.

“Cartoons,” said Marilyn, surprising herself again. “Jem. Jemini.”

“Jemilly Johnson? What about *her*?” Claude was getting impatient. He didn’t want to miss any nuances from the lessons. One flower appears as the chalk dust starts to fly again, then another and another. A tree with a massive trunk shoots up from their midst. And between the boughs near the top as the stars come out: The Moon. Where did The Sun go? he had to ask himself.

“Um, uh,” delayed Marilyn. “We have a situation,” she decided to say instead of answering Claude directly. “Just get down here. On your lunch break if needed. What time is school over, actually?”

Claude mentally checked his schedule. 1 o’clock: Mixing Business with Pleasure, 2: The Overarching Problems of Time and Money Inevitably Leading to Brain Damage, then at 3, oh he’s finished at 3. He says this to Marilyn. The Musician is paying his bill and about ready to leave. Marilyn looks at the wonky grandfather clock on the far wall between Biff and Albert. 4 more hours! How is she going to keep them all here together until the Receiver comes. Alcohol of course, for The Musician at least. And free tea for the teetotalers over there at the crazy table. She offers George another one on the house.

“Gee thanks!” he says, sitting back down. His gig is not till 7. He has the time and the money to kill more brain cells.

(to be continued)

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November 14, 2022 · 3:46 am

beasts

With her super sharp ears, one of her superpowers, not-so-ditzy blonde Lichen Roosevelt, who was currently masquerading again as ditzy blonde Marilyn the traveling bartender, overheard it all. The bidding, the threats. Albert was driven to have the girl he couldn’t possess — none of them could, not Biff Carter, not George The Musician sitting at the bar with her and oblivious to the subject matter being spoken about behind him. Because his ears were more between his legs; that’s how he composes, how he creates. It deafens him to other realities at times, a lot of times, heck, about all of the time, she surmises in the moment. They spoke about it earlier, before Albert and Biff showed back up again, sipping their crazy tea and talking about absurdities. Shelley was free — for the moment.

“She requested she go down to the beach every day at 2, so I let her.”

“Damn, Musician, that’s not good enough!” she protested, yelling because no one else was around. Boss Herbert Done had the day off, cruising for boys on the back lot, despite already having a man and 2 girls at home. George had already told her about the decision to use the powers of the Venus Cage to trap her. “She was as much here that way as any of us,” he said. “We’re all in the same boat.”

“Don’t you see, Musician?” she tried to explain. “*Shelley’s* the boat! That’s why you’re all here in the first place.”

George knew that Albert was obsessed with a girl named Darla, a black haired and black clad beauty as he described her. And Biff — well, he hadn’t really talked to him about why he was here as well. That would come a bit later. He didn’t know about the overlap is what I’m saying here.

“She’s not your pet, your slave.”

“I know that.”

Devil instead of Lover, Shelley thought here, contemplating The Tarot. Gemini rules The Lovers, the 6th Major Arcana card of the deck, attached to the specific planet Mercury. That’s why Mercury-Gemilly, France is involved, a suburb of *Albert*ville of all names. The Devil, Major Arcana card 15, has the same two nude figures but chained instead of free, torch lit instead of outside in the sun. It’s good George lets her sunbathe but, my God man, just because she was going to *jilt* you at the alter? *This*? Men, PHEH.

“I’m going to let her totally free soon,” George said. “As soon as I figure out how to take Arthur out of the picture. That way we can get properly married instead of those two.”

“After all this…” Marilyn said, then stopped because of the futility of it all.

And now, listening to Albert and Biff bicker, Marilyn decides to lay down all the cards. She senses a Helen of Troy situation and didn’t want it to fester any further. She had an aunt and uncle that had to live through all the atrocities of the Trojan-Durexian Wars over on the Omega continent. She wasn’t going to allow another seed to be planted like that.

The Receiver, she then thinks. I have to pick up the phone — wherever it is — and call him. That’s the solution.

She finally finds it behind the coke machine.

“Hallo? Claude?”

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November 6, 2022 · 6:46 pm

00350412

“Ever been to Franklin, Kentucky?” asked Biff Carter to Claude Cash, outer facing inner. “Do you want to?”

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November 6, 2022 · 5:38 pm

00350411

Actress Janet Zzyzx heads to the haystack for fresh straw to suck on before her shoot. “Okay,” she said, satisfied after moving it around in her mouth, testing for texture, width, etc. “Ready.”

—–

“Today,” said director Kurt Strawb, a fruit-vegetable hybrid, “we’ll be returning to The Void for more North-South action. Hurrah, thinks Janet, believing she’d be going back to the bar that provided her free drinks after her last shoot there. But, alas, that place has been shut down, as Kurt alluded to next. “*Instead*,” he said, “we’ll be returning to the same place as the Cash-Carter cell shoot from yesterday.” Janet hadn’t been there, visiting Bermuda on a short break at the time. She was familiar with Claude Cash — who wasn’t? — but the Biff Carter character was unknown to her, having only appeared in the film for 1 scene before this. She said this to Kurt; she asked what happened. “Set the scene,” she requested from her sophomore director, involved in only 1 previous film before this outside of student work. “Blackjack in Hell” doesn’t count except as a big fat Zero, as wide as it is high.

“Welll,” started Kurt again, reviewing it in his mind at the same time. “Claude — you remember *Claude* don’t you?”

“Of course.” Don’t patronize me you sophomore, she thought.

“He shows up mysteriously in this police cell guarded by our Clubb — which is a double entendre since Clubb is also club, add in Carter’s reference to Kitty Kat Klub, which is, in turn, reference to the KKK and also Krazy Kooky Kentucky from Act I. Then we also have mention of Klancasterians from Act II.”

Way too much detail, thinks Janet.

“So when our Biff Carter, back on the force, at least for a handful of hours a week thanks to giving Phil that pill…”

Filburt, or Philburt, thinks Janet. Wondered when he was going to rear his ugly head.

“… shows up, it’s not previously seen Arthur Kill in the cell — or Kill van Kull or maybe even Lampton, all being part of one entity that was killed and then raised from the dead in the last photo-novel…”

*Please* don’t go back to that, thinks Janet. The current one was confusing enough.

“… he is able to, ahem, *fill* in for him, ha, and thus use his old squad car, which has fallen into disrepair in the meantime — as opposed to *being* repaired…”

Pu-lease, thinks Janet.

“… anyway, he uses this to track down the girl, he hoped.”

Another stalker, thinks Janet here, suddenly getting interested again. Just like — what was his name? — the guy in black, the *prevert* who stalked that other girl, the one who also always wore black, as in bikini, as if they were joined at the hip in some way. Or someplace else, hmm.

Kurt Strawb had stopped here, waiting for Janet to complete her reverie signaled by her glassy eyed nature. She looked at him and then looked around at the crew, all ready to start, all waiting for Kurt to finish his spiel. Too much talk! most were thinking around him. He’ll never get a third try at these things the way he’s going, thought some even. Sophomore he would remain.

(to be continued)

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November 6, 2022 · 9:26 am

00350410

As soon as he logged back in, Biff Carter, former police officer now just out on loan, drove his old, battered patrol car — maintenance not kept up after his retirement much to his lament — over to the cell where they were *suppose* to be keeping Arthur Kill. Or Kill van Kull — whatever. He’d know the shape if not the name fer sure. And this wasn’t him.

“Where is he?” he barked to Policeman Clubb in terse greeting. Clubb and he go way back, had their hands in the old style beatings of ’73, miracle year indeed. It was all in the book that Shelley at the tavern somewhere below — beyond — just put down in favor of her tablet and dream related material. “Big Red Machine.”

“Dunno. This guy just appeared in his place while I was looking away for a moment. Said he’s a Receiver.”

“*Receiver*. What’s *that*?” Biff Carter was feeling the pressure of the beat again, the anxiety of not knowing what’s around any corner. Like this. He purposely fed Filburt those pills so he could get him ill and take his place back on the force, so it was all his doing. He had to keep up with the girl. He asked about her next.

“Missed her by a day and a 1/2,” replied Clubb.

“Darn,” cussed Carter. But maybe he said “damn” or even “f-ck” here. Then to this “Receiver”: “Who are you? What did you do with Kill? Did you *kill* him?” Carter might have emitted a small smile here but couldn’t manage it through the anger.

“Kill van Kull?” replied our Claude, who we met back in Section 01 and last appeared in this photo-novel (don’t say what # in the series) at the beginning post of Section 02. Seems like so long ago. “Lampton?” Claude recites another name this killer of the film went by, kill or be killed being one of his mottoes. He’s working on some more.

“Whatever he goes by,” replies Biff Carter bitingly. “I know *you’re* not him. Despite being a [delete name] too… sometimes hard to tell you f-ers apart.

Ah, the f- word n- word, thinks Claude here. Another one due for a visit to The Void. He’ll see to it asap. “He turned… into the Receiver that I am,” spoke Claude, knowing this wouldn’t make any sense to Carter, Clubb. He dare not mention the dog.

Carter finally emitted that smile, which turned into a laugh, which turned into a doubled over guffaw. Surreal truths sometimes do this to people. Witness George Washington Carver exclaiming that he invented a phonograph needle made out of peanuts to a world wide audience in ’84. Not a dry eye on the planet. Hmm, Carver… Carter.

Finally he recovered. “Bring him down to the station,” he barked at Clubb while dabbing his face with a handkerchief. “I’m going to the Kitty Kat Klub,” which Clubb knew was one of their old hangouts while on the beat. Wasn’t even invited. Who was in charge here after all? His old boss Carter or his new boss? Maybe, deep down, they’re both the same.

“Sure, sure,” he relented, not wanting a beating himself. Because he knew what was going to happen to Claude BOOF!

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November 3, 2022 · 2:54 pm

then and now (waves keep coming)

Recently I moved to Toyger on the Far eastern coast of Gaeta (New Continent) so that I can honour the rising Sun.

“Clarence was wrong about the dance animation studio being there. It was all a setup.”

“You said Clarence,” Arthur tested into the receiver. “Did you mean Claude?”

“I…. don’t know (!).”

“Check on that please. Before I head over.”

Later she went back to the theatre and checked again. No screen. This is all real; Clarence is real. She is in the film being filmed as we speak. Perhaps that would explain all the close ups. She is looking for the camera, ha (!).

A well dressed black man enters the picture.

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October 11, 2022 · 6:11 am

a number of characters in a number of sims

“So nice here beside the fire. So, whaddaya think, Wheeler? Is Claude on to something?”

“I want to be independent right now.”

—–

So Baker shared some links and let her go. Cloz they were in here, Sporminore and its Roberts and Franklin (and Albert?) just north. Claude to the (Wild) West again, where’s he still under employment at the Umbrella Club where we first ran into Darla and Lois and those other girls, the purple clad one and the other one we haven’t revisited under the umbrella itself. Moray and the now bombed and destroyed Docks Town 2 sims to the east of us. Apples and Etherea — and now Darla and Lois again — about 400 meters southwest in Darter (Ohio parcel). Let’s see, Shelley, yes. Also in Cloz, having escaped the explosion by returning to the Triggerfish Motel. Ah yes, Triggerfish.

But first, Zander. Sorry: Codlet.

But that’s not Shelley on the beach behind the island shack. Liz instead, and we’re not quite ready for her story. Back to Triggerfish…

There. We start again. Apologies. Still no Shelley. That’s The Musician, her fiance, her soon-to-be husband if all goes well for him. Wonder what he’s doing here? Hold on, I’ll have to log Baker back in for this.

Looks like he’s getting at least semi-professional advice about his marriage, his life in general from Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, who we haven’t seen in a while in these here photo-novels, 35 in a series of… well, we’ll see. Let’s listen in.

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October 10, 2022 · 7:53 am

00350201 (2 Bakers and 2 Wheelers)

“IGNITE.”

“Now I’ve brought you all here to tell you, first of all, I’m not *better* than you. Just, um, higher.”

“Wacky, man,” says Roberts primarily for grinning partner Franklin beside her. They’d been partaking of the sacred bush just before. Now: here. Fire brought them together.

“True, Albert is lower in contrast, but we all work as a team, a TILE if you will. Blue (he points to himself), green or red, take your pick (he points to Roberts and then Franklin), and, finally, you (he points to Albert).”

“Me? I ain’t lower than anyone. I’m a prevert and I’ve accepted my role in life. It’s you guys who are in the wrong. Trying to kill me!”

Silence from the still guilty feeling women, as Claude says: “Now now, Albert. No one is in the wrong. Each has their challenges, *including* me. That’s what I’m trying to say to you.”

They look each other over with this, one by one, realizing the truth of it all, if only subconsciously. A TILE, back and forth and across balance. Blue should have been opposite yellow and green opposite red, but Claude wasn’t in charge of setting up the chairs. Probably an intern, he thinks.

“I’ll begin,” he then says.

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October 10, 2022 · 2:06 am

00350117

I’ve given up. Wanda: gone. Punctured and then dumped in the bay, along with the couch which *didn’t* harbor any secret writing devices. Worthless, signal free TV: gone; same place. Fishing pole: dumped in the water as well. Swimming with the fishes instead of catching them. All I have is the roar of the waterfall and the occasional, added tinkle; funny how I can hear that much smaller sound through it all. I don’t even look out any more. Claude: nowhere in sight. I still live but I don’t know how. I haven’t had food for days and days. Life force… draining.

—–

“Aren’t you going to the waterfall today to do your thing? 1/2 past 6 already.”

“Nah, I think he’s had enough. Either he’s fully capitulated or he’s dead in there, hard to tell. I don’t even really care. But he’s broken either way.”

“We should contact Claude, then,” suggests Roberts to her lover and perhaps wife Franklin with this. “He owes us the rest of the 5 grand we signed up for, task completed it seems, as much as we could do perhaps.”

“Money, pheh,” exudes Franklin, picturing Albert’s limp, maybe lifeless body on the floor of the small shack hemmed in by rocks. “Fully green now,” she laments about receiving the paper bills, all Claude had conveniently enough. No metal. Not even red bills, which Franklin made up anyway to embellish a story.

“*Purest* green,” states Roberts while looking over, also experiencing remorse. “Just like you always dreaded.”

“Yes, we made a choice, Albert made a choice. I’m not sure who’s worse in the moment.”

“Us, obviously. Because we have an actual conscience.”

“He *might* come around. He could just be lying there, pitiful and useless life flashing before his eyes.”

“Somehow… I think our own lives hang in the same balance.” Both stare at the fire, realizing their actions were pure and good in that Albert *deserved* to be pissed on, and then reminded of it on a daily basis — but money never should have been involved. They didn’t pass angelic “receiver” Claude’s litmus test. But, like with Albert, there’s still a chance for redemption.

Franklin sat up. “We have to save him.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

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