It was a Warm Morning when the object crashed into the future site of itself. Early May I believe. THUD!!! The noise attracted the attention of a sore backed nearby hiker, walking in a different dimension but still able to hear because of the loudness. And then the straight line was manufactured backwards for close to a football field in length over 01 02 03 04 gullies. Alvin Straight. Motocyclone. Cylinder Rodman. We continued…
Warm Morning Crash Site: turn here!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0301, Blue Mountain, County Park, Iowa
“Look! The Moon has come out from behind some clouds. We’re saved!”
“That’s just old Xianity superstition,” replied wannabe lover Johnny Blank to this, hoping she wouldn’t go down that road again, the Jesus Saves one. He’s Muslim and he’s going to stay that way! And Cylinder is Jewish so that’s that. Found God a while back but a different one from mine, and a different one from Gloria’s. But we still seem to be getting along. For now, he thinks.
Gloria stares and stares. With hate. Just like long long ago when she first got this role. The Moon grew a mustache and beard, peered down at her in ultimate superiority and changed birds into bees, flowers into trees. Not God. Something better, she realized. A Dark Lord. She’d been thinking about it for years, but hadn’t said anything about her insights. A good Christian woman she was to others still. Until the Big Reveal. She’d been pondering it for months. She’ll act on it in days. Xianity, as my *friend* Johnny Blank puts it, doesn’t *have* any superstition like that. She made it up. But, being Muslim, he wouldn’t know the difference. Maybe a perfect match after all, a perfect foil. I set them up he knocks them down.
“Johnny,” she says seductively, moving her pointing finger over to his shoulder, making an “X” on it to mark him as a target. “Tell me about your family again, your overbearing father, your loving but absent mother.”
“She *died*. She wasn’t absent.”
“Oh right right.” She sat up with this, looked up to the still visible Moon for strength. “I… forgot.” The Moon went behind clouds and she suddenly became sad, spell over.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0115, Hana Lei^^, Michigan
It was a beautiful tree but it was also the end of April. Arbor Day had come and gone, the last possible excuse to keep up such a thing. So she dove in…
“You can at least take down the stuff over the mantel and bookcase while I’m working, Johnny. Pitch in, please.”
But Johnny kept talking to Cylinder Rodman about Ossemotor, how it ran, what kind of oil did it use. Especially about the oil. Gloria sighed, knowing all that was important. But does she have to do *everything*? At least clean the cat litter every once in a while, Johnny, she thought as the last snow ornament was plucked from the tree.
She stood back. I could still live with just white lights. *Something* is coming up. Memorial Day, that’s it. A couple of American flags and war emblems of some kind and we’re good to go for another month. With this, she plops herself down on the couch next to Johnny. “Okay, got anything?”
Ex-Marine Cylinder looked at Johnny for cues on how to proceed. It was his girl, after all, his filly as he sometimes puts it. His horse was put back in the stable a long time ago. He’s working for God now.
“Explosions,” he started. “The first one *perhaps* excusable. The second: just plain carelessness. A crime, Gloria. That’s what we’re facing.”
“In NWES City?”
Johnny looked confused at first but then the expression cleared. “Yeah.” Cylinder nodded with him. “We have to go back.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0107, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Wild West
“Kolya *does* rule this land. It’s as if it all takes place in his rain damaged head.”
“Upper part,” elaborates [delete name]. “The lower still belongs to bottles.”
“Okay,” I responded, happy for the half.
—–
“I need to get out of here, sir. I’ve tried air, I’ve tried water. I’ve even tried land.”
The old man chuckled. “You’re a funny one, Kolya. Drinking from a bottle. Talking about *leaving* here, heh. Why would anyone want to exit such peace and harmony? You’ve seen the waterfall that rules us all. We’re all under the umbrellas under the rainbow, safe and sound. Mama’s home. Good cook’n.” Marvin Baggy licks his lips and pats his belly satisfactorily here, then kicks his feet out, props them against the white porch railing of the ranger tower that has become a popular hangout for the old and feeble. Someone further north — or perhaps east — told Kolya he could get answers here. Maybe they were pulling a prank on him, especially since they told him to make sure to drink out of a bottle down there (or over there) and not a can. “That’ll give you away,” the man said to him, or perhaps it was a woman. A tomboy, yes, that was it, a grown up tomboy, Asian in race if not complexion, which was instead red.
“Ahh, I feel sorry for ya, stranger,” admitted the geezer on the porch of the tower, waiting for the others to show up. Bingo night tonight, and afterwards some kind of rave I’m sure. Always is. Sometimes the young’n’s (as they call them; some: whippersnappers) down at the bar have to complain about the noise and the lateness of it. Ahh, yes. Salty Bobs’ a sleepy place in comparison, full of stoners taking naps and druggies shooting craps. Dice are not that noisy if covered with fuzz, which they always are soas not to wake the stoners. Originally designed to dangle from the rear view mirror of your car, the ornaments have moved inside and reacquired their original purpose, shrunk down a bit in the process.
“Someone’s coming down from the old house, Nick,” spoke Gotham on the couch, probably already stoned out of his mind and thus the lack of a joint or bong. “I can *feel* it.” He lifts his arms in the air while still reclining, much like a clairvoyant does just before channeling a spirit hovering somewhere nearby, ready to enter the body. Gotham’s own body starts convulsing. It worked! He quietens down; he stares glazy eyed at the roof of the establishment, ignoring the sea barnacles and peering directly into the great beyond.
Nick Barton looks over, notices the grey in his beard. “Isn’t it about time you moved up the hill to the old folk’s place and livened up a bit? You’ll turn into a corpse just laying there like that!” Nick flushes and turns toward the crappers on the other side, emitting a small “sorry” for shouting.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0107, Nautilus, Upper Austra^
Sunklands 