He corrected me as soon as it came out of my mouth, perhaps before. “Bono, I’m Bono here,” he said. “And you’re Newt — we can’t change that.”
“But Peggy –”
“Peggy Smeggy.” He took a breath. “You don’t understand the implications yet. Darkside is *here*.” He looked me square in the eyes now, black inside black. He wasn’t evil but he came from a place
of called Intensity. In Mississippi I believe. Very focused in his tasks, he was.
“So… you brought them here.”
“Yup,” with the “p” emphasized with a pop. I reviewed what I knew. I thought he was Nemo but he said he was Bono. Bono Jores, fresh from the bowels of Mississippi. Or was it Arkansas? Anyway, he presented me with the book; said it was the way out. He did this now.
“This is the way,” he said, scooting it toward me. “The Way.” He scooted it closer. “Open in the middle and start reading.”
“I–,” I started to protest. Closer. He even opened it for me, eyes still boring. But he was no Sherwood Anderson. Or was he?
3 hours later — sunset — I finished the book that was the same as 1/2 a book. Everyone had left in the meantime, Bono to my right and
Peggy Gertrude to my left. Peggy was still here with her friend over at another table in the establishment. And that’s where I headed next — to give her the good news. All was not lost.
The convincing took a while. Her hometown was still gone; I led with that. But there’s *another* hometown coming up where gravity’s not as much up in the air. “Aerial,” I said, and demonstrated with my hand.
(to be continued)
She was in Between and she had to stare at it. The chair would face no other way. Turtle Hill, or, in olden days, Turtle Butte. Before the terraforming messed up the mesa effect and made it round and soft instead of square and rough. The center of the Maebaleia continent, some say, yea, some call it the center of *everything*, with religious overtones implied. And perhaps it was. In olden days again. Nowadays these Hills of Bill are emptied out of meaning, devoid of framework, like a void picture in a gallery of no design or wealth.
She sat reading a fashion and furniture magazine in her new-ish apartment in Squared Root City, waiting for Starlight to open so she could peruse the clothing again for that interview over at the fire station this afternoon. Because she considered herself to be one hot item and had to be put out. You keep your friends close, like Molly Jackson here, also a town newcomer (dancer), but you keep your enemies even closer, like the fire department. Soon everyone would know her burning desire for stardom. She would set the night sky ablaze with rockets’ red glare.
Molly had designs on wealth and stardom herself, but not with a fiery dress; instead: cool and calm and collected. She would bid her time in the shadows of the police station and attached department, blue replacing red. She would dance to the tunes of white Guy Lombardo but only after midnight and on the dark side of the moon. The situation seemed to call for it. She got up off the couch formerly shared with red garbed Elisa and moves to the window to stare out between the two stars just below toward both departments, considering balance.
Marty walks into the Table Room of the Blue Feather in Collagesity. I realize he should be on the wall as well: The Beetles. Like seen in Picturetown crossing a road, minus one — I believe it was Ringold (the bastard).
He said he would be glad to join The Table even though he had a busy schedule, being a famous celebrity and all. He said he was referred by The Bill, which I didn’t originally take as the Illuminati but perhaps I should have a rethink about all that. And The Bill’s influence in it. Wheeler, when she was ruler of this here Collagesity, wore a little “Bill Hat” on her head after discovering the “Gravity Falls” character of the same name from a book procured by Baker Bloch. *That* was Illuminati tinged — the whole takeover of Collagesity thing from Carrcassonnee, the former deity/ruler. And Carrcassonnee *still* can’t be restarted, just going “Iiiiiii,” for the most part, although at that one, recent party she said a couple of things more until a quick regression.
Who is at The Table with us? Roger Pine Ridge should be here but he had yet another engagement with The Rainbow Sphere. I asked Marty if he knew about such a thing and if, theoretically, he could become similarly engaged if, say, the album was Sgt. Pepper instead of Dark Side. He admitted he could… and he did. I asked him to elaborate. He didn’t.
He lit a fire and began to smoke without asking, clear reference to Eraserhead Man. So I decided to query about “Twin Peaks” and if he knew my role in it. “Jefferson Thomas might know,” he responded cryptically. I thought about it; I realized the message. *I* am the Illuminati (as well?).
(to be continued)