Tag Archives: Duncan Avocado^*~~~~~%

eyes

“Where’d you get that *hair*, brother of mine.”

Toothpick pats the top of his now thickly padded skull. “Neptune hair. It’s all the rage in the central parts of The City. Just a demo for now — trying it out. You like?” He moves his piece of straw around in his mouth in rhythm with Elberta’s. Both notice. Both turn a little red (?).

“Ahem, yes I suppose.” She couldn’t say much since she was testing out a demo as well. Silence for the moment, then: “Do you think he’ll still show up tonight?”

“Who?”

“You know. Spongebub. The reason we’re here. We need to tell him that his wife is still alive and well in Urqhart or thereabouts, selling rental units for the Illuminati. That’s the organization she was working for all along. It was the drink–”

“Sponge*bob*?” Toothpick was backing up, unable to understand the line of thought pointing to the single eyed ones, The Residents and Firesign Theatre (or Theater) both.

“*Bub*,” reinforced the sister. “We’ll call him bub in this lower, more paradoxical dimension. She reconsidered the word. What was the adjective form of parody? She didn’t know. She remained quiet, waiting for him to talk again.

“You mean the little yellow fellow, the square one?”

“Yes. Sponge*bub*,” she pronounced again.

“You mean like the little yellow, square fellow on the floor beside me right now?”

“Um. What?”

“He’s right here. Beside me. He’s been here for a while. I thought you knew.”

Elberta stands up, peers over the edge of The Table and sees the top of Spongebub’s square head with its big goofy peepers ogling (?) back. “Oh. Okay.” She keeps staring, looking for signs of life. “Why isn’t he *doing* anything — saying anything?”

“Go ahead, little fellow,” encouraged Toothpick by his side.

“Bahahahaha!” suddenly came the activated sound upon this request. “She has a square just like *me*!” He reads above her head in his high pitched and oh so nasal voice. “Gone… mo… ing.” Spongebub puts a yellow finger to his now down-turned line of a mouth, a thinking gesture complete with bulging eyes rolled upward. “Err.” He stares forward again. “What’s a mo-ing?”

They correct him as one, synchronized once more.

Back to the canal for the both of ’em.

—–

Buster gave Duncan what he thought might be good news. “They decided to get married after all, the brother and the sister. Disturbing I know. But par for the course in the Deep–”

Duncan hung up. He was already mentally prepared to move to the Sunklands to stay with Elberta and Toothpick. It was as if a cushy rug had been rudely jerked out from under his feet, leaving him to fall to a rock hard floor he understood all too well. It was his cell.

(to be continued)

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set

“She h’ain’t coming!” So shrill and trilling for a chicken, who usually wax eloquently when they have that talking device inserted down their throats. But Toothpick knew what happened; voice matches emotions of the moment. He figured Elberta ran off with that [delete name] boy Jimmy John Jones who she’s been going on about for months now. She’s bucking tradition in more ways that one. So she sent her messenger chick. The coward. He’d understand. He didn’t want to see her that way neither. This was his sister for God durn sake. His *twin*. He begins to think of running away himself. Maybe he’ll just follow her and Jimmy to wherever they went. That’ll teach ’em. He would have understood. He h’ain’t no looker like Jimmy. Everything will be safe and above board. He always liked Jimmy anyway. Despite the, um, well…

—–

“We’ll have to order you a new part from Black Ice. I think it’s down in the belt section.”

“No.”

“You’ll get use…”

Duncan Avocado kept shaking his head. He wasn’t going to budge on this. Pot-D can do whatever they like to him in return. Send him back to Dixie for all he cares. Then the memories flood back, the Slave-up vending machine, etc. Two months is a long *long* time down there (in Hell). He doesn’t want to relive that pain, even from a safe distance. He forces himself to come back to the present. He fondles his skeleton heart necklace, the one Buster gave him almost two years ago now. He reconsiders.

Buster Damm senses the change of heart and sweetens the package. “Elberta is a *looker*. You’ll get use to the hick ways. And they’re not really from the Deep South anyway, Mississippi and all. They’re from the very southern part of Black Ice where we use to have the Boos and Bogota…”

Duncan was nodding his head now. He’d given in. To whatever they had in mind. Mention of The River sealed it.

“No three word name. One, or, at best, two.” He spits in his hand. Buster spits in his. They shake.

Reality changes.

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rhode crossing

The house seemed empty. But it had a portal room.

In the thin woods eyes were watching.

Or not.

Maybe 1/2 and 1/2.

We should walk back to GASTON.

.daor eht ssorc mih gnihctaw ,nacnuD desserpmi na denipo ”,onimoD ,naem uoy tahw ees I“

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times

He’d been here before. There were less dogs, however. And something about cats. Yeo. Maybe just “meow”, as in an exclamation. Of what, though? Then the color green entered his mind and wouldn’t leave. And other colors followed: Beige, Brown, Olive… Pink. “Pink!” he called out.

—–

Marsha “Star” Pink came out of the motel lobby and looked around for the origin of her name. But there was nothing to see but animals.

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The original Jeffrie Phillips.

“Entrails please.”

“On the house today, boy. *The* Boy. Congrats!” the old service robot creaked and cranked. The look became him.

“Aww. Thanks Slicey!”

“He’s at the (Bumble) Bee, David.” tracking Duncan Avocado spoke over a nearby phone. Indistinguishable talking from the other end, then: “Yeah, his maw’s out of town again. This was an easy one.”

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where The Cross meets The Straight

While on the continent, he had to go see if it was still there. It was: the Bridge of Entrapment.

He recreated the scene. He was beyond the fear now. Being dead and all.

Elephants across the island at the end of it. Elephants are a symbol of hope. They cannot entrap him now. He need not dwell on the past. He is free.

Neighboring Vilania and its Safe Hub is something to be holding in mind as well. We know the link to the hidden village (of Utah?): VILA. Only 2, and this is 1 of the 2. Or actually 2 of 2.  A man drove an impossibly small car between the 2 last year. Actually several men, but one turned from green to red and became useless, more out-of-focus landscape all about. Utah (Utah!). Mirror Lake Highway. Kamas to Samak. And so it goes.

The couple of Rhodenwald were in the other VILA yesterday as well. Inside a Dark Mountain, the one feared by Christians there too, and perhaps rightly so. Like Hitgal’s pal Sangria. Like Uncle Zach’s nephew Domino.  A black community, in constant fear of their lives. So we brought them here, or Jacob I. did, I suppose we have to clarify. With his big, 3rd eye. It was revealed under his straw chapeau and all happened. The Joint Joint became a locus of energy. And it, too, is still there, with a direct portal from NWES City, of all places. Rhino. Speaking of which…

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clearing

The newest anomaly of Rhodenwald is gone as of sometime in the last 24 hours. A temporary madness.

Maybe that kind of madness will also pass for the country as a whole. But I don’t have my hopes way up.

“Uh herm, you’re showing a bit of an ankle there, New Nun.”

“No, Duncan, it’s just that I can’t hate this place. I *should*. But love is here. So much hate in the world.”

“Like the couple in the park,” Duncan Avocado in the wicker chair beside her said, referring to earlier conversation.

“Yes.”

He looked up from the bare ankle. “And the cross?” he spoke. “And the crucifix?”

“Yes, they will always be in hand. A second life must be prepared.” She pauses again.

“*Is* this a second life, a second chance?”

“I cannot say there is not love here,” she finalized, looking across the road at yet another symbol of red hate. Dixie seems to surround this oasis of Rhodenwald, a Meat City all around. We’ll have to talk about it further.

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Collagesity

Later, they’re joined by New Nun and perhaps some others. “New Nun,” the male Baker declares after her arrival, “you hold the cross and the crucifix in your hand at once and thus you are valuable to this here current photo-novel, 21 in a series of 20. Wait — what number are we on now?” New Nun shrugs. Duncan Avocado answers more philosophically. “We are beyond Collagesity and the number 20. We are Sunklands through and through now, the true archive. Collagesity became too — bloated.”

“Bloated?” responds Baker, truly puzzled in the current picture.

Or was it worry.

Duncan, who cannot express facial features since he is a mesh creature, elaborates. “Your original version of a virtual village, Pietmond, was also perhaps your best, or at least best balanced. You had artists coming in from the outside and having their own galleries. Yours was only one of a number. Then the new wave of collages came for you starting in, 2013? (Baker nods). Parallel to this came the new galleries, Power Tower, Falmouth, the largest of them all, followed by the Red Umbrella followed by Boos. Before you had 100 collages in 6 series, a well rounded and contained quantity: Art 10×10 I believe you named it (Baker nods). Then another wave hit, the second — stronger and deadlier. Beware the second wave.”

Baker understood now. Before it was Kenneth Rougeau, Melodie Darwin, Mike Casey, Stegocat, Max Ernst, Baker Bloch, Julie Sadler, and others. Afterwards it was just Baker. The second wave changed it all. Forever.

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left should be center

The United States of Our America is definitely in some kind of Civil War now, and I’m definitely on right, but just in the picture below. I’m a card carrying leftist. How did we become so polarized and broken? We politicize *mask wearing.* *Mask* – *wearing*. Ugh. But we must carry on, divided but somehow still united, and face the true enemies head first, rising fascism disguised as anti-socialism being one. I side with Rhodenwald (right) instead of what’s across the road.

It’s why Duncan has no desire for Baker Bloch to rent from Life Properties also across the road at the old Rhode Gallery site he sits in front of here, pheh.

“Don’t you dare,” he tells him. “Don’t you bloody dare.”

“Oh, okay.”

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The Anomaly

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