“Who are you?”
Tag Archives: Chuck Cheese/Biker Chick/Penn Mann^^===^*
After visiting Blue-Yellow and attempting to watch his sun rise, I hop on a passing trolley and head downtown…
… soon reaching THE Cave. Or at least A Cave.
It strikes me that it would be wrong to keep calling this character Axis-Windmill in a town created by an actual German. So we’re going to go with a new one. Not reverting to Windmill Man — too easy. Bronze John looks on, trying to gauge, trying to help. He was so successful with the Beatles with an A naming.
The Beatles are such archetypes, penetrating many synchronicity systems.
All bands can be related to them. For example, Pink Floyd are the psychedelic Beatles, Firesign Theatre are the comic Beatles, and The Residents are the bizarro Beatles. Frank Zappa with his Mothers strongly reacted to them; the Rolling Stones…
I was told by fortuneteller Esmerelda a while back that the answers lie in a cave. In the related collage, cacophony musician Charles Ives pokes his head out sideways, wondering if he’ll have anything left to say. He’s sorry about Cowell, he speaks through the entrance, the mouth. He’s sorry about Connecticut and Danbury and the clashing of bands. Connecticut forgives, but he’ll have to make them laugh, make them suckers instead of seekers, and get small in the exchange. Thimble Islands’ General Tom Thumb might know, if he’s paying attention. Misery becomes Mystery (up to date).
I wonder about New York’s Central Park in the Dark, and the Unanswered Question. I think back to the Amazon jungle and the Indian who becomes a Spaceman, search fulfilled; “aliens” found — this would represent the end of the 4th. Concord (Sonata)… maybe that’s next. Oh, and Karl finding the waterfall (Rainbow) and reading the scrapbook and discovering a new ending, leading him to set aside the old life and the attached house and move on. I thought about Charles Ives today in perusing my table of tiles, wondering if I’ll get the chance to tell anyone about it besides the wife and a best friend. It’s pretty remarkable.
Here is where I’ll be reborn, or at least acquire a new name.
“Who are you?”
“Helmet Newton?” he or she answers as a question.
I often dreamed of the explosion that killed Heidi Biker Chick, our former director, soon to be replaced by new director Percy Pierce. It was always the same: I was inside the bar, trying to identity her in the flames and smoke, being burned alive myself. I perish looking for her; perhaps a ceiling beam falls on me, cutting short my horror. But where am I when I wake up? Where am I *now*? (gasp) I sit up: the beam didn’t need to be pushed off me, although I lie in the same position that I died — on the floor. How did I get from my bed to the floor? Everything seemed strange.
In the dreamscape I just left, the fire kept spreading. Now: the fire station itself just next door. Ruby! They’re after Ruby. Better send in the army but, trouble is, the army started it in the first place. Me again, then, I suppose.
I get up. I finish planting the bomb underneath the table where Heidi Biker Chick would meet Hank Graphite later. I know the meeting would start at 7 o’clock sharp. Heidi: always prompt, always professional in her approach to time. 5:05 now. I set the timer for 2 hours. I walk outside, down Violin Lane, back to the depot and the train that brought me here to this brave new world. I am re-swallowed by the tunnel. I wake up for real.
I look over for Alysha but it is 1 year and 2 months too soon. Better get back to work.
Guyd on one side, Rebl on the other, the director of the current film (“Sunklands 2021 Even Later”) talks with newly synthesized Axis Windmill Man about further developments in the plot. Don’t want another giant diamond ring in an open casket situation to end!
“Scratchy is the destination,” began Axis-Windmill in earnest after the niceties were over. Down to business now. Cass City business. “The show within the show that is Our Second Lyfe.”
Director Percy Pierce tried to put new lover Marion Star Harding out of her mind. She’d been thinking about him ever since they parted ways several days back — left him back at Starfish Lake or Sea or whatever the f- they’re calling the body of water these days — the new trend. She knew he, in turn, still thought about Heidi. Actually: another show within a show, since it is a mere window in his mind now. Job at hand…
“Snowball in Hell is… reality?”
“There are 2 sides to this,” explains Axis-Windmill, looking at green and yellow eyed Guyd to the left, then red-blue eyed Rebl to the right. He moves his right hand toward his left hand to meet in the middle and form praying hands.
“Are you saying we should *pray* for the correct plot direction?”
“Ob-JEC-tion,” overruled Guyd from the left. “This show should be non-denominational.”
“Secular even, yes,” interjected nodding Rebl from the right.
Director Percy Pierce peered at them as well. “The feline-people will have their way. They created all this after all, like toys for their boys.”
“Did they?” Axis-Windmill obviously had his doubts.
“Yes,” doubled down Percy Pierce.
“That’s not what the manual states.”
“The manual remains a draft in places. I’m sorry — I meant to update before you were synthesized and acquired lines.”
“The manual states–”
“I *know* what the manual states.” They sat silent for a spell, all 4 of them. Percy’s thoughts involuntarily drifted back to Marion… and, within the window (she almost thought “windmill”), the director that preceded her.
(to be continued (?))
He had a new girl now. And, not coincidentally, a new director. Percy was her name, although some people call her Pauline. Some people don’t call her anything, afraid to say the wrong thing and suffer the consequences. Other people know her as Dean, which is apparently a woman’s name as well — didn’t know that. Some say she looks exactly like Jill Valentine from the Evil Residents game, and she does. But they aren’t the same.
Some say she has umbrella eyes, but that was instead Shelley Struthers, also dead, also an evil resident, or at least others say. All Marion Star Harding knows is that he is in love again, a new Valentine in his life, although he still dreams — day and night — about his old “cowgirl” Heidi. He can’t decide between a woman who’s dead who he can keep alive in his mind, and this woman here lying on the beach before him who’s perhaps dead but still living. A conundrum.
“Marion,” she calls over, getting up from the towel. She dare not take her bodysuit off else the flesh could crumble. It’s all that’s holding her together now. “I’ve got to direct another shoot over in Cass City. I’ve got to get going. Be a dear and start packing my bags.”
More time with Heidi coming up soon, then. Is he happy about it? He’s not sure.
(to be continued)
A girl within. Looks like Jill Valentine but it’s not. And I’ve run into another girl named Valentine recently. Can’t remember where…
Oh, of course: *Faye* Valentine. With the gun. On the *other* Diagonal we’re currently examining.
Cowboy Bebop. Mimosa Lanes. Ur-parents. Still guiding (“We: here”). Hoooome cooking, Andy Griffith NC style.
Marion “Star” Harding, cowboy for life, ponders the death of his lover, his *director*, in that awful explosion over in Paper-Soap. Oh Heidi — or whatever your actual name was — I will miss you deeply. I will miss the *money* coming in, because I was one of your favorites. You cast me in every film you directed, and even though I didn’t get every part (too obvious!), I got a good heap of ’em. We were together tonight, albeit briefly.
All we have are memories.
Hatti the witch disappeared from the cell block. Across the aisle, fellow prisoner Patrick McDonnelhany’s head turned into a pen. Or pencil — hard to tell from this distance, Stu Umbriel thought. He turned around as well, tried to look beyond the frame by facing it squarely. No luck. He remained panicked and in character. Fern Stalin spoke.
“We are at 42, Stu. The Answer. Are you ready?”
Was he? He looked to the right. He looked to the left. No escape. He was as ready as he’d ever be. Which was never.
“The director is dead,” she deadpanned to Chef-inspector Petty upstairs. “Killed in the Biker Bar and Grilling explosion day before Sunday of week before last month’s Tuesday. Do you recall?”
Or course he recalled, he thinks. He was first on the scene, picking at the bones and flesh of the unfortunate victims. Like Hank Graphite and his gorilla bodyguard; like Ted 02 the half android cyclops; like family challenged Sugar McDermit and bar owner Biker Mann. And then: Biker Chick, also known as Chuck Cheese also known as Heidi, formerly Penn Mann. The director of this here photo-novel, 28 in a series of infinity apparently (ha). We’ve been without direction, then, since, let’s see, post 00280110. Quite near the beginning, then. Fern says all of this to Chef-inspector Petty, omniscient narrator in the moment. Could have been before she went downstairs to the cell block, could’ve been afterwards. Doesn’t matter in the moment.
(to be continued?)
“You’re not going to Mary… me?”
Hector Horace Howard said in response. “You are for another, alas.” He added the last word in as improvisation. He looked toward the director for approval, with none coming. He was looking for himself.
In other local news, Hatti, the witch who told everyone at her doorstep to go away, has gone away herself, house (and also apparently hat) deleted. I think we have yet another piece of the overall picture puzzle.
“Bear with us,” the small lion cub requested to the reader while the tiger ran offscreen to take a piss.
“Oh *my*,” the tiny cat exclaimed upon seeing the white menagerie.
She was at the heart of the heart shaped island, pale as snow. Mary was the owner. This was the foothold Jacob I. needed to get to the peninsula and away from Leila, then still called Eyela. Broken Heart knew they had to split up and it broke her heart to think about it. But fate must unfold properly, broken or not. “Be a lamb, dear, and make my drink for me,” Mary requested to Broken Heart after the introductory formalities. “Right over there (she pointed to the bar behind Broken Heart from this angle); Bloody Mary if you will.” Broken Heart didn’t know what she was doing in mixing the drink but she tried her best. Mary knew it would turn out perfect, whatever. After all, this was all imaginary and she had control of everything. At least at this spot. “Faaannntastic,” she said a little later while sipping, head already beginning to turn a bit red. She began to feel (like) herself again, aah. The cold was receding.
But she remained a broken figure, as broken as Heart herself. They could commiserate with each other now.
“I love him.”
“No *I* do.”
For our next filming location, we were in Trevally, holed up in a small but rather famous, local motel called Moglins Mote, with the missing “l” at the end being intentional, we were told, although no one seems to know the reason why. Heidi and I sat up most of the night watching art films on the tv, simply because the bed didn’t have any animations. Unexpected, obviously: we eventually fell asleep in each others arms on the couch. My back hurt in the morning. My neck as well. Heidi complained of knee problems. Yet we had to be out there at 9am, shooting with the rest of the cast and crew, Heidi’s orders. They all had the same problems with the beds. Understandably we decided to shorten our stay here, and perhaps cut back on the whole Lance A. Lott – Smokey brother re-bonding story due to be resolved in this sim. I saw Heidi with her pencil crossing out line after line on the script this morning, reaching down to rub her knees at various intervals. Actors Morris and Van Jimson, also brothers in real life, will likely be notified of the reduced lines and accompanying pay later today or tomorrow. Heidi is both fast and thorough, which makes her a top notch director in the business, right up there with fellow surrealist Eraserhead Man and the rest. But Heidi loathes comparisons with the Great Pencil, being his doppleganger and all beneath the surface, an unknown, intimate connection to most, although they play around with the truth by sharing motifs between their movies, even openly dealing with the doubling aspect at times. He was born a pencil and she a pen, but she decided to adopt a fully human body to more effectively play the lead heroine in her own films, and perhaps in other films in time. But right now she had her hands full with her own, and the flow of ideas didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.
It was odd to date Heidi both in real life and in “Sunklands 2021 Middle Too”, with the director part adding even more queer reverberations to the mix. When we make love sometimes, I think it is Heidi the character beneath me — or beside me or on top of me or whatever. Not Heidi the director/actor. It’s almost as if — only sometimes mind you — the characters we play are more real than ourselves, and that Heidi likes it that way. We are subsets of them and not visa versa.
“One more night in this place,” she says to me from the side, razorblade garb still in place. It’s starting to get a little freaky.
“I think I’ll just sleep right here in the pool,” I responded, and leaned back into the water, staring at the stars while floating until all turned to black.