Tag Archives: Duncan Avocado^*====%&

middle

Half the audience will be red, the other half blue. But in her purple sock hop outfit singing the right songs she thinks she can make it work. First off: the national anthem. “America the Beautiful”. No one can argue with that choice.

She decides to augment the “purple” in mountain through synthesizer manipulation. Lampton will be more than willing to help, she realizes. He knows the importance of all this too. The manipulation of the people of our great US of A.

Come on back Lemont Sanford (!). Turns out you weren’t killed off after all. Wheeler has that power.

But Duncan Avocado was another story and thus we cut off at the drums. Acapella I presume. Get ready for that augmentation Arthur “Kill van Kull” Lampton!

“Oh beautiful for spacious skies…” Beautiful singing voice. Just beautiful. Get ready.

“For ℘ùℜ℘Îē …”

She keeps singing but she scans the audience for change.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0104, Jeogeot, Towerboro

Tom

He came down in a beam of white light from the sky.

Mr. Bean, but not that one. That’s just a stand-in, basically a cardboard cutout of a 3D person.

The real one had blue eyes. At birth. Now…

But who’s that over there sitting at the visiting scholars table?

—–

The dead man in the teepee-tent doesn’t bother me any more.

I pick up my blue feather pen again and begin to write.

Dearest Greenleaf,

I know it was you in the woods today, sending me a message. Thank you. With the rolling orange mushroom head you were telling me about the path and the correct way to go through your precious ferns (kind of). You are protective! Very.

I will attempt to construct a Circle of Peace at Aloha. I know now that you would want that (yes). Guide me in choosing the rocks I need.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0614, Blue Mountain, City Park, Jeogeot, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula, Towerboro

00330210

“Miss Graham, Miss Graham,” Barry DeBoy interjected, raising his hand.

The teacher points to him with her chalk instead of circling the all important modifier on the blackboard, the center of it all.

D’Eddy, sleeping in a nearby cardboard box and overhearing some of it at the end of his dream, wakes up. What started with his hands now extends over his whole body. He is fully black now. He looks at his hands, his arms. He even takes off his shoes to check his feet. It’s all tinged with red a bit too. He ponders what that could imply. Indian as well? “Well well well,” he found himself muttering, shaking his head at it all. “Well well well.”

He prepares breakfast by standing on the sink and touching it. Rosebud tea with butter and muffins. Perfect.

He realizes he can’t get rid of the cap attached to his belt because it exposes the red around his waist. He can’t exchange it for red because red is already in place. I.e., he is not the Barry DeBoy of his remembered dream. He has that much.

He waves hi to his neighbor Hutchison (or was it Hutchinson?) out the window, tending to his garden next door. Not seen.

He goes downstairs to play the piano, since there’s not a lot more to do in the house where he lives. The cardboard box was a dream, but he knows where it is still. Enigma. He’ll go there later when he gets bored. A player’s place is at the piano, he thinks, and begins to tickle the ivories. He decides he needs to study the ebony keys more and incorporate them into his compositions. Ivory *and* Ebony — could be the title for a song, even. Could he compose a piece with only black keys, sharps and flats in other words? It would make for a challenging exercise; cut into the boredom that always comes when he lifts his hands from the Bechstein upright.

His other neighbor Victor also plays the piano. He’s a more proper player, although not a composer: teaches the subject at a local university in fact, a community college I believe, which is all the education most middle class people can afford these days. He doesn’t want to be an elitist, or at least act like one. Because he knows he’s an elitist — 1/2 and 1/2 (here we go).

Barry DeBoy can faintly hear the other piano play on top of his own. Why does he always start about the same time as me? he wonders, momentarily stopping to listen in. Gershwin?

“Put the cap back on,” he hears in another dream. “You are an artist; you are *not* a piano player.” And so it goes.

He stands back from the piano, realizing he can’t even play. One of his paintings appears on the wall beside him: “Capsule in Ocean”.

Can you see it?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0210, ENIGMA, Nautilus, North, Wild West

controller (one nautilus is all nautilus)

“As you can see, young man, my black piece — the bishop I believe, unless it’s the rook — is turning into a white piece. This is how I propose to win the game.”

“Forfeit?” I guessed, knowing the overwhelming odds against him.

“Hardly. Look at your hands.”

“W-what the??”

“Your — move.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0208, Nautilus, North, Slaashsides

00330107

“No it has to be one of those other colors,” Denisce decides, which was in her name after all. A decision maker she was, a go getter. And blue wasn’t in her name aim. George neither.

“Aw, *rats*,” he says, and starts moving toward his clothes.

—–

“Blue,” George begins, floating like a ball in his Southwestern pool as Little George, thinking of Michigan and some other stuff. “And yellow — *that’s* what did my beloved Duncan in, Marty.” George looked over at the red topped Beetle, checking to see if he was actually listening. Because he often wasn’t. He was currently looking at his soaked shoes and wondering how to slip them off and make his feet bare, like young George’s tootsies over there. He was wondering how he could Be Like George.

“Are you hearing me, Marty?”

“Um, sure sure. Blue, right.”

“And…?” George prompts.

“Um… *yellow*, yeah yeah. Real reet.”

George actually shakes his head with this while floating in the water. George thinks that Marty isn’t black. He should stop trying so hard. The Mann, pheh. “So that leaves…?” he prompts again.

“Red and green.” Marty was starting to pick it up. The Annaberg balloon; Blue and Yellow seeing a yellow sunrise with his two blue peepers. Duncan didn’t look the other way this time. This was all about TILE.

“You disappeared into that rock over there, you rocker. Do you even recall *that*?”

He recalled… something about a Cyclone. Blue and yellow. Then red and green. Oz.

Wizard Cube

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0107, 0108, Iowa, Jeogeot, Nautilus, Southwestern, Towerboro

00330106

Kactus tries out reality amidst will o’ wisps. He points and mutters in his drunkenness, “I use to *live* there, he he.” Man About Time should have put an end to him while he had the chance. Now he’s been let loose upon *our* world. US of A/Iowa/Ringgold County. Should have never let the link happen. Fo fo fo.

“*Duncan*,” George cried in the shack in the forest. “Duncan is dead!”

The boy decides to do something about it.

“Who are you?”

“My name is George,” he said to her with his newly minted lips, reading her mind of course. Since it was his mind as well. “And I am your future husband.”

“Cool!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0106, Heterocera, Jeogeot, Towerboro, VHC City^

into the light

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0517, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

the end of Duncan, A.

“He’s not coming out of there,” he says to me. “He’ll always be a part of the library.”

I knew I was weighted too much in the South. But that’s where he chose to stay.  “Who will replace him?” I asked Buster Damm sitting across from me, an impossibly small vampire in such a big big world. Too small to fit in anywhere properly. But too important to die himself. He stared the answer into me.

“So they just found him there. Dead.”

“Gone to South America,” Buster elaborated as best as possible. Just like Sherwood before him, another Allen.

—–

Nighttime at the Castle in De Skies; fog getting thicker. Must think about heading home soon. North.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0516, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

cins

Like any child, Duncan realizes he is neither one nor the other. He is himself. Yet he must honor the dead.

What *now*, mother, father? I am a mere black child with red on his hands from doing wrong deeds. Continuously! Tell me how I made my error.

Could it have been… conception itself?

—–

Neighboring Perch-Mistletoe now:

I’m doing what Wendy did before, he thinks while rubbing down a counter in a local sushi bar with his bare hands. I killed her (!).

The Man About Time showed up.

“Sorry about the lateness,” he apologized in his mild manner, too embarrassed to say he’d forgotten how to put on his clothes and had to be reminded by those around him. “Just change your wardrobe,” they collectively scolded. “Oh,” he said in return, turning as red as Duncan’s sinful mitts, another error filled story.

“Wellll?”

“Carrcassonnee?” Man About Time said, knowing what was foremost in Duncan’s mind even if he didn’t. Did it work this time? Was he able to merge the 7th back into the 6 and start the, er, *car*? It was a thing to ponder and he did. Remember, MAT, remember! Where *was* he? He looked around. I was there and now I’m here which was there before, but…

Duncan repeated his original one word question to Man About Time, refocusing him to the present. Center. He recalls: center.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0312, Nautilus, Perch-Mistletoe, Upper Austra^

00310311

—–

Gold face? he thinks.

“AVOCADO,” came the booming voice back, reading his mind. Everything was out in the open here, nothing hidden. She addressed Baker as Mountain Man. Or maybe it was Duncan.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0311, Lands End, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Wild West