I didn’t get out of the pod, which had turned into a boat. Soon enough I was darting toward Dizneyland, probably Pansy as well. I could only hope.
I stepped out of the boat and walked across the entry dock as quietly as I could. Maybe if I didn’t wake up anyone I could get out of this alive.
A squeaking board. “Halt!!”
We ate supper that night in silence. The knife we used to cut the pizza lay just beyond reach. I had two options as I saw it. We could either kill each other… or kiss each other. But this was Wheeler, I reminded myself. A Blurmaid — blue mermaid — but still: Wheeler. The whole separation of state and power came back to me like a punching fist, a jabbing knife. Looks like killing is the option.
“CUT!!” the director shouted behind the scenes. “That was GREAT. Now do it like you’re two monkeys climbing up a tree to grab the same banana. Annnnd ACTION!!”
The improv suggestion didn’t work. We sat there still, staring at each other. If I could only describe the look in her eyes. Two pools… whirlpools perhaps. I wish I was somewhere else.
I was in the Temple now, having just completed the second of 2 whirls of the rainbow labyrinth on the bottom floor. Blue all around, but white here in the center. Just like her and her eyes. I was trapped like a fly between two window panes. I looked over at crooning Mercury propped up against a dead tree and understood more about what he went through.
Blue yellow red green, and then, secondly, cobalt purple orange maroon. If only there were just letters and not letters and numbers together then the world could remain perfect.
“The switch from Kansas to Oz equals the switch from yellow to red as if through a door. Blue and yellow are Kansas, which remain perfect. Red and green are Oz, Munchkinland and the Yellow Brick Road to begin and encompass the whole. This *should* be perfect but it has been singly corrupted. And this is where we must understand *numbers* beyond letters. 13 in the first has been reduced to 12 in the second, with numbers adding 1/4th from the outside. This ‘outside’ is what we must really begin to understand. Because that is the direction of the Abyss and not God.”
I didn’t want to hear this TILE talk from Man About Time, attempting to explain my latest dream-reality. I knew Wheeler had created it all to teach me a valuable lesson. Don’t f-ck with mermaids. Or mice.
I am Pansy. Zero Hero.
X City’s Blurmaid and Horns of Hatton’s Cry Cat (65 & 66).
These are the capital cities of Maebaelia/Satori’s North and South respectively. And here they are again. Attempting to negotiate?
“Still not here,” Axis lamented, blue curse purse painting propped to one side. “She must still be at the school. A short drive from here, despite the name. Yet — I think I’ll visit Teebestia first. Something inside me, yes, says to tick that off my list first.”
He stares over at the modified artwork again. “I was such a beautiful little girl before becoming such a handsome man, hehe.”
“Should be just over there.”
Buster knew she would be looking in through the secret window. Some called her Blurmaid, half blue, half (mer)maid. She was what Craighead Phillips dreamed about regularly in the aquarium at the center of the X, Maebaleia/Satori’s only true crossroads. And they *were* at one, as we, (the reader) and I, are. This is so top secret that I’m almost inclined to make the remainder of the posts of this current Collagesity novel private. I believe Buster Damm would feel more comfortable if this were so.
“The X is a portal,” he spoke through the bamboo to his old friend Pitch, his best mate for, well, centuries I suppose. This is secret stuff between two old pals, old buddies. “You found the blue rose by the sign — you know that now.”
“Ahh, blue rose. Should’ve known.”
“Novalis, yes. But the blue rose is close yet again.” He peers at the door he cannot see through once more. “We are — being monitored,” he measured in his high pitched voice.
Pitch let this sink in before responding bassly from his reclining position. “Cathy A. I know about her and the blue rose that once was red. Like, er, Marcus Fox Smartville’s. What — happened to them?”
[delete 5 exchanges]
“We will compensate by editing…”
[delete 3 exchanges]
Annaliza appeared from around the corner. “We have had enough of discussions today if you please. Mr. Pitch sir, you will follow me again to the pool room where we will talk more tomorrow. Mr. Dang, if you will excuse us.”
It was the more unusual of the buildings at the X marking the center of X-City. Well, what was left of it. Orange it was, and elongated. With circular sides ghosting a circular front in my opinion. For I’ve surmised what this building actually is. We’ve seen the address before.
The X marks the portal between Real and Second Lyves. Sign.
I knew who the mermaid inside was at the bottom of it (bottom writing). But she was something else. Not a whale, although that’s part and parcel of the legend. Not quite a jellyfish, but that was closer. Squid? I haven’t quite connected the dots. Dot dot dot…
If only she could tell us herself.
Oh dear. Oh bloody hell.
There was only one other character I could introduce to attempt to put a face on it. We’ve seen *him* before.
It’s a matter of time. Does the face remain (2) full and smiling or does it become (1) smaller and then (3) wink out, leaving us with nothing.
We better get back to the ‘X’.
He was dreaming of that creature again who lived at the bottom of the Blue Feather Sea. Olivia. With aspects of Tracy but also different. Obviously a mermaid, yes, but something else as well. Whale? He can’t quite put his finger on it. But — different. Unique, even.
Something about the patterns.
The Mermaid it’s been called for many long years now, son,” spoke Uncle Barnacles to Craighead Phillips later on. “It’s why, it’s why…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. But Craighead could translate: It’s why he can’t remember what year it is, let alone century. Craighead tested him later. “17th?” UB ventured.
“This is *not* the centre of Rosehaven, dear sister.”
“Sshhh,” she implored in a lower tone. “Keep it down. They could be out there… watching.”
“Father’s people. Maybe even mother’s.” But she said these almost as questions.
“Both are dead. Both are gone. We must move on. Mother only lived on through the father. We must be in the now and present. Meditate with me, sister. Learn my wise ways. You won’t be so anxious.” His voice was slightly muffled and watery; hers clear and metallic.
“You shouldn’t be so talkative if you’re so relaxed,” she shoots back, then peers through the window again.
“The cave should have been the meeting point. I told you to meet me at the cave. You’d feel safer there. But no, it had to be the peasant’s village. Father’s old hideaway where he went to woo his wenches. Maybe that’s why we’re so different. Two different mothers. Maybe even two different fathers.”
“You *know* why we’re different.” She didn’t have to finish the rest. Both knew that Merry Gouldbusk physically took after the father and he after the mother. But inside, roles were reversed. For the boy (Ingo) was in danger of becoming as cold as the father given time. For the girl: only melancholy futures.
Merry Gouldbusk stared at the sphere encapsulated face of her brother. “Do you ever remove that thing?”
“Not even to eat,” he replied quickly. “I… get insights. I want to share some of them with you. About the dividing.”
“All ears,” she said, folding her ears toward him with her golden fingers. It was an old game they played. Ingo still smiled at this, which was comforting.