Tag Archives: DOVE

stop and go

“See the whirlybird, Tabitha? Whirl whirl,” she emphasized with a twirling finger. “Whir whir,” the toddler she was holding mimicked without the finger. The actual birds in the vicinity, doves, remained frozen between them, opposing frantic spinning with rigid stasis in protest of the “invasion”. Or so legend goes: frozen birds, later the inspiration for a frozen pie company.

Tar stepped out of the copter, followed by Guit. The experimental, guitar oriented punk-folk fusion band Tar Guit had landed in rebuilt Moray Docks Village, ready to put on a celebratory show for the ages. Trouble was, they sucked.

—–

I suck at this game, thought Liz. But I’m not going to let these bastards known it. Fiction power: on!

She expertly places the 1st black stone. Everyone had to play clean, the rules stated. So they washed them down before the match, these opposing horses or ponies. They couldn’t take a water or food break until it was over. The Watchers were going to have a good time with this. Because they knew Liz couldn’t resist. Then at the end they’d all give her a big Thumbs Down despite her seeming big win. “In reality,” they might chide, “you couldn’t beat Lichen with one hoof tied behind your midsection. Black never succumbs to white!”

“Does so!” she might exclaim back, and end it all with a fall of cards, or, in this case, a shower of rocks, inharmonious black and white mixing together in a fused mish-mash all around.

Robot servant Ruttitutti shows up, ready to take food and drink orders. It was over.

—–

Thank God, most of the scattering concert goers thought.

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That’s a Moray

It was the last outing with her friends before the big event. “George,” she called over, “do you… do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Funny how her best friend Debbie also married a George. Were they happy? Let’s just say there was always room to slide between the two. Like here.

“I don’t know, Shelley, sounds like a Debbie question.”

Yeah, right, Debbie thinks.

“But you’re a man. You know The Musician pretty well by now.” George again wondered why they always called him that. He plays an okay guitar, specializing in Lennon and Lydon, but he’s not a professional by any means. Instead he’s a cookie cutter at the local bakery. Why not Baker, then? Odd thought, he realizes.

“He loves you and that’s all I know.” George Smithson rattles his paper, a sign that he was eager to get back to it. Debbie was absorbed in her phone, checking the latest bets on the local dogs. One named Red Spider is 10:1 odds to beat another called Arrow. She might place a bet on that one for a particular reason we can’t quite reveal yet — perhaps never will admittedly.

Only Shelley is left without distracting entertainment right now. So she looks around the Real World, sees a woman selling flowers down the way, sees a fisherman standing behind her who had just pulled his boat into the docks, perhaps contemplating buying a rose for his sweetie who he left behind when heading to sea, maybe hours ago but maybe weeks, years even.

She sees a woman taking a selfie with her dog while a fish flops wildly on the back of the tricycle in front of her.

And then, further down the docks, birds flocking to a man reading a newspaper for some reason. Perhaps he just fed them in a pause in his reading. She wonders if he’s reading the same paper as George here, and then why George never seems to go out of his way to feed birds or really care about anything in the world at large, including his wife of course foremost of all. Does George — her George — care about me? she wonders once again. Will our marriage quickly — *devolve* to this?

She decides to test this George. “Looks like that nice man down the docks just fed those pigeons.”

George glances over. “Doves,” he says. They’re doves, Shelley,” then back to the reading.

“Still, it’s a nice gesture.”

George doesn’t say anything to this. He’s checking the stock market. Maybe he’ll buy into this company called Red Arrow coming up fast, a crypto-currency organization specializing in tax evasion. Eew, a spider suddenly walks across the figures! He quickly swats it away in one motion.

Shelley looks from one to the other, having her answer. She needs to talk to her dad, maybe her mom and dad together, about this whole *arrangement*. She plots how to get out from between them asap. “Guys, I think I’ll go back to the motel. My stomach’s feeling a little queazy.”

“It’s those grapes,” Debbie says to her, placing the bet.

“Yeah, the grapes for sure,” agrees George, hitting the buy button on the screen.

“Grapes,” mutters Shelley. Where have I heard this before? she thinks.

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00340507

“I am Pauline Silentghost with the g silent and the h — not silent.”

“Pauline Silenthost?” replied Wheeler phonetically.

“Yes. (pause) I am the wisdom of all things–”

“–Nautilus, yes. I gathered that.” Wheeler indicated behind the entity at the circular framed nautilus shell, obvious symbol for the continent she once again inhabits. Like returned Rust. “Thus, I suppose, your smaller property in Scroop.”

“Scrougeout, yes. We call it Scrougeout. Carrcassonnee has decided so.”

“The… Oracle.”

“Yess.”

It was here Wheeler understood that they were talking to each other in their heads and not bodies. It was also here that Wheeler realized she was floating in air as a disembodied head or sumtin before the Oracle. Silentghost *was* the Oracle, or a channeler of Carrcassonnee in the moment. “You know Spider,” said Silentghost the Oracle. Then she fired these numbers very rapidly, the first being the same as the last. 24 permutations in total. Like this: “2130 1230 3210 2310 1320 3120 3102 1302 0312 3012 1032 0132 0231 2031 3021 0321 2301 3201 1203 2103 0123 1023 2013 0213 2130.”

“I suppose,” replied Wheeler, remaining even keeled through it all. “We found him in Tennessee. A Red Arrow indicated his presence there. And 8 shoes. And a bird, a dove perhaps.”

“Ahh… *my* dove. Victor, short for Victory. And *Victoria*.”

Wheeler tried to absorb this seeming nonsense, knowing it actually wasn’t.

“Let’s go down to my treehouse and talk further,” Silentghost requested, and then they were there.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0507, AF Subcontinent, Sansara

new bird

“You need perfection. You reach perfection. You pass perfection on the other side. Of course Wheeler Wilson was going to defeat (and assimilate) the new Tina Turner.”

“Tina Louise I believe,” said the fainter voice from the side, another Observer. “Like Mary Ann except beautifuller.”

“All-American still?” the first questioned the second. “Ρùℜ℘Îē?”

“That’s the key,” said the second.

“Heart of the matter,” reworded the first.

Resurrected Arthur Kill had finished retrieving the “Spider” from Tennessee but he was around for good thanks to the mop, with its silliness reinforcing its power. So they — Wheeler and he — decided to form a band, creating an alternate reality where “America the Beautiful” replaced the “Star Spangled Banner” as our country’s great national anthem. First gig: Towerboro or thereabouts, playing to an audience half blue half red. Now to split the two right down the middle, form a third. Wheeler kept wearing purple.

Wheeler kept wearing purple.

Wheeler kept wearing purple.

It worked. St. Francis Scott, the key, was hatched at the beginning of the 5th.


dramatization

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0501, Big Woods, Gold City, Hana Lei^^, Jeogeot, Wendy-Ontario

00340415

“Looks like a Dove. Highlighted by white, even. Shadow against light.”

“Could be could be,” he relented. Spider. They’d found him! Carrcassonnee was overjoyed.

“Can I… see him again now? Now again him see… I can?”

—–

“Well I’ll just wait upstairs while you finish speaking with each other,” said Jamie, walking away and highlighting Sign.

The footsteps on the stairs ended and the footsteps on the top floor began. Roberts was more free to talk about what Tessa needed to know. She’d already apologized about before. She said it was the town and the lag there, made her appear… less clever than she was. Roberts actually meant Tessa here but Tessa thought she meant herself (Roberts). There was just that difference between the two. Now at least the difference is clear, because we weren’t in Cable Isle any longer but back in Towerboro. Which office was the branch of the other didn’t really matter. That would be revealed soon enough. I would assume (the branch is) here without knowing more, but I’m about as clueless as Tessa in the moment. We better get to their dialog.

“I’m sorry about before, Tessa. It was the lag and the town.”

“Yes, you said that before.”

“I was just checking to see if you were listening. Sometimes people don’t when I speak, but maybe I’m just use to Cable Isle and its issues. Maybe here will be different.”

So just listening in, it appears that there is only one Roberts and Franklin investigating firm and it has moved from there to here. Back to the interaction.

“I’m listening,” said Tessa, trying to do this simple action. All I need, she thought, is to wake up, not sleepwalk all the time. That’s what Roberts desires.

“Let’s just enjoy the here and now for a moment, shall we?” Roberts kept silent. Tessa kept silent. Roberts reengaged eye contact. “*Now*.”

A blue Martian appeared. “Who’s that, Roberts?”

“Laura, please,” requested the psychic-detective. “And that, my friend, is an Observer.”

“Hmmm. What is she observing?”

“You,” came the quick reply. Silence again. Tessa was trying to think of a next step — what Roberts wanted from her again. She was trying to be mindful. Roberts — Laura — was patient, she knew. There was something here to be revealed, she picked up, and not just the Observer. There was another *thing* involved, a (she gleaned) thing that is not what it seems. An animal! She said this aloud.

“Good. What kind of animal?”

“She immediately thought, dog, but discarded it as too easy, not trusting her gut reaction. Her thoughts drifted to horse. She could just guess aloud. “Horse,” she said.

“Mmmm, not quite,” spoke Roberts, face remaining neutral.

Alligator? she thought. “Alligator.”

“Again: not quite.”

Spider came to mind but she broadened it as insect. “Insect.”

“Yes.”

Tessa was pleased, thinking that was the end of the game. But then Roberts continued. “And?”

“Something else besides an insect?” Tessa tried to clarify.

Roberts gave up the game, opened the door with her mind.

“A… dog?” It was the first thing that came to mind and then it was the last thing that came to mind. Funny how things work that way.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0415, Jeogeot, Tennessee, Towerboro

row of red 02

“Okay Kenny, slow and easy. We know what animal we’re looking for now.”

“Dog,” Kenny said, repeating the last word of the old, confused man.

And then, just like that — so suddenly — there it was. “There!” Ken screamed almost as loudly as the killed lady in the house did before. Arthur squelched the desire to shoot him on the spot as well. Because he saw something too.

“Back up. I want to make sure.” Ken backed up one click.

“Okay, sloow and eassy — and no screaming this time.” He held one of his weapons to Ken’s head just to make sure. He could drive himself if push came to shove. And it might after this. One click later: still there.

“The bird is *attacking* the dog?” Ken said in as calm a voice as he could muster given the circumstances.

“One click more forward,” Arthur Kill demanded, not yet ready to answer any questions.

“Okay.” Click.

Arthur Kill looked at the spectacle that had moved more toward the back. The bird is far separate from the dog now.

“Indicating,” concluded Kill. “The bird was indicating the dog. We can go home now. But first…” *POP*

The dog replaced the man.

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mightier?

She’d left the water in the shower running but it was on purpose: to prove a point. Or, better, to remind her of something. A key, 2nd shower really not needed since no poop is involved.

She was finished with her clients but there was more work to be done tonight before going home bed. Check on the Duck. Because she was about ready to kill someone…

… with writing. “Dear,” she called over to her ex but both still using Gold for a surname. “How do you spell asimilation? With that extra s I’m always mising? Dear oh dear. There I go again!”

“Answered yourself of course,” he responded, not staring up from the folded newspaper. 20 dead in Uptown this year so far. What is Gold City coming to??

“Yes,” she realized. “All I have to do is look down.”

“Or straight ahead…” *sip*

“… if a computer is involved, yes.” Which it wasn’t in this Gold City experience of hers. She preferred pen over keys here. Must be something about running away as fast as possible from the Ebony and the Ivory. Dove’s where it’s at now. She just used it in fact. In the shower. Which she needs to take another of. *No*. She has the key, she reminds herself again, still writing, still scribbling sideways across the yellowing paper, perhaps parchment. *Barry* is the one. He needs the shower. But where is Barry?

Still scribbling, still writing.

Newt sets the paper down. He’s had enough bad. Now for good. “I’m glad I found you again Eyela. Just mised you in the church, ha.”

She looked down, emitted a small laugh as well. Good one, Newt. Then she took the pen and struck out that sentence. Then another, and another until the whole paper was full of lines. Newt was gone. Newt, her ex, perhaps even still her husband since she’s reverted back to Eyela and/or they still share the same last name, was never here. Or else he left earlier. She writes alone.

Later she sits in bed staring at the sword, wondering how to turn it back into a pen. Looks like actual killing is in order if she doesn’t succeed with this.

Because the Duck is right beside her.

“Paul?”

“Yes?” he quacked.

“I think… it’s… time…” STAB

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0315, Chilbo^, Gold City, Jeogeot

(s)pray

Marsha “Pink” Krakow was praying in a Mid-town church. Newt just missed her. “God bless Mama, rest her soul. And Dada. And most of all my little boy all grown up and playing with fire now. Help him not manifest the Duck any longer.”

Fat chance, he thinks simultaneously while spraying in Southside.

She releases the doves from the steeple, hoping one would poop the truth on him, just like with her.

Here he or she comes!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0313, Gold City, Jeogeot

00340101

“I *know* this person,” thinks Wheeler at the door of the investigator/psychic’s interior office. She’s playing around with forms again, and this one is an extension of her recent consumption of fries with cheese at the nearby Twin Peaks bar and grill. File it under: you are what you eat. She thought she had 30 days before the skin turned green on this freebie avatar she’s attached to the outfit. Not as advertised; no wonder it was a budget item. She’s trying to become — but never mind. It’s not turning out. But that figure on the door (!).

“What was that Mrs. Corn?” Corn? she thinks. A last name? What’s the first? But she knows what it is.

“Oh… nothing. Just staring at the big eye on your door. It reminds me of someone.”

Psychic-detective Roberts pivots toward Mabel (Mabel!). “We’ve been through this.”

The situation changes.

—–

Jack barges in with his recently cleaned shovel. “Ma’am, the corpse is now bur — oh. Sorry. Didn’t know you were with someone.” Why would he? Miss Roberts never has any clients. Except dead ones. But this one appears to be alive. And green! Must be — but it couldn’t. Martian?

“Hi Harry,” he speaks over to the shorter figure standing beside her, also a gnome, also working for the firm.

“Hello Jacob,” as Harold calls Jack, which he doesn’t like but puts up with. Harry’s a nice guy. And a great carpenter. He did a fine job with this coffin. Extra long, but he made it fit.

“Just looking for the case, Mrs. Corn,” Roberts excuses herself to Mabel, now considerably smaller but just as green. Moreso, since she’s now wearing a Hannah Montana lime toned outfit, fresh from a concert at the Rooftop Inn over in mid-town. Where are we, then? The land description mentions an asylum. Is everyone here nuts? Could explain the outfit.

And the book! Just like the one at the newly established Table Room on Rooster’s Peninsula, where I live as a castle dweller, library in the center still. For now. A sprite was looking in it for information about her type, where she comes from, what are her weaknesses. This is Greenleaf, who also shows up in Towerboro standing on a big rock behind Dove, formerly Ivory, but still a sister to Ebony on the giant tree trunk dead in front of her: Deadwood. And the alphabit spread out on the forest floor below them, which they eat with a spoon one by one by one until they reach M, when *they’re* dead. Mmmmmm dead. Thirteenville.

But I feel like I’m needlessly complicating things again. Let’s back up more.

—–

“Okay, Mrs. Daigle. Let me just begin to look for that case we were just talking about. Oh — and Barry? You can take off your pyramid and go home now. I think you’ve learned your lesson well enough, young gnome.”

The striped dunce cap he was wearing! One and the same.

We must follow this figure and see what happens next.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0101, Cable Isle, Hana Lei^^

head and heart

IMPORTANCE OF CLEAR INSTRUCTIONS

I asked the patient’s mom about the skincare regimen they were using, including their choice of soap. The parent said they were using Ivory soap. She said the previous doctor said to use either Dove or Ivory.

Now that would be an odd thing to suggest. Typically, one might recommend a less drying cleansing product to an atopic, but Ivory wouldn’t normally be at the top of that list. Almost undoubtedly, the doctor said to use “Dove, not Ivory.” But it is quite understandable how a patient could misinterpret what was said.

Port Ivory is a coastal area in the northwestern corner of Staten Island, New York City, New York, United States. It is located on Newark Bay near the entrances the Kill van Kull in the east and Arthur Kill in the west….

The area bore the name of Milliken originally, and became locally known as Port Ivory after Ivory Soap, one of the best-known products from Procter & Gamble, which operated a factory at the site from 1907 until 1991 when the soap making operation was moved to Mexico.[1][2]

“I knew you’d be back. *Boyfriend*.” Mexican standoff.

“You know what I’m here for.” SHOOT SHOOT POP POP.

Red at the waist.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0615, Mexico, New Jersey, New York, Wendy-Ontario