Tag Archives: CRAZY BLUE

June 5, 2024 · 6:11 am

00430207

“I don’t trust the fish here,” said Wanda to Jenny just above a whisper.

“Oh honey, you don’t have to worry about those mercury poisoning deaths. All the fish in this town come from the *east* coast now, not west. That’s long behind us.”

“Noo,” corrected Wanda. “You don’t understand. I don’t trust — the *fish* here. Over there. Listening… I can hear them listening. I have that… talent.”

“Honey the only talent you have is coming up with conspiracy theories right and left. What was it last week? The birds reading our thoughts?”

“*Noo*.” But then Wanda remembered it was yes. Yeah, maybe she just is being paranoid. Black Sabbath Day over in the mega-mall after all. All those fairies will wear boots over there she’s sure. STOP

GO “Well, what do you think of it, Larry? Something else, isn’t it? The *Horns* make me wear it and that’s the last I’m going to say about *them*. Edward has to go along with them since they’re the big bosses. He’s only the boss boss. Besides, he seems to be paying more attention to Lexi these days than me — you know Lexi, the brain-daze wizard from 2 sectors over. They’re off to Primary Nightsity any spare moment they get. The only time I have Edward to myself is at night. Kind of ironic I guess.”

But Larry remained silent throughout all this, although he was interested as hell when Wanda and Jenny were exchanging the dialog I began this post with. Because now: he hears them too, just behind his head. Spyware all around in this town; in everything. Wanda has a right to be paranoid for certain because paranoia is truth in this case. Except for the shadowy “hatted men”. That’s the Benadryl she’s on for her allergies. Most likely.

(to be continued)

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June 3, 2024 · 2:48 pm

00430204 (Night is odd)

“Where’s *Edward* today? Your boy.”

“He’s not my boy,” Shelley quickly shot back. “He’s just… a friend.”

“A toy? I mean, you’re just toying with him, right? Until Arthur comes back.”

“You know the story of Arthur. He’s away a lot. He… understands,” she decides to tack on.

“Shakespeare I’ve heard. Asia, Africa, Europe, maybe Australia and New Zealand even. Oceania. As far away as he can get from your loving arms.”

“What can I say, he’s a dreamer. Anyway, back to your original question, Edward is doing one of those brain-dazes with Lexi. They’re still fiddling around with the Petrochemistry Dam, trying to find that dead pop star in the neighborhood there. But I’m sure Edward has told you all about it, especially after a couple of your patented house drinks. Even numbered drinks on the house, pheh. When did 3, 5, 7, and 9 becomes not odd, Sarah?”

“He he. Woman’s gotta have a hobby.” She pours Shelley another drink, a 3 I believe. “First free one, Shelley. Drink up. Then tell me more about this Kentucky girl who went missing and is presumed dead. Bedside chat, we’ll call it.”

“Nah, I’m not going to go there.” But she takes her first sip of the concoction (Nightshine I believe Sarah calls it) and begins to forget her promise. Just like Blue Moon Kentucky before her. Sarah knows more than she’s letting on.

—–

Edward couldn’t stop replaying the moment. The pop star in disguise just… popped up! From behind that woman there.

With help from Lexi, he’s studying all angles and then some. Mysterious heat source in the thermal layer to the upper right. Could be *him* again. Beware.

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June 3, 2024 · 5:08 am

00430203

She sits in the dark and stares at TV static while thinking about the artist whose first name is Tennessee and the musician whose last name is Kentucky. Both “former,” it seems, as in dead, possibly even murdered. Maybe even… one and the same? Shelley phones up Edward to talk about it. Hubby Arthur is off acting again in a far away location. The boyfriend will have to do.

“Meet me at Sarah’s,” she requested. “Let’s walk around the town together.” She didn’t add, “then come back here,” but it was implied.

“Let’s make it Lexi’s,” altered Edward, knowing Sarah was quite the gossip.

“On my way, then.”

Contractually, she was required to wear the Crazy Blue outfit at all times now, no exceptions. Except one.

Later she studies the sappy “Abduct My Heart” lamp given to her by Arthur for her birthday before he left. She begins to cry.

What did she figure out? That Tennessee and Kentucky were indeed one beyond the Black Wall.

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May 30, 2024 · 8:08 am

00430112 (Crazy Blue)

“You know if you keep using that brain-daze, Edward my Eddie, you’ll never get out of Nightsity. You’ll be stuck here forever with your one girl and your one guy, unable to leave.”

“I’m *not* bisexual if that’s what you mean,” he defended his actions, smooching heavily on the girl in a current scenario.

“I know. But your mate over there is, sitting alone right now, waiting his turn. His *turning*. Where do you think this is going, Ed?”

He stared over at patient Arthur beyond her shoulder. The acquiescent hubby.

“What do you recommend? Bartender?” She was a secondary source of alcohol for Edward, her Eddie in this town. After Lexi of course. Too bad she too doesn’t offer brain-daze services or perhaps she could give Lexi a run for her money. He likes Sarah. He likes her heart tattoo. And Lexi likes women and he can’t switch over like that. Then again, there’s always Panama for that. Where *was* Panama? He goes long stretches without even remembering who she is, forgets that she even exists on the fringes of Nightsity, waiting her turn. Patient like Arthur here. For now.

“Blue Moon Kentucky,” replied Sarah to this. “You’ve forgotten she even existed — *exists* still.”

“Blue Moon too!” realizes Edward aloud. What *else* has he ceased to recall?

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August 6, 2023 · 7:56 am

00390405

I was born a boyy. My father became more famous than me. Some say he was a God. But not *the* God. I don’t think. I looked up to him. His head was in the clouds, at times I couldn’t see. I would grow up to be him [the first of many crossouts in the document], meet him. I was a boyy than grew up to be a mann. And what of dogg you might ask, the opposite of God Godd. I have no answer to that I only have a katt. Ratt. That was next.

I was born a mouse.

Bart put down the pen, still red, still bleeding from his hands. It hurt to write. He felt he wasn’t any good at it. He thought of the mouse in the film, Zero, the true hero. He was sent to bring the bull back to his father. The bull was him, he realized. He picked up the pen.

The mouse walked by the katt, not knowing what it was. The katt took chase. The mouse ran around the corner. Encountered space Was from space.

Bart thought about space for the first, real time, his true home. He saw stars. Starrucca. Starlight. Gravity called. He was sucked in. Aerial then grounded for life. He was perpetually in trouble. Often only Lemmy the tree came to his aid. His father once had a fight with it, lost his head. The boyy watched: a knife and a net. Dressed in pink, which was the style for boys of the time. His sister walked into his life wearing blue. “That’s crazy blue,” he said when she did.

He was grounded for life because of the film and because what Principal Skinhead saw that night, after the show was done, after all the people had dispersed to their individual dwelling units. Bart standing alone, no tree to protect. No shorts. He puts two hands over his parts and turns red.

He was even sent to prison for a while in his late 20s for killing a man in Defiance. He’d lost his way. Sucked up by the Great Black Swamp, as prophecy foretold.

(to be continued)

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June 23, 2023 · 9:40 pm

red over blue (Democracy continues)

It’s a very blue place, she thinks. 10:01 AM. Yet she stares.

Wonder why Myrtle doesn’t like linden plants? she ponders.  I’ve *always* liked linden plants. Maybe the only one she respects, the branchy winter tree with no leaves, is my *least* favorite, hmph.

Someone else should be with me here in this lonely spot, she ruminates. Someone else blue.

She suddenly has the urge to get up and dance. Must be the costume. And the place.

—–

“I see plumeria over there,” she spoke later to rail sitting Edward, her chosen beau for the day. She’d changed into something safer, something non-dancey, urge abated. “I see palm tree no. 1, palm tree no. 2. And then a cypress tree 1 just up the hill. What’s not to love?”

“Different strokes for different folks,” Edward offered to Shelley’s continued rant. She just couldn’t get the logic of Myrtle’s opinion.

“Very regimented. *No* chaos. No mention of mainlands. What a mess! she might exclaim. Yet… she’s there. On Constance.”

“*You* put her there. Even gave her that weird belly button, the on and off thing.”

“The Abyss must be a key. That’s where we meet, her and me. That’s where I can tell her off if she doesn’t friend me.”

“Drop it,” urges Edward to the girl, perhaps the love of his life. If Wanda doesn’t enter the picture again. “Let it go.”

“The *island* is all about that merger.” But as she spoke this, she began to doubt her words. It was more than just that.

—–

The next day Shelley replaced Edward with Arthur in the sim of Escanes and they studied the illegal TILE treatises of Bart and Lisa in a sand covered underwater room directly beneath a false island planted with those plumeria and palms, thinking their actions there were unexposed to the prying eyes of superiors on the FILE. They weren’t; didn’t call them that for nutt’n.

(to be continued)

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June 13, 2023 · 5:13 pm

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They switched horns with each other, Ben with Jerry, becoming Benny and Jer again. Jer gets up after the transformation, says he has to check on his bars, even the Zero, even the Nine. Beyond the visible compendium. Larry would not be happy. Or Lawrence.

—–

The scene is set. The return of Thomasina Boyy.

—–

“You’re nervous aren’t you?” the old woman beside me on the waiting bench spoke. “Why don’t you feed the pigeons to take your mind off your worries. Steven will be back soon.”

I checked but no animation in the bench that would allow such. And laying on her lap, another one of the few options, seemed inappropriate, although I *was* sleepy. The end must be near. Yes, down there, unseen to me in the moment. Because she was me.

I thought of the visible compendium again, the 1 through 8. Jer, left horn in place again, becomes the owner of bars, Kedas and others. He wanted me to don the Crazy Blue and perform the cancan, old fashion style. How dare he (!). I’d slap him if he were here beside me instead of this old woman. I wanted to get a name. So I decided to bring up the lack of that animation she spoke about.

“You call me Grammy,” I finally got out of her. I recall her from the Newt pharmacy, striking provocative pose after provocative pose for the apothecary in an attempt to get SODA. Most likely why she’s here, and it turns out one in particular did the trick. Call it her cancan moment.

—–

His break over, Steven returned to playing the guitar across from us, entertainment and also a needed distraction. The policeman guarding the gate to the inner sanctum, Tank I believe, mysteriously clapped in slow motion to the beat, about 1 per every 4 to 5 measures, I reckoned. It’d been 1/2 an hour already, maybe, yes, 45 minutes (as I checked my watch). Ten till 2 now. At least the meeting didn’t take place in the cursed fairy blue light of middle late morning. Else I might be doomed, designated for Hell and Devil alike. Hellville. Joining the Hills, or at least Grant. But Mike is trying to save them by roping my parents into the story, of all people. “Lemon!” he said earlier, stuffing that one in Mama Wheeler’s mouth. “Lime!” he then said, doing the same with Daddy Newt (named for the sim and not visa versa). “Speak!!!” he then shrilled after telling his own tale, but the fruits were still in their mouths. He removed them, causing the cascade of words we talked about before which still didn’t satisfy him. Guess what he uttered next.

(to be continued)

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May 17, 2023 · 7:38 am

the future is *now*

Grant! she calls, jumping up and down on the grapes (?), pulverizing them. Grant!!!

They heard the yelps all the way over at the Annaberg central plaza. “Decatur Lively” reader Jimmy Dieselengine tried to ignore them so as not to alarm the youth with him, his charge for the day, or at least the morning. If only morning would be quiet around here like it use to be, he lamented in his older age, closing in on 64. Retired over a year back and loving it. More time with the grandkids. Like Pete here. Peter Pistle. But that girl, that *witch*, needs to *shut* the *f-* *up*. He rattles the paper to release his irritation, clears his throat. She’s done finally, he thinks, hearing the end of it, fruit kaput.

She produces purple stained feet to prove where she’d been, what she’d been doing. The same colored glass of wine sat at their tip, ready for consumption. Different dimension; didn’t work. He knew there hadn’t been a proper vineyard in town for a number of months, just some leftover, stray vines surviving here and there, not enough to mask the issue. Rose/Eyela/Leila was accomplishing something else. Like raspberry, something the townspeople wouldn’t swallow.

Mike requested she put the feet away and face the consequences, which had actually already happened. Banishment. Burial even. Like Paul and Ringo and especially John before her. Only the wine was left to prove she ever existed at all.

“Buh bye,” he whispered. “Buh bye now.” And threw it into the earth as well.

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May 17, 2023 · 5:53 am

mistletoe doorway (heater presents again (6578 (Xmas mugs)))

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lynching_of_Bernice_Raspberry

Bernice Raspberry, also called Ed Lively, was a 23-year old African-American man who was murdered in Leakesville, Mississippi, on May 25, 1927.[1] Raspberry was arrested for an infraction in Leakesville, but then the sheriff was told he was wanted in nearby Bothwell for “alleged improper conduct with a white woman”. Raspberry was taken to Bothwell but then taken back to Leakesville, for safe keeping. A group of some 100 masked man took him from the jail, strung him to a tree, and shot him many times.[2]

https://bakerbloch.wordpress.com/2021/12/29/00300701/

“You!!??” they cried even louder, seeing before them now the white woman associated with raspberries who loves black. “What *is* this??!!” they demanded.

—-

Returning to the scene of the crime:

“Blue and yellow are overrated, Arthur. Red and green have redeeming qualities too, despite not being quite as perfect together.”

“Like us!” Arthur Kill emitted with this, and leaned over to take a drink.

“Which one is darker, which one is lighter?” said Shelley, also partaking of her own drink. “6 and 7. Very close indeed.”

“Soo… this is about TILE?”

“No, silly. It’s about a *kiss*.”

(to be continued)

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May 16, 2023 · 2:03 am

yes we cancan

Uncovering this owner created “Shell of Venus” upstairs where she can, among other things, dance the cancan, I knew our lovely, unassuming Shelley Struthers had found a type of home or safe space in this old, established Second Lyfe theater for her and her boys (Edward and Arthur?). The name Flashermans sealed the deal. Here is where she can reveal herself for who she is, what she has become. Shakespear’s Silver Nuggets got nothing on her… or her adopted sisters Gloria, Anja, Mona, Betty Boop, Betty Boo, Alessandra, and Batty Casey (new one).

She points to the nearby Atoll Sea with this particular kick. Directly south, 2D meeting or mirroring 3D.

We haven’t been here in a long time. 5 years I suppose.

The former site of Omikron City, starting in Astarte.

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