It all seemed to make sense to her now (as the Controller). Easy as 1-2-3.
She reaches for the phone to ring up Kolya. She’s ready.
“Yelloo?”
“Hi. It’s me.”
—–
“Hmph. Never showed up.”
Tag Archives: Controller^*+++
Zo still
Alysha took the hint. She reckons *she* is the angel. And also the angle; 1/2 and 1/2. Right?
She must think about Austra again, and its division into Upper and Lower and where that’s heading. Not up here that’s for sure. Too north. Rooster’s Peninsula is different from Austra. But how? Shelley’s castle will provide us clues. It’s all set up over in Lebettu, which we’ll get back to shortly.
Shelley’s castle; Roost Peak in background
This must be the Heart Queen’s bar where Broken Heart Jackie made her that Bloody Mary which turned her back into red, thump thump thump. She sat down — no bartender in sight still, just a chinchilla drinking something out of a half coconut, perhaps a piña colada she rationalized. It made her think of Kolya and him drinking the same in, where was it, the Aviary she believes. Or maybe his glory holes, pheh… maybe it wasn’t Kolya at all, maybe it was one of her other men, the ones without the visible head gaps. Hole exploration: it was a whole ‘nother story. The Controller’s papers piled up and up, reaching all the way now to Rooster’s Peninsula.
And here she was, going too far again. “Last sip!” squealed the chinchilla, and noisily finished the drink, suck suck suck. There would be no more offered today.
Nothing left to do but to take a nap.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0214, Nautilus, NORTH, Rooster's Peninsula
personal assistant
He next decides to catch up with Hidi; show off his discoveries on the new continents of Bellisseria to her as well. He watches the glossy, shiny wave of Treeowatoor roll in while she speaks.
“How’s Alysha, Kolya? Have you caught up with her too?” Hidi knew he did. The two girls, *ladies*, keep in touch with each other as well. Both waiting. And waiting.
“Yes. I showed her some holes.”
“Ohh?”
“Yes. Glory Holes.”
“Realllly.”
“Yes, they’re down at the stilts continent, another new landmass made by the Lindens our overlords.”
“Not *my* overlords. But *do* go on.”
“3 bodies.”
“Yess?”
“Of water.”
“Oh.” Pause as the wave crashes both figuratively and literally. “I guess you know, then, she’s on a spaceship. She’s a controller. She’s *the* controller.”
“Spaceship?”
“Yes, Kolya. What did you guys talk about on your visit? Just holes? Watery ones?”
“Basically,” he said, seeing nothing wrong in what he did. But: spaceship. That kind of intrigued him. He wished he’d asked about it now.
“She *may* have a boyfriend. Does *that* interest you Kolya?”
He looked over at her, wry smile on her cartoon-ish lips. But he knew she wasn’t a cartoon and this was Wendy before him, wife of Jeffrey Phillips, one he couldn’t have and couldn’t hold. Except in dreams. The dreams still came.
—–
“More paperwork for you ma’am. This comes from, let’s see, Merk over in Records. Quite a bit here, in fact.”
“Just put it with the rest,” commands Alysha, tired of working for the day. She starts to dream. She starts to envision herself in the square again. In space.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0106, Bellisaria, Continent 03, Maebaleia/Satori
Barry 02 02
He awoke again a little later on in the day, not having moved from his spot in front of the Raccoon typewriter. Nappy the cat stared directly into the camera, aware of its presence. Eraserhead Man even dared to wave at it, thinking the noticing was funny. Barry DeBoy was not aware of it. Barry DeBoy was in character. He had awoken again, in the same spot as before. Someone, perhaps himself, had turned off the lamp. More clarity all around this time. Wadded up papers on the floor — was this something *he* wrote, perhaps a future or past version again? He picked one up, unwadded it. Something about a place named Gaston. Later he found parrot droppings on the floor of the shed and put two and two together to make four or five. A pirate with a parrot had been here, and he thought he knew which one. The dream controller. The one who brought the virus in his pirate ship for communities that didn’t heed the warnings. Like Maw’s Storybrook. Like this place. DeBoy tries to remember the name, the most obvious thing he should recall. But all he could come up with was The Waste, which he knew wasn’t quite right. Something about a number. Or numbers.
He unwadded more; tried to piece together the story being written. Gaston had appeared in something called a photo-novel in versions 6, 11, 16, 21. Through this, the bastard pirate had concluded that it was related to something called a Magic Square of Jupiter, a 4×4 glyph that appeared, perhaps most famously, in Albrect Durer’s print “Melancholia” from back in the 15th Century or something — this from the pirate text again.
He finished unfolding the papers, shooed the conscious cat from the table, and tried to align them in correct order. 70 pages total, he understood from the numeration. But only 4 present here: bits about the magic square and the overall theories but no meat, no details. He would have to shift his attention elsewhere for more answers.
He turned to the stool and the easel holding a canvas on the other side of the screened in shed. Painting. Barry DeBoy realized he had two functions in life now. He was a writer. He was an artist, if not a painter then the equivalent. But in this moment: painter. He had work to do… he remembered that too. The CITY design. Black Diamond. He must get to work soon.
He wasn’t a writer in this incarnation. He was an artist. He wadded the papers back up and threw them in the trashcan underneath the desk. The true story of Gaston would have to wait until another day, another dreamer in another day perhaps, or one who dreams he is real even though he is just another character, one in a long long line now. Maybe he will share a first name with another of his kind — quite likely, given the sheer number. But before DeBoy gets to work — this is *his* work station now, not the pirate’s, not anyone else named Barry — he must explore the neighborhood. Find Suisan if possible and get the story about his mother. Maybe even — Maw? He had to look. He had to know. Suisan would know. If she was available.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0022, 0604, Gaston+, The Waste+
Ruby Fantasie: savior
“It’s so beautiful Zoidboro. Just like you said. The trees would grow, the water would go. I’m ready to name my baby.”
“Jackson, then?” guessed Zoidboro, steeling himself for disappointment.
“No, a compromise. If our son is very special — say, can do 6 butterflies in a row…”
“What’s a butterfly?” queried his cephalopodic partner while watching yet another shooting star cross the sky.
“That’s right. You never went to dance school like me — sorry. It’s a cartwheel where your hands never touch the ground. Anyway if he can do 6 of those as opposed to, say, 4 or even 5, we will call him Jackson. Otherwise: Daniel. Danny will be a good boy, I’m sure, but not special. Jackson is reserved for Special.”
“Like Jack’s son.”
“Yes. I wish 100 times over that he is special, but we must love him equally either way.”
“Agreed,” Zoidboro quickly returned.
Patrick turned away from the sky and toward his partner, his ally. “And now, it’s time, to go, inside.”
—–
“I have found them! In the heart of the Pineapple Island. My intuitions are correct!”
“And across the street: another tiny car! This must be the controller.”
“I’ll go inside.”
—–
“Ahh. Should have guessed. Tessa.”
“Who are you??”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0608, End of Time+, Google Street View, Hawaii
Mission 02 02
During Pitch’s awkward pause, Wheeler walked across the bridge spanning Central Stream and took the empty seat beside The Librarian. “Hello you total bitch,” he says in a low voice without turning toward her. “Hello you complete bastard,” she answers back, also not looking in his direction. But both share a smile for a few seconds. Fences have been mended.
Mary turns around and whispers to her friend. “Where’ve you been?”
Wheeler holds up “Floydodo” for her to see. “I got involved,” she explains, shaking the book to emphasize what she’d been doing. “Lost track of time, sorry.” She looks toward Pitch. “Is he alright over there? Does he need help?”
“Why don’t you go up and say a few words, Wheeler,” Mary requested. “We’ve both had our turns now. You’re the town general, after all. Whatever you titled yourself.”
“Dictator,” Wheeler proclaims proudly. She stands and walks up to Pitch, then escorts him to the seat she formerly occupied. “Here, hold this for me,” she demands, picking up “Floydodo” and shoving it into his hands. He sits down with it. She returns beside the lamp post before the rocketship where Mary and Pitch had previously spoken.
“Greetings fellow Collagsitians. Wheeler Wilson here, you’re beloved former leader, haha.” Some sour looks appeared amongst the crowd. “Ah, I see we have a couple who disagree. Well, I can’t say I blame you. I was occassionally a bit harsh with some of my orders. But, overall, I think I did a good job.” She pauses. “Let me put this plainly. Your old leader Carrcassonnee will and cannot return. The play or interview form of speaking to each other, between the Bakers, between anyone in this town, has been rendered obsolete. Perch is perched up there in *my* diner.” She points toward the indicated eating establishment to her back and left, behind the rocket launcher from this direction. “So where does that leave us, citizens of Collagesity? We’ve moved forward, yes? We attempted to become assimilated into VHC City. Didn’t work. Baker Bloch here became Pitch became Woody and it all went to hell. Duncan Avocado’s our hope in that direction now. He has emerged from the PCH Forest — has that been mentioned yet?” Baker Bloch nods to her, thinking she means the woods itself and not Duncan’s exit from it. “Okay.” She then points back to the left rear. “What is our focus, then, people? What should be the entire reason for our existence here? Can you guess? What is it?” The crowd looks around at each other, basically wondering what she’s on about. She answers herself. “The *woods*. The *trees*. That’s what this is all about. I personally recommend sealing the whole town up again until Mary returns from a successful Muff-Bermingham trip. I’ve been (myself). I know what she’s up against. There’s power there. Osborne Well still controls. I should know, being a controller myself. And then there’s his children, his twins. Morris and Lou. I know the former but not the latter. But The Musician knows Lou. *Woody* here knows Lou (Woody nods). Having taken on the negative characteristics of her father, Lou is not the best of persons, I’ve heard. She wishes for everyone to dream, to keep asleep. What is reality? she wants everyone to ask, confused about what’s right and left, up and down, east-west. We’ve lost Tronesisia to her. We’ve lost Bendy. I’ve lost my Musician.” She pauses, appearing to wipe a tear forming in her eye, an emotional display especially surprising the several with the sour looks before.
Woody Woodmanson raises his hand. “Excuse me Mrs. Wheeler. Do you mind if I say a couple of words?”
“It’s *Ms. Wilson*,” she says, sniffing. “But, yeah, come on up here Woody. I’ve said my peace.” Woody gets up and Wheeler takes his seat. “Woods, people!” she shouts in emphasis while settling in.
Woody displays awkwardness. “Do I just stand beside this lamp post here? Is this okay?”
“That’s fine, Woody,” comforts Mary from the front row. “Go ahead and speak your mind as well. We have plenty of time. No rush on the launching.”
“Well, okay.” He loudly clears his throat for several seconds. Very high pitch, startling a couple in the crowd, including the already nervous Mary.
“I am… *very* grateful to be here in Collagesity. You cannot know the extent.” He clears his throat again. “I am a refuge of several worlds. My original master, Old Kringles — a lukewarm Santa Claus — use to tell me, ‘Don’t get sick, don’t get sick,’ over and over. It made me sick. I was expelled from his Christmas village. My second master, Luke Purden, owner of a spectacular mountainside castle, gave me better advice. He said, ‘Don’t judge a book by the color of its cover.’ At the time, half of the books I owned were green and the other half white. I always wondered why I preferred reading the white covered books. Then it hit me like a humongous hammer.” Woody hits one wooden hand with the other here. “Someone else was inside me that preferred the *green* colored books. Another Woody.” More throat clearing. “Which brings us to Muff-Bermingham.” Leaning forward intently, he looks in the direction of Wheeler. “I both know Lou very well and don’t know her atall. As such, I can vouch for her decency and honesty. Yes, she wants you to dream, to wonder, to envision the impossible. There’s a village at the bottom of the hill. But there isn’t. But there *is*.” He straightens up. “And that’s all I have to say about all *that*.”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0004, 0618, Heterocera, Rubi
VCHsity
Allen Martin was almost at the point where he turned right to get to his upstairs apartment when he spotted them on the bench ahead. Always curious about visitors to his adopted town, he checked their profiles. Wheeler Wilson and Musician Resident: somehow familiar. Checking further, he also sees groups they are members of that he knows about — Blue Feather Gallery in particular. Although it’s not his typical policy, he decides to introduce himself.
He walks down the steep set of stairs to the road and saunters up. True to his name, Musician Resident (The Musician) was producing music, namely playing what might be a Bob Dylan song to Allen Martin’s admittedly rather untrained ears. He sits down on the curb next to him and listens in, like the other avatar on the bench — this Wheeler Wilson — seems to be doing as well.
The old man starts grooving to the lyrics.
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you’re so clever and classless and free
But you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There’s room at the top they’re telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
Allen Martin dares to applaud at the end. Wilson Wheeler emits a few claps of her own. “That was marvelous,” the old man offered. “Is that a Dylan?”
“Yeah,” replies The Musician acidly. “Thomas. Dylan Thomas. He stayed in that very hotel down this street; wrote some of the best folk lyrics ever penned. Dylan Thomas was the man in his day. Even moreso than Thomas Mann.”
“Oh stop it,” urges Wheeler, hitting him on the shoulder with her hand. “The guy’s just trying to be friendly.” She speaks to the stranger. “That was a Lennon song, um, Martin I see. Allen Martin — interesting name. Seems familiar.”
“I was just thinking the same about your name. We seem to have some groups in common. Blue Feather Gallery in particular. You guys aren’t from Collagesity by chance are you?”
Wheeler doesn’t answer immediately, perhaps disappointed that Allen Martin hadn’t recognize her. “You could say that,” she finally managed.
“Which part? I was from the North. Until the land was sold. Had to pull up stakes again. I’ve stopped here in my travels several times.” He wipes his brow with his hand. “Let’s see I suppose this is about my 5th layover in VHC City. Not Town, mind you. That’s how you spot strangers. That all came from an error in a promotional pamplet about 7 years back. Yes, the printer is dead now. Unusual circumstances. Some say he still haunts the berg, whispering lies into impressionable ears and brains. But I wander…”
“Yes,” The Musician says plainly. He turns to Wheeler. “We should probably go.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Wheeler says. “You use to run the gas station up on Robin Lane. I remember you now. You had a dog.”
“Well, I have a *son* named Doogie. Close to doggie. But less obedient.” He smiles.
“No, I distinctly remember a pet.”
“Oh, you mean *Aspinwall.* Still got the little feller. And I still run a gas station, just here in VHC City. For now.” He looks at their rumpled, rather dirty clothing. “You sure you guys are doing okay here? Do you need some help? Us Collagesity alums should stick together.” He’s guessed their situation.
“We’re fine,” The Musician snaps back.
“What are you offering?” Wheeler follows immediately afterwards. She knew they couldn’t stay here much longer without help. The vampires were moving in.
Vampire moving in.
“Well, if you’re talking about living arrangements, I have not one but three apartments rented in town right now. You could crash in the lower one for a while if you need. I rented three so I would have lots of prims to work with at the station. Seems like every time Doogie walks onto the premises, there goes 7 prims right there.”
“I don’t get it,” The Musician says to him, and turns to Wheeler and states the same.
“He’s got a son who’s composed of 7 prims,” explains Wheeler. “Obvious. Okay, we’ll take a look. Thanks very much!” Wheeler runs up and kisses him on the cheek. “And just so you know,” she then whispers in his ear, “I use to *own* Collagesity. Keep that in mind when dealing with me. I’m a controller.” She takes his hand. “Now let’s look at that apartment.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0004, 0201, Heterocera, VHC City
Sunklands 