“Dancccce for me Old Swwweetback!
“You can’t get away frommm me! I have the RETAR–
STOP
GO
“And so that’s how Rudy got paired with Cane, as in Cain. Graphic.”
He’d made a good point about the 4th collage exhibited in the Concrete gallery, right on the side of his detective agency. Background source image to close, he said. We build up from there… in the past.
He went back there in the morning that one time, just to see what would change. Investigation continues…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0113, Arkansas
She hadn’t tried in 100s of days, maybe 100s of weeks. She was tired of pussyfooting around. “Permission to come aboard!” she shouted over in as confident of a tone as she could muster given the circumstances. No answer for a while, maybe 100s of seconds, then: “Permission DENIED.” The old, crusty sea chaplain turned captain who didn’t know when to give up himself wanted to reply immediately but was fixing a hole on the starboard side (away from her and also you, the reader or readers) and couldn’t be bothered at first. But: one hole fixed and two more appear, it seems, like apples for banana. He contemplated just ignoring the poor, foolish girl, standing over there probably in just flesh and bits of white, like she does (he imagined). The man: only red. But still he knew they were man and wife, as close as one could get without multiple marriage vows. He had to hold himself partly responsible. Given that he was the one who married them, way way back in the day. “Go AWAY. We’ve said our bits, our parts. It’s up to YOU to make it work.” Red and white red and white, he thought. Surely they can better coordinate all that, divide the hues up in a fairer, more democratic way. And *not* have to enter his unrepairable *republican* shipp, pheh. No, he would stand steadfast against change (what was he *thinking*).
“I KNOW who you are,” she tried again. “You will NOT get this shipp with its broken rigg and all to float, no way jose. Not without MY help.” (TBC)
dreams of repair
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0204, Haven, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Weird-o Islands+
“Oh I hate removing all these beautiful decorations and then taking down the tree. Can’t we keep it up for a while longer, Frank Lynn? Please? Pretty please?”
“I told you, dawg,” he said while continuing to finger the difficult Spongeberg invention, #3 he was working on this particular day I believe. Full of Middle C’s in an attempt by the composer to make the path more clear, but still a very windy and twisty journey indeed. One he still can’t fully navigate to its end. “We don’t have to take the tree down until New Year arrives,” he continued his explanation.
“But… Nada is arriving at 7. For our dinner. Philip and Nada together. Two teams.”
“Frank stops playing, pivots in his bench to look over at his own (new-ish) girlfriend Daisy, realizes the mistake made.
“*No*, not *Nada* New Year. Just the New Year — dawg. The first of the year. It’s tradition that you don’t have to take down Christmas trees — for most people — until New Year’s Day the week after Christmas.”
Daisy stands back, gold ornament still in hand and not the collecting box. “Oh,” is all she could say, and proceeds to hang it on the same limb she retrieved it from not 30 seconds ago. “Good,” she said while putting more on formerly plucked. “Good good good.”
—–
“Where’s he now?” Daisy asks about Frank’s oft times visitor Dr. Mouse. Like House but different.
“Place called Linesville PA,” Frank answers from across the table. They’d finished eating (salmon and brown rice and mixed vegetables, yum!). Now time for leisurely chatting before cards (bridge? rook? Mille Bornes even?), catching up with all the latest local news and stuff. “He’s wondering why it’s so close to the PA-OH line,” Frank continued, “about 5 miles if I remember correctly, but not named for that. He’s also indicated Glenn Islands next to Ford Island in the same area and something about the possibility of watching a lot of Glenn Ford movies when he gets back, hogging my video feed again, pheh. Maybe time to think about that 2nd screen?”
“I’ll chip in,” chips in Philip to his right, partner Nada New Year across from him as Daisy is to Frank.
“Well thanks, Philip. Nice of you to offer. But as I recall, you didn’t bring any actual money over after your, er, *conversion* from Alamo to Nawt Vaya here.” Unlike me, was the unstated jab; Frank planned his metaverse jumping quite a bit more carefully. “That’s why you live with Lexi.”
“Oh,” says Philip to this, remembering that fact. “Right. Which reminds me. Nada you got a tener you can loan me for a while? Need to pay off Frank for my bets the last time we played. Right Frank?” And he hits Frank’s nearest shoulder with his fist — pretty hard. Because he’s pretty mad about it. “Good to, how you say, *square* up before we start, huh?”
“Keep it, dawg,” he says while glancing at Nada, who remained silent, maybe even looked a little sleepy. Was she up for this tonight? “I — again — appreciate the thought.”
“Okay, good. Great — that’s great. Even steven, then. Soo… what’ll it be tonight? Rook?” Philip was always up for a game of rook, his favorite. But Daisy preferred bridge and Nada and Frank preferred Mille Bornes, at least for tonight just to keep things fresh. So the majority wins and Mille Bornes it was. Philip mumbled something about preparing to lose again since it wasn’t *his* game, but then dealt the first hand and started to get quite into it before the end.
—–
“Nada, can you loan me a twenty?” he said as discussion of cards was brought up the next week after another delicious meal (poached eggs, steamed green beans, something bread related) and catching up with local news and such. Frank was just that good — naturally. Let’s call him a card savant although I know that term is usually reserved for precocious children(?). If only Spongeberg came so easily. TBC
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0106, Frank's Moving Castle, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS, Ohio, Pennsylvania
“Looks like you’ve had some kind of adventure, Uncle of mine.”
“I have. But it’s all pretend.”
“Right. Bringing it to me, I suppose. Why I’m here.”
“Welll…” Mr. Babyface settles back into the bargain bin couch, wishing he’d bought up a little more to avoid the oh-too-soon broken springs, ow. One in his left cheek right now, as in buttocks. “Let’s say,” he continued, light bulb over his head now, “you’re here, staying with me, because of a local rock concert, say a progressive group right down there at the base of the peninsula, at the, what’s its name?”
“Dunno, Uncle.”
“Ah, heck. Progressive Rock Museum, but that’s not the name of the venue.”
“I’m okay with Progressive Rock Venue if you are.”
“Alright,” relented Babyface. “But you’re here because of that, say, supergroup Yes, which we both love, although we have a separate list of favorite albums. Yours is…”
“‘Close to the Edge’, ‘Relayer’, and ‘Going for the One’.”
“Yes, and mine would be ‘Fragile’, ‘Yes Album’ and ‘Topographic Oceans’.”
Peter winces. “‘Topographic Oceans’,” he says with some derision. “Bloated.”
“Okay, okay, let’s not get into that argument again. We agree to disagree. We’re talking about loving the same *group* anyway. It’s like we like the same forest but not the same trees or clump of trees — something.”
“Okay, my Uncle.”
“And we need to keep in touch more. You’re not even real here. You’re just in my head.”
“Sorry, Uncle. I’m busy. Winning tennis tournaments for one. You haven’t even congratulated me on my latest. Plus the comedy — another thing we differ on…”
“… but are also the same, yes yes. Firesign Theatre.”
“‘Bozos’!” shouted Peter Ladd.
“‘Dwarf’!” countered Mr. Babyface to his thought-to-be estranged nephew playfully. They would hug each other in the moment if they weren’t so maladjusted. It was just the families, their upbringing. Both kind of square pegs in round holes. Just so thankful, thought Babyface here, that Peter was born with a normal head, phew! Which brings us back to conception.
“Tell me about Shamon, Peter, how you got here. I’ve been thinking about the Big Schwa lately.”
“Big E!” shouted Peter, making his Uncle Babyface smile but not as much as before. This was more serial stuff, as the young’n’s might put it.
—–
So they pried themselves away from watching the blog on TV and went upstairs to stare at it from different sides, different angles, to ponder what Mr. Babyface had surmised earlier. “Shamon on top of course,” he reminded Peter. “Closest hit in the Oracle is Shamokin PA, but with a pinch of collage magic we can create one of those 2-n-1’s… that you hate so much.”
“Stop it, Uncle. We’re not enemies.”
“I know, sorry.” But look… I’ll project it on the screen downstairs when we return.”
“What else while we’re here?”
He pivoted the Big E around until the proper side was facing his nephew, turning it into a Big Schwa. He was seeing from his Uncle’s perspective now.
“Orgas, Peter,” recited Mr. Babyface on another closest Oracle hit, this time for the sim of Orgamast, label right in front of Peter’s eyes. He reloads his pipe, Blue Pennant now. “Orgasm, obviously (puff puff). And there’s also an Organ Cave population place in the same state of West Virginie. The Lordshore-Orgamast Floor is the lowest level of the Kidd Tower here (next to the Lebettu Castle). Lordshore also begins with LO.”
“What are you getting at, Uncle?”
“Let’s go back to the couch.”
—–
“Shamon… from the inn… place of thorns. This is where it happened.”
“What happened?” Then Peter realized what his Uncle was talking about. “Ooooh.”
Mr. Babyface thought of a joke here but wisely decided not to mouth it.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0203, Jeogeot, Nautilus, NORTH, Pennsylvania, Rooster's Peninsula, West Virginia, Xilted
He decided to test this reality. He pulled out some wadded up and hardened little pieces of paper from his pocket and dropped it into Keith B.’s hand, saying they were for the virus. “Thanks!” the older man from his childhood said, saving them for later that night when the headaches started. Oh the power of suggestion, Biff marveled, and returned to his book. He was at the end of Paper. He turned the page…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0503, Paper, Paper Soap+, Pennsylvania
Sunklands 