“I know this is only our second date,” Jeffrie Phillips began again. Eraserhead Man had decided to move the location of the shoot to nearby Antares Isles, just northwest of Fio Fum. The Giant For A Day post title can wait. Or can it? “But I’m a marrying type, I’ll warn ya. I want to marry you. I think, I *know*… I love you.” He turned toward her, Redd For A Day. She of course wasn’t expecting this. Blue script; in the white one she would have slapped him, knowing what he did on that filthy yacht just yesterday while she was with Thomas getting her tattoo. He promised to stick to the clean one from now on. And that’s where they got married. Just back there, in the background. And then they lived in the submarine home a little closer, on the largest and most northern of the 3 or 4 isles in the chain, right near the yacht, pointing toward it like a time bomb. Julius was born a little while later — well I guess it would have to be at least 9 months later. Jeffrey named him while she was busy reading her current furniture and fashion magazine on the far isle again, just where they are now, in the present. A black child for a white couple but that was just part of the magic.
They set a date. March 1, 2022. The day the music died.
Ironic that while perusing black and white photos in that fashion and furniture magazine during Julius’ illicit naming event back there she was thinking about Newt. And Annaberg — why did she ever leave that Sunklands burg in the first place?
“Thanks for meeting with me again, Redd.”
Redd, she mused privately. I like that name. Better than Alysha. For now, for this scene anyway, with this actor/person. She decided to let him talk again instead of replying. It was in the script: blue.
“I… have a problem.”
“I gave away my car to a man I’m not sure I can fully trust. Guy named Monroe Ray. Or maybe it’s Manray Roe. Anyway…”
“Anyway,” she quickly added, uncomfortable with the ad lib.
“… I’ve decided to get it back. You see, Manray, I mean…”
“Monray, I mean, Monroe.” Now *I’m* doing it, she thought. Eraserhead Man might not be so pleased with *this* ad lib. He was with some, and not as much with others. 1/2 and 1/2. Yet another one in a long line of 1/2’s and 1/2’s. I’m so tired, she continued pondering. Didn’t get enough sleep last night. The tattoo I got yesterday still smarts. I’m not sure it was a smart thing to do now (!). She instinctively reaches her left arm around and scratches it. Thomas said it would take a couple of days to heal up properly, maybe a couple of weeks. She could tell he wanted to add “a couple of months,” to extend the sentence even more but he didn’t. So it could be that long, ugh. But very very difficult to reverse now. She was stuck with it, most likely — in all likelihood.
“Monroe, right. Fern said it was ultra important and that the portal should *not* be closed right now, the one that goes to Bluefield, West Virginia, US of A. A purple car *will* come through, she stressed in her wise or at least brilliant way.” Then he turned away from his fishing and looked at Redd, aka Alysha. “But *you’re* Fern.”
“Kind of,” she explained. “Kinda not.” 1/2 and 1/2 once more, ugh. They both looked toward the cameras for direction.
(to be continued)
He came in on a tulip plane from Maebaleia (continent), vowing never to return. “Black and white tv’s,” he complained to the airline reservation agent whose name he didn’t catch and then regretted it later. Raspberry colored, she was, at least in dress — complete with seeds, ha. An idea is planted. A secret revealed. “Greyscale, even — that’s the name of the *leader* for Christs sake.” He’d received a free ticket to the capital city of the South from his cousin Vinnie. He should call him — right here and now at the airport — give him a piece of his mind about the recommended vacation spot. No *wonder* the lout gave up his ticket, he thought. Nothing there but chickens. And worse!
Only much later would he learn that Maebaleia is the same as Satori, and that he’d neglected to visit the much nicer North in his travel. Vinnie provided him with another free ticket — even went with him this time to make sure he didn’t stray too far south. They stood on the edge of the Guy Linden owned Gangkhar Rabbit Hole and marveled at its unicorn nature. Once there were two such things, on either side of X-City, King city of the north. For the king had risen again to compliment his southern queen. The black menace with two protruding round ears still hung in the sky but they’d learned to make peace with it by eliminating capitalism. Communism or at least Marxism has its advantages.
“Mae Baleia. My name is Mae,” she said more distinctly through her thick (Russian?) accent when he returned this time. *That’s* where the confusion all started. This gall darn agent (!).
“Bear with us,” the small lion cub requested to the reader while the tiger ran offscreen to take a piss.
“Oh *my*,” the tiny cat exclaimed upon seeing the white menagerie.
She was at the heart of the heart shaped island, pale as snow. Mary was the owner. This was the foothold Jacob I. needed to get to the peninsula and away from Leila, then still called Eyela. Broken Heart knew they had to split up and it broke her heart to think about it. But fate must unfold properly, broken or not. “Be a lamb, dear, and make my drink for me,” Mary requested to Broken Heart after the introductory formalities. “Right over there (she pointed to the bar behind Broken Heart from this angle); Bloody Mary if you will.” Broken Heart didn’t know what she was doing in mixing the drink but she tried her best. Mary knew it would turn out perfect, whatever. After all, this was all imaginary and she had control of everything. At least at this spot. “Faaannntastic,” she said a little later while sipping, head already beginning to turn a bit red. She began to feel (like) herself again, aah. The cold was receding.
But she remained a broken figure, as broken as Heart herself. They could commiserate with each other now.
“I love him.”
“No *I* do.”
I didn’t get out of the pod, which had turned into a boat. Soon enough I was darting toward Dizneyland, probably Pansy as well. I could only hope.
I stepped out of the boat and walked across the entry dock as quietly as I could. Maybe if I didn’t wake up anyone I could get out of this alive.
A squeaking board. “Halt!!”
We ate supper that night in silence. The knife we used to cut the pizza lay just beyond reach. I had two options as I saw it. We could either kill each other… or kiss each other. But this was Wheeler, I reminded myself. A Blurmaid — blue mermaid — but still: Wheeler. The whole separation of state and power came back to me like a punching fist, a jabbing knife. Looks like killing is the option.
“CUT!!” the director shouted behind the scenes. “That was GREAT. Now do it like you’re two monkeys climbing up a tree to grab the same banana. Annnnd ACTION!!”
The improv suggestion didn’t work. We sat there still, staring at each other. If I could only describe the look in her eyes. Two pools… whirlpools perhaps. I wish I was somewhere else.
I was in the Temple now, having just completed the second of 2 whirls of the rainbow labyrinth on the bottom floor. Blue all around, but white here in the center. Just like her and her eyes. I was trapped like a fly between two window panes. I looked over at crooning Mercury propped up against a dead tree and understood more about what he went through.
Blue yellow red green, and then, secondly, cobalt purple orange maroon. If only there were just letters and not letters and numbers together then the world could remain perfect.
“The switch from Kansas to Oz equals the switch from yellow to red as if through a door. Blue and yellow are Kansas, which remain perfect. Red and green are Oz, Munchkinland and the Yellow Brick Road to begin and encompass the whole. This *should* be perfect but it has been singly corrupted. And this is where we must understand *numbers* beyond letters. 13 in the first has been reduced to 12 in the second, with numbers adding 1/4th from the outside. This ‘outside’ is what we must really begin to understand. Because that is the direction of the Abyss and not God.”
I didn’t want to hear this TILE talk from Man About Time, attempting to explain my latest dream-reality. I knew Wheeler had created it all to teach me a valuable lesson. Don’t f-ck with mermaids. Or mice.
I am Pansy. Zero Hero.
This dates at least from 2012 and may still be present on the brick Main Street building just east of downtown — long lasting. Bold black letters here on the primary depiction, which makes it easier to spot from a distance (see below).
Giant pencil “leaning against” the number in yet another downtown alley (!). This seems to indicate, to me, that 102 either IS a director or is directly BEING directed (see: Eraserhead Man).
Another white pointing person (chalk outline) which the other white pointing person we’ve mentioned recently, positioned a block away in a nearby time-space reality, is DIRECTLY POINTING AT. What are the odds (again)??? Is this ART? (seems to be a meaning)
Here’s the look down to the, ahem, Regal Theatre. Note that in Canada they spell theater as theatre, as apparently all English speaking countries do outside the US. Where did we go wrong?
Back to the first 102. No words this time.
“It was a little toddler. Just like you Toddles. In fact…”
“Don’t say it,” she requested while having another spurt. We had just finished up the 3rd game of pool after she sank the Homer ball — as we started to call it in game 1 — for the win. I retrieved the yellow sphere from the side pocket and placed it back in the center, along with all the others. Losers have to rack. I kept pondering while I did. Toddles was now about 5′ 10″, so not a toddler. I was wrong in that, a loser once more. 3 feet to start, then a little under 4 1/2 after the second, then this. How much would she grow? I thought back to broken Big Boy at the entrance to the abandoned and clearly haunted park with the baby holding a doll. This tall? I fairly easily made it between the legs, but clearly an error to enter.
“Continue your story,” she requested while bending over to break the triangle (*crack!*). 6 balls sunk right off the bat; odds are stacked way against him to begin. With height comes increased skills, seemingly. I decided to appease her.
“Kite flying Jimmy Jackson and fly fishing Johnny Jimson were down at the pier, absorbed in their pastimes and trying to ignore the stench of the bodies that had freshly washed up on the shore that morning.”
“‘Ahh, there’s our old friend Reader perusing the octopus book’, I said, peering around the pier more, ‘perhaps looking for a smell spell to end it all.'”
“Octopus? Where’s this going?” she asked. The 7 ball was sunk, then the 2, then the 6. Did she even have any left; had she already won once more? He checked: not the Homer ball this time, but the orange, the 5th. It seemed to smile at him, telling him she was the one, the only. Here was All Orange in the flesh. The pool stick lowered, aimed…
“… annnd *CUT*!”
She describes the parcel. “Planet X, in the same sim of Icefyre as Mercury X. (Rising). And then the Mercury capsule just beyond in Neptune sim’s Neptune Bay. So many planets I see.”
“Icy planets, yes. Well: Neptune. Planet X I suppose as well, since it’s suppose to be beyond Neptune. I think.” Merry Gouldbusk’s sometimes lover Sandy Beech looks around at the sandy beach that represents the 512 parcel known as Planet X. Not much here. Just a couple of palm trees, couple of chairs and a “lounging boat”, a central patio fire, and several bags that use to contain men’s sandals before they were unpacked and put in someone’s inventory. Presumably the owner of the parcel, one [delete name].
“I suppose *this* is my queendom now. I can’t go back to Rosehaven. They already have a princess. I was just a (stunted) double for another.”
“True enough.” Sandy thinks here of his own doppleganger, a more cartoon-ish version of himself named Desert Knobb.
“Annnnd CUT!” Eraserhead Man calls offscreen in front of them. “That was great guys. Since Sandy is thinking of Desert here, let’s just switch him out. So Walter, if you would just change places with Herbert over there. Just say the same lines that Sandy was suppose to say in the script. Improvise if you feel the need.” The 2 actors switch places. “Annnnnnd ACTION!”
“Have I ever told you about the place I’m from? Great Belt? It’s very close to here: Icefyre. In fact they…”
“… may be one and the same,” Merry completed. Sandy was on his beach, Sandy was on his island. He can never leave. Just like me.
“Okay, we have a touching scene here where Craighead Phillips discovers he can’t get back through the now sealed portal to West Virginia and has to face up to his responsibilities in *this* life. Anna, you’ll be sitting on the couch over here, just letting him run through his thoughts, letting him try to justify leaving in the first place and, of course, still fuming because of it. Annnnnnd ACTION!”
“Okay, before we begin, actually, let’s have Craighead wearing his other hair, the Option 02 doo which indicates he’s done with the portal. David get the other hair and place it on Phillip’s head. And then we need to zoom in on the couch and the sign behind it and then slowly pan out, yes. Let’s raise Craighead up a tiny bit off the couch so we can see the hands. There.”
David finishes switching out the hair.
“Craighead Phillips you’re just the *worst*. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“See it’s great,” Eraserhead Man said afterwards about the beginning, “because you don’t know if it’s Your Mama or Tracy Austin talking at first. We’ll modulate the voice in post-production to make sure the ambiguity is there.”
Baker Bloch and Hucka Doobie had finished their trip through West Virginia. “We better close up the portal before we leave.”
“I’ll do it,” volunteered Hucka Doobie, getting out of the car. “You stay here and make sure no one goes through.” She pats the top of the door twice for emphasis.
“10-4.” Hucka Doobie glares at him before leaving, daring him to add “Eleanor.” She wasn’t Eleanor. Not any longer.
She pauses before entering the code that will shut it all down. “Blue rose,” she ponders, looking at the 2701 Bland Rd. yard sign. “Gordon Cole would be so proud.”