Tag Archives: CaryC2077^*+++++$

May 11, 2025 · 1:37 pm

00460602

She was already on her 3rd coffee and 4th Blue Moon single of the day. From her solo period of course. She doesn’t like the Cracks, her old group, nearly as much, prefix them with US, UK or any other country — doesn’t matter. But her solo period, especially after the suicide/murder attempt (another reader’s choice): primo. Pure punk while also somehow remaining pure pop, unholy yet uncannily successful marriage of the two. She takes another sip while she listens to another tasty lick from the guitar of none other than Cary E., soon to be known as Car E. and then just CARE w/ all caps, logical terminus reached on the name transmutation process. Formerly of Sunamai of course, helping out Blue Moon on this particular track called “No More Big Leagues,” a minor hit that kicks off her first solo album “Louisville Cardinals” — playing on the fact that the state of Kentucky contains no actual big league baseball team unlike neighboring Ohio with its Cincinnati Reds and Cleveland Indians and likewise neighbor Missouri with its own double team pairing of St. Louis Cardinals and Kansas City Royals. But believe me, don’t let the name fool you, she imagines saying to her brother Ted, more fond of the Cracks (a Crackhead of course): the album is definitely big leagues, and she then imagines herself laughing at his irritation to this statement of fact. “Johnny Rose Bench” is also a pretty well known love ballad from side two. And of course there’s “Elvis Esley.” Or Isley — no one really knows which except Blue Moon herself and she’s not saying.

The old timey dial telephone rings beside her. Probably station manager Marty, she reasons, calling to complain that I’m playing too much Kentucky and to cool it with the Blue Moon. She decides then and there to play the entirety of the the “Louisville Cardinals” album, just not lift the needle off the spinning vinyl record after the first track is done. And maybe play all the rest of her solo work — in order — after that. Take the phone off the hook and just *do* it. She calculates how quickly Marty could get here from Chilbo for the canning.

Can of Worms, yes, she thinks while track 1 ends and track 2 (“St. Louie Blues”) begins. Just like in New York.

(to be continued)

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March 14, 2025 · 3:16 pm

00460112

“Oh, and I also saw Hashima Island.”

“Where? Where??”

“No, silly. Not out *there*. In Japan. What’s out *there*?”

“Nothing I suppose,” Girtle replied to Wamshed, just back from an expensive, extensive trip to the Orient, with 3 continents taken in. But Hashima stood out for her. Ghost island. Bestie Girtle kept staring and staring above the pier just beyond the Night City Marina where they were eating breakfast and catching up with each other, thinking something would appear in the sun glared sky. Why would she think that? she wonders, and then returns her attention to her food and drink and conversation, thinking nothing more of the matter that day in April’s May.

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March 11, 2025 · 2:11 pm

00460110

—–

“There there, what’s the problem? Why are you crying?”

“I-I’ve lost my car key! (sob!) I don’t know how I’ll ever get back to my apartment without walking through a dangerous stretch (sniff) of town. My AAA membership has just run out,” she explained further. “Aa-and the taxi strike.”

“Calm down,” I say. “Tell me what happened.”

She pointed over the rail. “Down there. In the water (sob sob!). I was just reaching into my pocket for my phone… I shouldn’t have had my key out. I don’t know what I was doing! (sniff sniff sniff)”

“Okay, just relax. I’ll go get it.”

—–

—–

“Oh thank you SOO much! You’re a life saver… literally. I could have been murdered going home through those streets. And worse!

“Here. Let me give you something.”

“Just the bright smile on your face is reward enough, thanks,” I say to this.

“I insist. 500 eddies okay?”

—–

You’re a middle person, I think while walking up and checking the time on a fresh video (BD). Like the Gimp before. Like the Wellsprings monks more recently. “Hi,” I say to her. “Remember me?”

She turned to face me squarely. “Get away from me you creep,” she exuded with some venom, then returned to her phone. NPC, I think. Memories don’t continue from video to video, perhaps from within the same video.

“Down at the end of the pier. Remember?” I tried again, making her start tapping rapidly on her phone.

“Calling the police. NOW.”

“Okay, okay.” And I walked away. Back toward the pier, peering over it to see if I can catch another glimpse of that rock island. Something very important about it. Ghost.

(to be continued)

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December 23, 2024 · 3:55 pm

00450312

“She wanted to *kill* you Madison Perez. She wanted to cut your *head* off, throw the body away in some trash pit in J-Town, and then parade it around town on a pole for all to see. The poll was rigged!”

I couldn’t argue with her since I didn’t know what she was talking about. See, my head had already basically been cut off. From the inside.

—–

We owned a big plot of land out in Texas badlands where most of my people were conceived. Hard to miss with its Big Red P on a sign above the gate. We’d find it. Even without my head.

I needed to confer with my people before the pole comes out.

(to be continued)

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December 23, 2024 · 7:38 am

00450311

“Big going’s on down at the Eden Plaza tonight from the sound of it, Madison. Another media frenzy I suppose.”

“Checking,” he says from within their luxurious penthouse apartment overlooking Nightsity’s upscale Charter Hills district, doors opened to the balcony because of the warm night. He scans the hit list on his big boy computer in front of him, picks one from a source he knows and trusts. “Looks like another country to city success story according to this article from the ‘Daily Bungle.’ Couple named, let’s see: Eddie and Eva. Straight from Farmville. Film debut tonight. Something called ‘My Green Square Mile.'”

“Sounds abhorrent,” she weighs in without knowing anything else about the project. More vocal cheering now in the distance. Another celebrity must have arrived at the debut party, she thinks. Maybe that wretched *Cary* who seems to show up whenever these things occur. Cary, she ponders. I wonder who he’s dating these days. Tin? Nah, couldn’t be Tin again. Not after what happened the last time.

“Honey,” says Madison from within, still checking out that article. “You might want to take a look at this.”

She moves away from the sound and through the open door to come alongside her husband, who’s turning the monitor her way. A picture of the front of the plaza with new, golden animal sculptures is enlarged before her, heads cut off but it’s clear what they are anyway from the rest.

“Flamingos??”

(to be continued)

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December 22, 2024 · 5:46 am

00450308

I walked into the bar and a guy was headless right in front of me. With a big head on the screen beside him. Kind of freaked me out until I realized he was just slumped over on the counter, probably drunk out of his gourd, ha ha. Like I wanted to be. Where’s Cary, where’s Cary?

Ahh, there the ol’ son of a bitch is, waving me over. Don’t call him Cary don’t call him Cary, I recited as a mantra. He’s incognito tonight with the toned down clothes and fake beard and all. Wanted me to help him find Eden, he said. I’m buying, in that I’m in. He’s buying the drinks of course, being the semi-mega superstar rock singer he is now. As of the last album, he’s sold enough records to surpass Elvis Presley as the 67th best seller of all time. Of course he’ll never catch the likes of the Way Outs or Sunamai, which just happens to be his old band. But he’s doing pretty well for himself still. Dropped down from the hills tonight, as in North Oak where he has a kind of mansion or something. Never been up there personally. Never had a reason to mingle with the pseudo-super rich up there. No crime up there either, given all the military-style robots roaming all over the place. Nobody dares.

“V(al)!” he introduces himself over the music, a Way Out single from the 60s I believe, as in 2060s. He’s probably jealous they’re playing. He’s that kind. “Have a drink have a drink,” he said as I move in on him. “Already ordered one for you. A mulberry they call it. Don’t know why. Purple, I know, but really good. Something in the purple. Just drink up drink up.” Cary’d already knocked down a few it appeared, already getting sort of unusually fluid in his motion.

“Nice to see you again,” I said back, grasping the proffered beverage, indeed quite purple. Almost beyond belief, actually. “What was it? The UK Cracks?”

“Yeah, wanted to kill those chromatic bitches at the time. Now they’re okay they’re good. Made a single together I guess you’ve heard.”

“I heard, uh, one of them got killed, maybe two of them.”

“Nah, they’re okay they’re good. Just saw them day before yesterday’s yesterday over at Lester Bay. You know, down by the river. Near the ocean. You know — everybody knows. Lester’s Bay, right.” He drinks, takes a drag off his cigar. “Right,” he repeats, blowing out smoke away from me but on to a nearby guy at the counter, who moves away a bit from us. “Cigar?” he then says, holding his own up to me. I wave him off. Wanted to focus on drinking tonight. And work. “Suit yourself,” he says.

“Must’ve heard wrong, then,” I back down, trying to remember where I’d learned the news about the killing. Or killings. But now I can’t recall. Must have just made it up, pheh. Getting older, brain matter getting worn out I suppose. About time to retire from the merc business. I tell Cary some of this, who laughs.

“Listen, you do this last job for me you can buy that house next to mine that’s up for sale and we can be *neighbors*, ha ha.”

“So… what this time?” I was eager to get at it. The suspense was killing me. “Soo, obviously not the UK Cracks,” I said to fill in the gap while he kept drinking and smoking away, staring at me but not providing any answers.

“No, no UK Cracks,” he finally offers. “But a musician still.” He drinks, he smokes.

“Welll?”

“How much (drink)… do you know (smoke)… about Tin Lizzy?”

Turns out she was in the middle, which unfortunately, as the old saying indicates, is mostly just in the way. Cary proffered a way out.

(to be continued)

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November 26, 2024 · 9:58 am

00450104 (Lincoln)

“Ahh, there’s me in the middle again. Surrounded by my 2 favorite men, Cary to the left and Madison to the right. If only it were still that way and I could choose and select who I wanted to be with in any one alternate reality, *sigh*.”

“I’m worried about you, Tin. I really am.”

“Why? Because I know who I am and what I want?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, thinking of my own insecurities. Sure I was a writer. But of what kind? What genre? The list goes on.

“Then you need to go away and think about what I’m telling you. Goodbye. Shoo now.”

—–

I first heard of Lizzy over in Rocky Boy toward the edge of the desert. Not *at* the edge. But getting there. Someone named Fern met me at Ten at Sunset during the afternoon soon to turn to night. Told me not to head back into Nightsity on my motorcycle. Told me to go east instead of west. Rocky Boy. Here I am.

I parked my motorcycle on the edge of the small, trailer dominated town, speaking of edges, intending to walk around and see what’s there. The pavement on the main road through it was heavily cracked and overgrown with weeds. Toward the middle of the place there was a garage business with an unlit E in the neon OPEN sign next to its office door, the only building I could find with a walkable interior. Seeing no indications of hostile forces, I go inside to check it out.

Devoid of people, but its lone TV was playing. Someone, some kind of influencer let’s call it, was talking about Lizzy and how’d she’d thrown her hat into the brain daze producing ring, starting with a murder most foul. Of her own doing. Listening to it, I somehow knew this Lizzy person, who, after all, I didn’t know about 5 minutes before, would never do this and that the BD was a fake, if it even depicted a murder. I don’t know how I knew, but it turned out to be correct. There was no body. There was nobody.

(to be continued?)

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September 21, 2024 · 6:57 am

00440214 (Kabusie secrets)

Mr. Middle.

And then, just beyond…

“Cary?”

No, that must not have been Cary, I think, now looking at his sparkly back as I circled around. He didn’t answer me. *Surely* he would remember who I was. Didn’t even look up to meet my eyes. But… maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe he didn’t hear me. “*Cary*,” I tried more levelly and with more volume. He turned.

“See here’s where it gets *really* interesting, Lichen,” said observing Fern at their new home near the pit. “Because it’s about to happen again.”

“Mm, mhm, mhmmm,” says Lichen, since her mouth is full of popcorn but she’s still so eager to speak.

“What’s that, dearest?”

*Swallow*. “Ier ssaied, whferef’s Mfr. Middlfe?” Swallow again.

“He’s not in this one. Just watch.”

I was walking up to him again. How was this *possible*?

“Madison?”

(to be continued)

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