Tag Archives: Blue Bird^^======++

January 5, 2023 · 4:42 am

trance dance

Ted just liked to watch. He told his crooked blackbird on his shoulder to simmer down as the lights dimmed and the band took the stage. With the dancer. Light of His 2nd Lyfe. Why he was in Flamerider in the first place, although it was always nice to visit with his old friend Sissy. He pondered again a possible connection between her and another Sissy he knew over in Comma Islands, the one who lived on an actual top of one of Corsica’s famous standalone granite peaks instead of just below one — in the shadow of one — like here.

Then, surprising him, Sissy came out from behind the bar and crawled into the cage beside him, starting to gyrate herself to the beginning trance music. What was he thinking? There *was* no dancer onstage. Just here. His eyes had been opened. But to… what?

“Squawk!”

“Shhh, simmer down, I said.” But Blackey 02 had spotted it first. Another caged bird emerging from the shoe, a parrot it appeared from his angle, pink in color again. Like Sissy; the dancing had caused this.

The cage began to expand, soon filling up space itself.

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November 26, 2022 · 12:09 pm

cake = lie

And so we end with Stiggy the Bluebird arriving early for her supposed birthday party, asking where the spectacular cake was Elanea promised to show her. Elanea said she’s it, then fired a tranquilizer dart right in her forehead between the eyes, then dragged her back into the kitchen to be prepared. One too many jokes about her amphibian nature for Elanea to stand. And she’d spewed the same racist type insults to people in powerful positions like reptilian Stu in Marketing, human Pamela in Waste Management, and, most importantly and most damning, to the Big Boy himself, calling him a [delete name]. To the Abyss she must go, he declared, which was his own personal word for the Void, having been raised a devout Tilist all those years ago, memories and rituals sticking like glue. The others decided the degree.

After the party, they prepared one cross that had the wrong year of death — had to be redone (too much partying, perhaps). A second, sturdier and more upright one was made by Harold the Carpenter, a gnome sent down by Head Office to do the task right, along with another named Jack who’d dig and fill in the grave. No coffin needed, though: no part of her remained to be buried by the time Elanea finished with the knives and saws and the gnomes arrived, not even her heart, deemed inedible from her species but which was still put into the cake just for spite and to rub it in all the way.

The bird was George.

Shelley’s still beating heart only pointed one direction after that. Biff Carter provided an interesting alternative but had aged 20 years overnight, thus eliminating him from the picture. Big Boy again, of course — [delete name] again the hurled insult. Only Arthur remained. And through him Liz. The marriage will take place at the beginning of the next section, 7 in a series of 6.

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October 16, 2022 · 5:35 am

00350211: staying on Nautilus instead…

“Shoo, cat. I’m not actually a bird.

“Hey, watch it! You nipped me you little booger. I’m *not* a *bird* (!). Not really, although, come to think of it, I might taste like chicken.”

—–

A star once more, a pink to match the green in the middle of The Cross which made me dance and drove the toys away, right and left (she thinks).

A red statue created as mate and partner to the blue on the other side of the star-man. Are these toys as well (she ponders)? No (she decides).

—–

I had thoughtful Blue Bird sit at a handy bar while I continued to remotely look around the artsy place set on a high beige ridge of the North, the same Nautilus continent region featured in every other post of this here photo-novel so far, save 3. Staring at her from this angle, I realized that she was also part cat as well as part bird, offering up an alternate explanation for the black cat’s nipping back there, like attracting like. Love nip it was in this scenario, not a hunger bite. Blue Bird considers this as I explain it to her, but rejects it as a partial answer. “We have enough 1/2 and 1/2s in these photo-novels, 35 in a series of 35 so far. Time to go for the all or nothings more don’t you think?”

She was a woman, I was in a gallery dedicated to the efforts and sufferings of women, what could I do? I had to shore things up a bit here; follow her advice put to me kindly instead of harshly, picket fence instead of barb wire. She could have gone with the latter, which would have been more subconsious. Instead: alert and awake, making choices that others would also be pleased with. It satisfied her, I could tell. A suggestion is just that if so framed. I did not have to heed the guidance, although I most likely would have been wise to do so. I ramble…

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October 15, 2022 · 4:43 pm

blue place

“My aunt.” “No, *my* aunt.”

She/he went from the cross…

… to The Cross.

Page’s convincing portrayal of the “church lady” image of Aunt Esther was in marked contrast to the “blue” material of her stand-up act and record albums.

“What can I say, that’s my aunt.” “No it’s *not* (pause) Okay, yes it is. But…” “But what?”

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October 15, 2022 · 7:01 am

00350209

“I really like your giraffe, George. So soft — just like our kiss, tee hee. Say you rode in on it?”

“No, I never said that.” George also enjoyed the kiss but he remembers more a gap, a lack. Something had happened and he can’t quite figure out what. A confusing day, actually. First the thing about the dads and then this.

“So you flew in on that bird thingy you’re sitting on, right?”

“Also incorrect.” How *did* George, I mean, The Musician, get here? And was this an actual rehearsal for their wedding? Or were they just checking out the location, perhaps not even convinced yet this is the right place for their super important event?

“I mean, you look like you’re 1/2 bird yourself mounted on the thing like you are, a *bird* yourself.” She tried to laugh but found the utterances couldn’t quite reach her lips, her still warm lips, but cooling quickly, the memory of the softness fading.

“Oz,” he then said, remembering. 1/2 man 1/2 bird indeed. He flew in from his imagination. We’ll go there soon, but first the couple need to pay a little trip to Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer via his Rabbid Rabbits group. The Musician (George) explained it was necessary because of the gap he felt, which Shelley was also now experiencing. They had to resolve that before the wedding fer sure. The Musician was convinced that the doctor could fix their issues, family stuff as well.

They spent half the night arguing who Aunt Bernice belonged to, his side of the family or hers. This could not continue; something had to be done.

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August 14, 2022 · 8:54 am

00340307

August 14, 1974. Lucy Blue Dress takes one last look back at the campsite she’d stayed her summer after graduating from high school. She’d miss the cool cool stream that flowed and sometimes cascaded by her tent. She’d miss the gatherings at Sugar’s shack with all the weirdos of the woods. She’d miss more organized White Tree Village and dreamy Bluebird who lived there and who she took occasional long walks with. Most of all, there was Titiana and Vanessa, her bestest friends during this period in her life. “Come with me to college!” she begged of them beside their favorite wagon near the shack near the center. “No, we stay here,” said Vanessa, which made Titiana nod. They all called her Tiana, because her full name was just a little too much to pronounce in casual conversation. She didn’t like it but she accepted the shortening; she was growing up and becoming more mature about such things. Both were smart. Both took the SATs and did well enough to go to their pick of at least a public school. But: no. The woods had captivated them beyond escape. The Ourobos that is the stream had worked its magic, beginning matched with end. They would be happy going round in circles the rest of their lives, without a worldly degree, without a decent and rewarding job that resulted in such, without the ability to support a family beyond perhaps a husband or wife — both girls swung either way on that preference. “The woods will take care of us,” they said, and bade her farewell with teary hugs just minutes ago. They offered to follow her to the campsite down the stream and see her off from her woodlands home of 2 months but she said this wasn’t necessary, and there was no reason for them to watch her leave the way they all came: alongside the brick wall that led outta here. This corner is where the woods die for her.

And then there was Zapppa, who was set to leave the forest himself tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow at the latest, he promised. “Just gotta wrap up something at the cemetery,” he said minutes before she then met with Vanessa and Titiana that one last time.

He was the love of her life. Pretty sure of that, she was. Going to college with her, he was. Studying math: her, psychology. Stats would be their shared passion beyond the bed. They determined there was a 24.687531% chance they would return here after college, using their acquired skills to better the woods and their denizens and citizens. Never happened. The zero and nine would have to be added in to make it work and that, they realized, would defeat the whole purpose. Worldly they remained.

In one reality.

(to be continued)

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August 7, 2022 · 10:22 pm

manor

“My turn next on the typewriter. I have ideas too.”

“Of course (type type type pause type type pause type type type type bell sound/carriage return).”

“I’ll just keep filing my nails till you’re finished (type type type).” Mistress was patient. But she also didn’t have all night. Or did she?

“Did (type type type) you realize that Mistress is very close to Mattress?”

“I sat on it all night,” Mistress returned matter of factly. “Waiting on Bluebird, the sad sad girl.” One hand done. Perfection. “Very close indeed I was at the time,” she said while admiring her work.

“No no (type type). I mean the word.” Venus didn’t realize Mistress was trying to tell a joke. Maybe she should have thought of a better one. “Switch out the a with the i, switch the s with a t: the same, then.”

“Oh. Suppose (type type type). Is that what you’re writing? I’ve focused so much on my nails now that I can’t see that far. Tell me what the newest is for Bluebird, for Sugar Town, for the rest of the Big Woods.”

“New name, yes. Big Woods (bell sound/carriage return).” Venus lifts her hands from the keys, leans back.

“Funny how it’s not really that big,” interjects Mistress. “But it seems *huge* on the ground.”

“Labyrinthine,” reinforces Venus. “Just like, erm…”

“Baker?”

“Wheeler I think.”

Pause. “Are we saying who we are now?” asks Mistress, serious this time. Totally serial.

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August 7, 2022 · 9:52 am

00340210

Bluebird heads down the stream, intending to go further than she’s ever been before in this direction.

She reaches somewhere familiar but keeps on walking, spurred by the thrill of the unknown. Vanessa and Tiana had long gone from the back of the wagon, their unexpected and unrehearsed rendezvous complete. Return to Sugar Town for the 2. We’ll catch up with their continuing story soon.

Options present themselves. She again chooses what she deems the straightest path away from White Tree Village, her home now in virtual reality, thanks to Mistress, thanks to Venus. But she’s never seen or met her benefactors. That could change tonight, depending on the color of the script, white being the safest bet.

She gets twisted around. The sky suddenly turns dark. She’s at the Mattress Tree. And someone is waiting for her.

(to be continued)

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August 7, 2022 · 8:45 am

White Tree Village

—–

“She comes and sits by this stream every day on those rocks over there, the dreamer. Should we reveal ourselves?”

“Not yet,” directs Baker Blinker, back in the saddle after a day of rest.

“How’re you feeling, by the way?”

“Better.”

“Good to lay off the sugar every now and then anyway.”

“I suppose.” She coughs softly. “Bit of angina still,” Baker Blinker admits.

“Oh.” Wheeler Wilson peers over at her, like it might be the last time they see each other, which is, of course, ridiculous. They have too much in the world to do. Like jointly direct and produce this theatrical extravaganza. White Tree Village. Act II, Scene 1.

“We better move on down the stream. Might be something happening at the cemetery tonight.”

“Idea,” counters Wheeler Wilson, raising her finger to make a point. “Why don’t we send Bluebird instead. Bluebird of Sadness.”

“Awww,” emits Baker Blinker with a pout at this new idea reversing the happiness one.

“We could have Venus and Mistress already there, maybe digging up graves for something.”

“Jewelry?” poses Baker Blinker. “Something incriminating?”

“They’re lesbians of course. Like Tiana and Vanessa, our stars from Act I.”

“Co-stars,” says Baker.

“But Tiana and Vanessa,” continues inspried Wheeler Wilson, “are not really lovers but friends at the bottom of it. Things just *happen*.”

Baker Blinker stares over at Wheeler Wilson. They sure do, both think at the same time.

“We better get into costume, then.” Wheeler sees her emit another small cough. “You *sure* you’re up to this?”

“Okay,” says Baker Blinker, which is only half an answer since she was choking a little at the same time. She knocks her hand softly against her chest. “It will be all right,” she says to Wheeler but also to herself.

“Maybe it’s the caffeine this time more than the sugar.”

(to be continued)

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May 5, 2022 · 9:48 am

the bird beats the bug

We follow him down to the door of — where he lived? We open the door. Not a chained prisoner as we suspected a bit. Not sentient Christmas excrement Mr. Hankey from South Park, another logical candidate. But Casey One Hole. Casey One Hole, yikes!

“A Blue Bird?!” he exclaimed, truly surprised himself. “I was expecting a Cardinal or perhaps a Rooster at worst, ha ha. This should be easy.”

“He swiftly moves toward me,” Blue Bird who opened the door to the outhouse — or tramp shack or whatever it actually was — kept on explaining to the others, “towering over me, cornering me, as the toys had tried before but didn’t succeed with. Then I looked down at his ‘weapon’ and started snickering.

“‘W-what?’ he managed between snarls, and followed the direction of my eyes.

“A mop instead of a golf club. He *had* no weapon. He swatted at my head with it anyway in the subsequent intensification of anger but it just kind of tickled my cheeks. Soft as downy wings — charmed obviously. Something had happened. Casey One Hole had been neutralized through the outhouse — I knew now this was an outhouse, a bathroom set to be cleaned, perhaps in perpetuity.

“‘Better get back to it,’ I joked while pointing in its direction as he jumped up and down in frustration, then swung the mop round and round, aiming at nothing now; crazy as a beetle. I left free as a bird. Appropriate.”

“Poe fellow,” said Mistress, seeming to miss the point but actually not. She unclasped her wing-like hands and settled back in the rocking chair again. Venus on the 1/2 bed decided to sing a song.

(to be continued)

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