Tag Archives: Daisy Flathead^^+++

April 10, 2026 · 12:30 pm

00500114

“Okay, Father Fecked. Wake up. Time to go home.”

Father Fecked stirs from his slumber. “Hrmmmph,” he says, bottle still in hand. Always. Along with the cane in the other one.

“You’ve got to go, Fecked,” reiterates Daisy Flathead, running her bar again but underwater this time. Bull’s Bar. She’s just a manager this go around, with Bull aka “Yellow Jack” being the owner. But she’s okay with it. For now.

Father Fecked stretches, yawns. “Hrrrrrrrrrummmph.” Smacking of lips. He looks around, just realizing where he is. Oh yeah, had to crash here, he understands through the brain fog. Nowhere to stay. “I– have—”

“You haven’t got a place to go, yeah I know,” says Daisy. “Frank and I have solved that for you. You can return to the castle. You can have your old bedroom. Just—” Daisy stops here, decides not to mention the drinking, the night wandering around the castle. *Their* room that one time; Fecked and Philip *both*.  And they can’t lock the door; have to keep it phantom so *they* can enter. Stupid, primitive castle, she sometimes laments. But it’s such a nifty vintage build. There are advantages to old too.

More smacking of lips. Finally he makes eye contact with her. “My… *bedroom*?”

“Yes, Fecked. You can go back. You can return… home.” Hard to say that word for her. *Their* home, ugh.

Smacking of lips, looking around, then eye contact again. “Home?”

“Yeah. I just need to clear you out of the bar tonight. No Lag’s playing in a couple of hours and the place should get pretty packed. *Hopefully*. Because, you know, I need the money. Sea Monster set me back you see.” She starts cleaning the beer glasses “Go on, now. Shooo.”

“No… Lag,” he manages in his gruff way, turning toward the stage.

“Yeah, the local genius guitarist. Haven’t heard her yet. But she’s popular. Drew in over 35 at The Burg last weekend, almost broke the sim. She’s a known commodity, as they say.”

Meanwhile…

“We’ve thrown in this bed — just like ours, guys. I think you’ll like some of the new moves, he he.”

Philip looks around. “But where will I take my wees?” Now that the castle’s big tongue is gone, is the unspoken part of his question. Philip loves to dangle his willy off its tip and pee into the landscape below.

“Grass,” Frank instructs while waving. “All around.”

Philip decided that would have to do, or Nada did for him, eagerly eyeing the bed. TBC

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April 4, 2026 · 7:02 am

00500108

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concrete,_Washington

The town of Concrete has undergone several incarnations, the earliest being a settlement at the northwestern junction of the Baker and Skagit Rivers, known as “Minnehaha.” Amasa “Peg-Leg” Everett was one of the earliest settlers and in 1890, the townsite was platted by another settler, Magnus Miller. Shortly thereafter, a post office was established and the town name changed to “Baker.” In 1905, a settlement across the Baker River came into being due to the building of the Washington Portland Cement Company and was named “Cement City.” After the Superior Portland Cement Company plant was built in Baker in 1908, it was decided to merge the two towns. Inhabitants of the new community settled on the name “Concrete” and the town was so christened and officially incorporated on May 8, 1909.

“And so that’s how the name Cement was applied to the village. Along, ahem, with the whole cement texture thing. Cement Village founded by me, Baker B. Creating concrete reality, concrete truth on these western shores of the Nawt Vaya Sea that will last for centuries years.”

No one was buying what Baker — Bloch here instead of Blinker, the female half, the “Other Baker” — was saying about the name, not screen watching Hucka Doobie, not Wheeler Wilson, not fellow Mr. Moon t-shirt wearing Newt or any of the other (unpictured) core avatars sitting around this round table in the lower part of Frank’s castle. This was pure accident plain and simple. *Synchronicity*. The concrete part only applied to bigfoot…

… truly roaming the bordering Nawt Vaya Sea much like the similarly fantastical seeming Alcoholic Sea Monster that recently swallowed Daisy’s Hole in the Wall bar because of the spanking new batch of delicious, home-made brew inside. Taste over buzz: just what Daisy was aiming for. But not in this way, not in this manner. She had to start over from scratch.

Continuing…

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April 4, 2026 · 7:00 am

00500107

Frank surprises Philip with signs on the doors of their High Castle bedrooms so *that* mistake won’t happen again. The thing which firmly convinced Daisy either Philip or Father Fecked (“New Mouse”) had to go so the bedroom downstairs could be claimed by the remaining one. The sounds in the middle of the night too! Earplugs were a given lately, PHEH.

“Why not just demand Father Fecked sleep upstairs?” I asked.

“Because he *snores*,” said Daisy in disgust. “Worse than the other!”

“What will you do with the room?” I queried. Daisy’s pause gave me pause too. A little bambino? Could it be possible? TBC

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April 3, 2026 · 9:58 pm

00500106

Just later:

“Given XXX Dreams right before this on Main Street, don’t you think Bear Square just across the road from Red Square Head Woman equals Bare Square, as in baring it all?”

“Could be, Mouse. Can I call you Mouse?”

“Dr., please.”

“Alright, Mouse.”

“Father, then.”

“Father,” I acquiesced. Didn’t want to get in a row this early in the morning. 11:25. Better head back in the woods!

“This is the start of it all. Red Square. As in *highlighted*!” This mention made my row alert go even higher as I knew that one thing could lead to another and another until it’s out of control like a Baker’s Dozen, never mind the interval remaining at zero. I couldn’t take the chance.

“W-what about the plank of wood sticking out either side of his car?” I try to divert the build up. “Balancing act? Michael Kane?”

He peered at me through half dead eyes, as if his batteries had just run out or a fuse had been blown. How long could he hold on at this advanced stage? Constantly flying to the moon in his Jim Beamed UFO. Jack Daniels; whatever. And *is* this actually Mouse? is a always question that is swirling around my head these days, the good Dr. himself returned, what is it, *two* times now? The cane makes the man — that’s what he told me. Doesn’t matter as much about the body, apparently.

Picture to end, with him sitting in his seat, *his* seat, before the single video feed we still have in the castle. Gotta get to work on acquiring a second for sure now that everyone has come back, Philip Strevor included, maybe even his girlfriend Nada. Right next door, though, since Mouse, er, Father occupies the lower bedroom. Right – next – door. That can’t be long term either. Philip or Father Fecked here, one or the other, must go. Daisy totally agrees.

New, significant center spotted? Who knows with this one. Could just be the liquor speaking again.

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March 27, 2026 · 10:14 pm

00500102 (everything)

It was a question that was inevitable. Did the castle have *consciousness*. Behind those eyes, that mouth with its sticky outy tongue: only vacancy, nobody home? Or was there something actually there? It’s a line of inquiry Frank and Daisy started to explore after a heated night of make-up passion, just looking around what Daisy considered to be a pretty makeshift bedroom but what Frank thought of as a pretty permanent version of the same. She didn’t know what she wanted in terms of a master bedroom. Frank *wasn’t* her master, she had that much at least. AI wasn’t her master either. “Besides, it’s going to crash,” she opined to him maybe that same night. “Crash and burn. And the government will step in as they always do and save their stupid worthless asses.” He kept his mouth shut. Unlike for his castle now down on the ground and not up in the skies like before, he’d learn to control the tongue waggling. Best to keep it inside and even bite down hard at times. On this particular subject anyway. And more would develop as the days turned into years turned into centuries.

“Don’t you think it’s creepy,” she said another time as they lay on the bed fully clothed, unable to get inspired this particular night perhaps, “that he’s always looking in on us? When we’re *here*?” How do you know he’s a he? is the first thing that sprung to his mind, though. Not any thoughts about the castle actually being an AI. He remained blinded in that direction. He didn’t even know the castle did the same out of a strong sense of privacy itself. Himself? Her? Maybe it didn’t even matter. Anyway, they had nothing to worry about in this direction. TBD TBC

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March 19, 2026 · 10:24 pm

00490614

The layout of my Nawt Vaya Free State land on the continent of Jeogeot in the virtual world of Our Second Lyfe has changed. Frank’s Giant Castle in the Skies has now been moved down and grounded (in reality?). Cement Village, last seen in Aisle of Palms over a year back, has become the new business center, housing Daisy Flathead’s Hole in the Wall and more. Let’s go inside and see how she feels about it.

“How do you feel about the move to the old Aisle of Palms’ Cement Village?” I ask through Biker Frank.

“I don’t know,” she might answer. “How do *you* feel about the move of your Giant Castle in the Skies down to the ground. Reality?”

“Maybe,” he admits. “But, bigger picture, welll…”

“I’m not with Biker if that’s what you’re asking. Me and you: we’re still a team. Moving forward.”

Frank is overjoyed, overlapping his hand with hers on the counter just like in the beginning. *Now* the movement of the castle is a success.

“I feel safe here… safer,” she exposes her emotions on the new location. “Since I’m not right on the Nawt Vaya shoreline and (so) further away from the alcoholic sea monster. *Non*-alcoholic sea monster I guess I have to add now, since he gobbled up my first successful batch of personal (non-)brew along with the old bar!”

Both laugh. Frank had to ask this next: “Where *is* Biker, then?”

“Where was he ever? All I know is that he came from the south.”

“South, right.”

“Somewhere near the southern end of Nawt Vaya but not right on it. I went to his house, er, *once*?”

As if prompted, Frank takes another swig of the house beer while simultaneously withdrawing his hand from hers. Michelob Zero still, but not for long. New batch of personal brew in the works! He’s readying himself for another question, a one worder this time. Daisy knew she kind of screwed up with that revelation. “House?” he clips out. Swig again, hands further apart.

A call just then coming in on Frank’s phone. Ring tone: “Blue Moon of Kentucky”. “I have to take this,” he says, and goes outside for privacy. Mouse returned? he psychically senses. No, that can’t be it, he rejects the actually correct insight. He’s died twice already. Two’s the limit, right? Surely it is. Can’t be…

But that’s exactly what *she* told him that day in April’s May coming up behind him swiftly like a lion from March. Mouse has come back, kind of once more. And already on his last leg and death bed in one.

“W-where?” Another one word question, a one word answer back.

“Meet me there,” she said after giving the location. “By the big head in the middle. I’ll take you to him.”

Daisy wanted so badly to ask who he was on the phone with when he returned to his seat at the bar but dare not because of the look on his face. Sour! Tension in their relationship hasn’t quite been resolved yet. Doubts on both sides still. Let’s deflect the blame to AI again. Just to be safe, or safer.

“I have to go,” he said, laying one of Philip’s remnant teners won at cards on the counter as a tip. TBC

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March 19, 2026 · 10:23 pm

00490612 (refocusing (2 centers and a middle)

Tom entered the door to the right. This was not the correct door and Tom knew this perfectly well. What Tom didn’t know is that he will be punished for going into the wrong door. Tom found himself at a dark corner. It was a theoretical dead end. There was no escaping this dark corner. Maybe he should have gone through the left door and he would not be in this situation. Tom thought to himself: why is this corner here, why is it so dark? Is it a missing texture or is this corner a representation of something greater? As he pondered this, something peculiar happened.

Panicking, Newt shuts down the attic computer, even pulls out the power chord from the back to make sure it’s off. He never wanted to see that corner again. It didn’t have to end like this. Daisy and Frank could work it out, he thinks while trying to calm himself down, taking another sip of his ever present 4 shot latte beside him. Unless it’s a Michelob Zero. You need to drink more water, Newt. Maybe if you did you wouldn’t be in this situation, ha. TBC

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March 8, 2026 · 10:15 am

00490515

“This is where the Pee Pee starts, Biker friend of mine, perhaps a lover too.” Maybe she left the lover part out of that sentence. Hadn’t been decided. But they had travelled to Rodentia for a reason. Daisy was testing out the relationship fer sure.

“Fascinating,” he said but not with enthusiasm.

“Let’s move down this grassy diagonal side road. Keep in mind the beginning point.”

“Oh I will.”

—–

“And so this is where it ends, down at that pipe down there, about 200 yards below the source up next to Route 10. It *should* empty into the Baederwood Forest I just exposed by derendering that wall screen marking the limit of Arang. But it doesn’t. Another mystery, then, perhaps another misery as well.” But maybe she left that last part of that sentence out again. No need to bring misery into the relationship either which also often comes hand in hand with the love part.

“Hmmm… why are you showing all this to me again?”

She turns toward him on the bridge. “Because I want you to know where I come from, Biker. I want you to know *my* source. And my mouth.” She opens her mouth to him and points within. “The words coming out of my mouth. I want you to listen like I had to in the past.”

He looks away from her after she shuts her mouth back up. He opens his just a little, pops in another cigarette, lights it, puffs. Not what I signed up for, he thinks to himself while watching the smoke fill the air in front of him, concealing the stream again. Religious mumbo jumbo in a town devoted to anarchy against the powers that be. He’s not a radical, not even political at all, really. He just… likes Daisy. Why does she have to, erm, *muddy* the waters with this… complexity, pheh. And *what* kind of name is Pee Pee??

“Why?” he says aloud, smoke dissipated, allowing him to view again. “Why Pee Pee? It’s not yellow or anything.”

“No of course not, silly. It’s named for my home. In Nigeria. The one I tried to conceal behind a fancier name. This Second Lyfe offered me a chance to reverse my youthful error, change my perspective on the world. I became a priestess here just like my mother was (up) in Real Life. I’ve told you all this before. The other day, when you were on your 3rd Non of the evening. I *know* you weren’t drunk, ha.” Should’ve remembered, she thinks.

Had she made a mistake in bringing him here? What if Frank Lynn finds out? But she had to know. Now she thinks she does. If only they could resolve that difference of opinion about AI. She’s *firm* about hers. What about him? Is he pliable to change? *She* isn’t. And of course therein lies the problem. Can she realize this in time?

—–

When she returned home, she was shocked to find her bar wasn’t there any more along the shores of Nawt Vaya. Hole in the Wall: simply vanished!! What happened, what happened? she panicked. Then she realized the culprit. The alcoholic sea monster! The Non she’d prepared just before leaving with Biker to visit Rodentia had turned out to be so good that the taste overrode his need for alcohol. Success! she understood about her personal brew. But she’d have to start over from scratch. Maybe rebuild the bar elsewhere now that she had to make a fresh start anyway. It’s all up to Frank, he thinks. She needs to find him, and quick! TBC

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March 2, 2026 · 2:43 pm

00490506 (high no more)

On and on they played, well into the night, past 2, almost past 3. Bed called, but the drive for success trumped all, kept them going. “How much now, babydoll?” Philip asked about his losses across the card table to oft times girlfriend Nada New Year, soon to be downgraded to “some”, perhaps inevitably heading to “none”, even. He’d passed 10 long ago. Thirty… forty…

After Nada didn’t answer (weariness? disgust, even?), Frank laid down the last card in the Mille Bornes marathon as if in slow motion. Everyone, including worn out Daisy to make 4, exhaled their tired, collective breaths as 50 was determined to be a limit, SCREEEECHH! They can sleep well now.

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February 25, 2026 · 3:33 pm

00490415

She poured the returned Biker his requested house beer, purposefully not warning him about the change in flavor. Would he, I don’t know, even notice? she thinks here. Men, pheh, she smoldered as she handed it to him, a picture of Frank Lynn’s idiotic face forming in her mind, with more nonsense about the benefits of AI spouting from it. Typical if so, she though about the taste test with Biker. MEN. She clunks the full beer down in front of him, even sloshing a bit on the counter which she quickly wipes up, apologizing.

After raising the glass so that Daisy can wipe underneath it, he takes a sip. He winces, just like she did. She’s *pleased*. “What *is* this?” he want to cry, but stifled himself. Didn’t want to insult the woman he, ahem, *might* love. If things at home didn’t work out. Instead: “Tastes a little different today, Daisy. Did you, erm, switch brands?”

“Oh, sorry,” she feigned, putting away the cloth behind the bar. “That’s the last of the Corona — probably just the bottom of the barrel stuff. Supplier didn’t show up this week for some reason. Let’s see…” She pretends to look over other options on the tabs, knows there’s only one. “How about Michelob Zero? Got a cheap deal on it in Tonsiltown while I was down there for a writer’s retreat. On the house — both of ’em.”

He nods, and she pours his second beer, proud of her deceit. She’s gotten an honest opinion on the new, inferior taste of Corona Non, not so much from his talk as from his actions: the wincing. She recognized the gesture as more or less her own. They have become *in sync*. Unlike her and Frank lately. Hmm, she thinks, studying the rugged looks, the strong jaw line. Interesting.

Biker takes a sip of the new stuff. “Not bad — better than that Corona I just had admittedly.” Another sip. “Not quite as *good* as the, um, *top* of the barrel Corona Non. But still…” Another sip. “Not bad.” Sip. “It’s growing on me, Daisy.” Sip. “It really is.” Sip sip.

“Even lower calories for this one, which is good,” she offers. “Zero alcohol, as opposed to a *bit* in Corona. So also a benefit. A tad less flavor, true. All in all, it might balance out. And, of course, I’m still working on my own personal Non brew that’ll blow both of them completely out of the water. Like a sea monster!” She turns, takes a gander at the collage behind the counter with the dragon curving in and out of a small pool of water they both understood stands for the Nawt Vaya Sea whose shore lies just outside the bar — to the west. The fabled alcoholic monster roaming the inland sea, searching for the new perfect brew himself, some say. He could return. Like the rest of Our Second Lyfe in her big plans, maybe he’ll value taste over buzz in the end too. We’ll see. TBC

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