Tag Archives: CENTER POINT

jot em down (Pine Apple)

Could it be true? The tent would have been potentially facing that direction: toward the thick Pine Forest. But Mystery Cave to the north and Fern Wall to the south could also be involved. Maybe even *triangulate* between all 3.

Spongebub might know, if his last name is actually Triangleslacks and not the more obvious. We’ve already met his wife, his son in this here story through the similarly dreaming Leforest Bresford over at Ontario village. What happened to her?

—–

“There are rumors about a big floating can seen in the park or thereabouts, Ms. Bresford, sometimes with a woman’s legs and head attached to it. Some reports put it with 2 other figures, both cowboys, sticking out the can’s top alongside the woman’s. Others have two children, still others have red and blue dummies or mannequins. Others… well, you get the picture.”

“Yes. We: Can!” the blue one to her left wanted to reveal freely to the Big Wig before her. “You *can’t* do it,” countered the red figure on her right, knowing it was the wrong thing to admit. The only thing she could decide in the moment was that she had to choose. The world opened up in front of her. A bullet that had formerly been frozen in reality caught her square in the heart, the center. Bart had the last evil laugh or at least aberrant chuckle.

Another agent would have to be sent in. Or not… maybe just forget about the whole Ontario village sub-plot — for now.

Next!

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Making his viewer a square, he shields his eyes from the Abyss to the west. And the east. Only center is safe. Center Point center.

(to be continued)

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bon appétit

“Thanks for coming over from Wendy to meet with me, Wheeler. I know you’re mighty busy over there.”

“I am (!).”

“Anyway, I see you brought your bodyguards.”

Wheeler looks at one Eighty-eight at the table in front of her, and then glances over her shoulder at the second one sitting at the table behind. “They’re still needed,” she summarizes. “176,” she totals up.

“Fascinating,” says Baker Bloch, still in sarcasm mode. They have important business to discuss tonight and better get down to it. Baker has been waiting for over 30 minutes now while Wheeler lounges about the castle library. I thought we were done with all that. He condenses these observations and says them aloud for her.

“Yeah, not quite (about the library). We have more issues to work through.” She looks around again, quicker this time. “But good we are in Ontario. I sent Dickie Doom over. He is my (original) burger.”

“You… as Wendy.”

“Yeah.”

Baker looks down at his hands through the grated table. “Center Point,” he blurts out.

“Yeah?” Wheeler waits for more, hands still in lap. Her food and drink are getting cold.

“It doesn’t come up in the Oracle. The one in Kentucky, probably the most important one. It brings to question…”

“… the Oracle itself, its veracity,” she finishes for Baker Bloch. Because they are one beneath it all as well. Just like Baker Blinker and Baker Bloch. Just like *all* the cores. There is no real separation from The One. In the end.

He produces the tic tac toe board from his inventory; is kind of irritated that Wheeler doesn’t move her dinner tray so it can be positioned more in the center of the table itself.

“So this is the game, Wheeler. Who moves first, what moves second? We don’t know. But *whoever* it is, they win.”

Wheeler takes a sip of her coffee, takes a bite of her plumeria sandwich, getting under Baker’s skin again. He doesn’t like people eating when he’s explaining something and Wheeler knows it. “This is,” she says with mouth full and muffled speech, “Collagesity.”

(to be continued)

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Center Point

Debbie Doom left in a huff, tea cup and saucer broken beneath her on the reckoning couch. The powers that be had deemed her replaceable. She made error 01 in the playbook of love. Falling for a relative. Taboo. Pot-D or Pan-Z couldn’t put up with the bad press. Leforest Bresford was send in. She’ll make shit happen, Erik Jones Johnson said in the office of the Big Wig, delivering the pitch for his ex-wife. “Do you love her still?” he asked back. He knew this could be a deal breaker. “No,” Erik lied, which is exactly what the higher powers wanted him to do. Lie between and out his teeth. “Okay,” the bigger said to the smaller. “*One* shot,” he warned, and then handed him her gun.

Her mission: to find Black Bart and put a bullet through his lead head before he becomes fully shadow and *all* are doomed. The renegade manifesto must not be written.

From the couch in the secret meeting place, she aims for first one then the other in the short distance, watching them sweat and swear. “Choose him!” the red cried. “No, her!” the blue screamed back, eager to save his own skin even though it was the same “skin”.

The shot whizzed between them, somehow missing both. She had been trained well, and now had not one but two allies by her side, both male and female powers. She incorporated them into her being, even though no one could see the can except herself, when she wanted to. Like now.

The mist cleared as she exited the ruins, confusion over.

(to be continued)

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After a night of, ahem, renewing their wedding vows, Wendy and Jeffrie parted ways, he back to Collagesity down in the southern part of the continent and she over to dutifully waiting Kolya just out at the bay of this same fledgling town. Apt. 2 had been put to good use after all but just for 1 day. Wendy stops at this brightly lit citrus fruit shop below where they stayed, studying what appears to be an All Orange, naval down. Lemons and limes on the side, yes, but this was the centerpiece, the center*point*.

But it can’t quite obscure the green plate hung on the wall behind it, acting like a lingering corona for a solar eclipse coming from the cool side this time. Only we the readers have the perspective to ponder what it means, as Wendy isn’t viewing remotely right now, distracted by the trees in the forest. She turns.

And an Oz colored plate! she thinks. I want it! I’ll make Jeffrie come back tonight or the night after that or sometime soon at least and I’ll get him down here to purchase it for me. Real metal! And I want those lemon and lime citrus drinks that go along with it too.

A small earthquake hit the town and the plate started ringing in a perfect D Flat. Steady Kolya walked in from the bay. “I’ll get it.”

(to be continued)

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watch out! (he or she’s okay)

23 22 (male; 2009)

22 23 (female; 2012)

Maybe this blog will turn into Google Earth oddities and veer away from Second Life© stuff. Finding *so much* in Picturetown (alone!). If only Hucka D. could weigh in.


102 utility box, 2009 (absent)


102 utility box, 2012 (present)

EXACTLY 200 meters between the two, which JUST became a blog tag last night. And in the center? YORK, which eventually turns into MARY. Mary York = Charlene the Punk (= Wheeler = Her Majesty the Bigfoot/Yeti), who just talked to Giant Tiger in Rubi.

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fire in the road fire in the road!

“Why are you telling *me* all this, Baker Bloch, he he?”

“Well, because…”

“I’m a Bee? I’m no longer a Bee in any way, shape, form. I don’t even have the antennae any more. Here,” and Hucka Doobie tilts the top of her head toward Baker and pats it. “Nothing.”

“You’re from Mammoth Cave, right?”

“No. Never said that.”

“I think you did.”

Hucka Doobie shakes her antennae-less head and crosses her arms over her red plaid vest.

“Where, then?”

She uncrosses her arms. She crosses her arms. She stares.

“Aahhh. So it was *you* that tied the bow on that building… shed. Whatever.”

“Maybe.” It was a more definitive answer than Mammoth Cave. I decided to press.

“How old are you, Hucka Doobie? 108?”

Shaking again this time. I figured former host Charles Nelson Blinkerton would have been about that age. Had he lived. Boy, hadn’t thought about *him* in a long time. And Hucka Doobie use to *be* him. A him. Took a while, I suppose, for all the hormones to work their way out, alongside (and parallel with) the bee stuff it seems. I decided to press even further. I asked about a man-bee fusion.

But Hucka Doobie was gone. She didn’t fly away, but just took flight. She’d made her point I suppose. Center Point.

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Boos Interpretation 05

(continued from)

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To continue with the “Head Brains” analysis… instead of resting his hand on the back of the brown cow, Davy Jones clutches the edges of a superimposed spool table. Zappa perches at the top, a dark twelve o’clock figure. A large finger emerges from its center pointing directly to Frank, which I happen to know is a middle finger. The figurative bird that Zappa may be giving Davy at this point in the movie (“…your song’s pretty white,” etc.) seems to manifest for real in the collage. But, if so, the finger is actually pointing at us, the viewers. Hmmm. Jones stares right at it, perhaps aware of the context.

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However, in looking at it closer, the finger is not pointing directly to 12 if the round spool table translates into a clock (and the finger the hour hand of a clock). The pointing is slightly askew to the right. I think this might represent the clock time 12:01, which can be rewritten as 11 hours and 61 seconds, or 11:66. Let’s keep that in mind to see if more evidence appears later on in the collage series.

Finally we have the transparent giant head of Subgenius prophet Bob Dobbs in the background, his visible eye perhaps fixated on the finger. Zappa was known to be something of an admirer of the Subgenius religion. And that’s another reference to “Head”.

In “Head Brains” we have another clear reference to the Bigfoot art event. One of the fixtures of that event, just recently completed of course, is a spool table, found at the Plateau of Raw Art and then rolled down the hill through the 4 roads territory to be placed beside Bigfeet Swamp and act as a centerpiece. I’ve already speculated an association with the name Brian Head, perhaps itself derived from “Brain Head” and thus directly related to the title of the present collage. I was aware in making this association that the “Head” of “Head Trip” is symbolically white or yang, which makes the complementary, circular iron smelting plant beside it in the Bigfoot event black or yin in energy, linking to the “Trip” part of the audiovisual synchronicity’s name. Let’s leave it at that for now.

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In collage 08, called “When Wheels Went Round”, the spool table returns as a dominating image, or at least the top of one. Now it becomes directly linked to the central Nautilus City location called The Citadel, created on a circular plateau raised about 40 meters above the rest of the otherwise quite flat island-city (save one higher hill to the west). The wall encircling the plateau remains in the collage. However, the top portion with the roads and such has been removed, replaced by the top of a spool table image I found online. The golf iron extending toward this modified Citadel from the foreground is culled from a Bigfoot photo — it’s the original “iron” of the city, found by me prior to the event. That’s my hand holding it, then. In “When Wheels Went Round”, the *head* of the golf iron rests against the bottom of The Citadel wall.

The collage is actually a 2 part animation, where the whole Citadel appears to rotate round and round, or at least that’s the effect I was going for. This reinforces the association with a clock, once more. The Oz wheeler first seen in “Simpsons Road Bloch” a couple of collages back reappears on the edge of the spool table, remaining steady as the table revolves below him — a fixed point. He seems to stare into the central hole of the table, which duplicates an actual hole in the middle of The Citadel. I suppose showing the base snapshot I used for the collage is appropriate here to understand this…

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That’s my Fal Mouth Moon gallery at the bottom of the photo, which remains in the collage. The iron and my hand holding it have the same kind of sepia tint to them as the gallery, a color scheme that will resurface later in “Comparative Heights” (collage 24 of the series). Like everything else in the collage *save* the spool table and accompaning wall, the iron remains the same in both parts of the animation. Only the transformed Citadel changes, with its perpetual whirling.

So what is the meaning of all this? The Wheeler is obviously associable with a wheel, per the collage’s title. Wheels go ’round and ’round. I return to the idea of a clock, with the iron perhaps acting as another type of clock hand, or an indicator of a specific time. Will the giant finger reappear from the central hole when the clock strikes twelve (whatever that means)? The ribbed wall brings to mind clock gears.

Let’s push on…

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