Tag Archives: Father Fecked^*+++

00500315

“There he is. Horace the drummer, just like Noodle, er, Shelley said. And, aww, he’s depressed a lot of the time. Poor guy.”

“This must be before he grew his mustache,” offered Daniel from the side, still chipping in when he can. “Or maybe he’s already shaved it off here.”

“Depression will do that to you,” I said back. “Make you change your appearance thinking that’ll help your mood. Usually doesn’t. Only a passion for the essence of life again will heal those wounds. Got it!” I suddenly realized, figurative head bulb lighting up. “Something happened to his band!”

“And he can’t release those pent up emotions, hmm.” Daniel studies the illustration again. “He’s trying to think of sunnier times. Through the meditation. But the depression is major in scale — overwhelming.”

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00500303 (Transfer)

“Iowa??” Daniel eyes the red car wall decor mounted above Father Fecked sitting at the counter, knows where this is heading. Iowa?? he says to himself this time.

“Mountain in the Air,” Newt metes out. Knew he was going to say that, Daniel thinks. Roger Pine Ridge. Or was it Marty?

Turns out it was both.

——

“Roger Pine Ridge is sick on Pill. That malady is spreading throughout the state, maybe something to do with the corn I don’t know.”

“Or Hy-Vee in particular,” spouts Daniel, proud of his addition.

“Okay, *corn* in Hy-Vee, let’s say.”

“Alright.” Always has to one up me, Daniel thinks here.

“But patient 01 — or I suppose patient 00 is the way they put it…”

“Yeah?”

“Roger Pine Ridge.”

“Yeah I remember him from the blog. *And* the attached photo-novels.” Always have to tack that on after mention of the precious blog, Daniel thinks, or else Newt *could* get upset. Doesn’t always happen but he doesn’t want to take the chance. Gotta get to the bottom of this tonight. As in: bottom of the state.

“Right,” says Newt. “So he can’t sit in front of the Beaconsfield Hy-Vee, um, building, the original location. Can’t wait for Marty any longer.”

“I see.” Indeed he did. More than he wanted to let on. You see, his memory is excellent and he recalls what happened to Roger Pine Ridge at this location in the blog. “You’re… putting me in a place similar to the castle,” he reveals what he’s gleaned. “Wooden. So wooden I can’t smoke there either. And (he turns toward the 4th wall, looks for a camera), all because of a laugh? At my expense?”

“There’s the wind too,” Newt doubles down on the laughs. “You can’t smoke because of that either. Wood and wind.”

“*Great*, THANKS.”

“Have you packed your bags?” Newt asks, understanding time doesn’t exist here, not in Cedar Creek, not in Nawt Vaya either, anywhere in Our Second Lyfe. Maybe not even in Iowa.

“No. I mean: yes; what the heck: yes. I’m packed. I’m ready to go. Am… I already there?”

“Yes.” TBC?

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00500214 (Father Fecked’s is just candy)

—–

“It really is wonderful, Baker B. Can I call you Baker? Sir?”

“Sure. *Daniel* (smile). But what do you think of (the) Bill Hicks (stuff)?”

“Nice.” Then Daniel said what was on his mind since about 1/2way through the sync called “Father Fred.” “Soo, all this castle we’re sitting in now, this Howl’s Moving Castle, is about teaching your 4 old library friends a lesson?”

“Noo,” Baker began his defense. “It’s about *communication*. Stuff we couldn’t have in real life. A *nexus*.”

“Nexus, eh?”

“Nexus,” Baker reinforced. Had to watch his temper. What was so hard to understand about all this? he thought. Frank’s Moving Castle equals Howl’s Moving Castle equals “Frank’s Moving Mtn.” when combined with Zappa’s “Billy the Mountain” rock opera. Simple as pie.

“Soo…” Daniel rubs his forehead. It had been a long day. First working in the morning, then this at noon, then back to work at the studio in the afternoon. Baker was lonely, he gathered, had no one else to watch this stuff with, except the wife and their mutual best friend Kammie, he said. Thus me — here. And the whole Zappa thing. And now: Bill Hicks. The endpoint. It was brilliant, he knew. But he couldn’t say this directly to the man pacing back and forth in front of him. Had to put on a *front*. “I think I like ‘Peewee Big’ better. You *did* ask me to be candid with you,” he said, gauging the expression forming on Baker’s always sensitive face. But all that registered was acceptance.

“Of course. ‘Peewee Big’ is the peak of it all — in a way. But each one is very different, each has its own merits, its own place in the spectrum that is the process.” Baker had to curb his tongue here. He could speak for days about this. He couldn’t place himself in Daniel’s shoes, understand that he too was trying to develop his own creativity. He was 20 years younger than Baker, though. Hadn’t had time to refine the process like his friend, his co-worker had. He was being overshadowed. And the crack about his writing the other week (!). Still pisses him off when he thinks about it. Yeah, *I’m* a creator too, just like you Baker,” he’s said to himself numerous times since then. And I can do several things as well. Writing… art. Just like *you*.

“Great. We agree.” Daniel looks around the castle’s living room. Father Fecked was here too, just like in the sync. Amazing.

“Well, I guess I better get back to Cedar Creek. Got a sculpture to finish this afternoon.” But, typical, Baker didn’t ask about any details on *that*. Hmph. Ego. Can’t see beyond his own nose, Daniel thought here. I’ll be glad to blow this place. And he can’t smoke here either, another disadvantage. Too much wood in the structure to take a chance, Baker explained to him when he asked. Must… have… cigarette, PHEH.

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00500206 (STOP/GO)

—–

Only when planetary traveler Gemilly Niceniece looked at the video afterwards did she see the A on the rock directly below her right where she decided to stop and pan around…

… which seemingly turned into a P on the other side of it. “AP!” I called aloud when seeing the transformation from my own angle, remembering the joined letters from the day before. “What was it? The Annie Oakley case?”

“Orkley Andy,” spoke someone to the side listening in, probably W aka Wheeler, the female half of our duality with a better memory, we can imagine. “Biff Carter’s case,” she clarified more for the reader than the writer. “But connected to Oakley… Annie. Together, they make–”

“–a complete A-Z time loop,” I completed, so excited I was that I forgot who was speaking in the moment. Freed up, W/Wheeler started checking her phone. Then:

“38-AP to be precise it says here, with, hmm, 37-QZ being the Oakley Annie one… *before it*. Names reversed, letters reversed. Let’s see — caused Biff to become prematurely retired and then quickly retired again when he tried to make a comeback.”

“In-ter-est-ing.”

https://bakerbloch.com/2022/03/16/00320206/

And exactly between 00320206 and 005002006 here, we found out just later, is 00410206, where we find Biff yet again. Titled “(Biff)” even.

https://bakerbloch.com/2023/11/28/00410206/

Passengers finally unload at Bellisaria’s Shobu station at the end of the straight as an arrow tracks in the shadow of towering Mt. Sakuru, let’s keep calling it. Father Fecked’s cane appears first out of the train, calm now after all that shaking from the last 7-10 minutes was over. Should’ve pinpointed this all important location before, but better late than never I suppose. The SYSTEM speaks, I understand. Egging me forward. Just like before; just like always. TBC(!)

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00500114

“Okay, Father Fecked. Wake up. Time to go home.”

Father Fecked stirs from his slumber. “Hrmmmph,” he says, bottle still in hand. Always. Along with the cane in the other one.

“You’ve got to go, Fecked,” reiterates Daisy Flathead, running her bar again but underwater this time. Bull’s Bar. She’s just a manager this go around, with Bull aka “Yellow Jack” being the owner. But she’s okay with it. For now.

Father Fecked stretches, yawns. “Hrrrrrrrrrummmph.” Smacking of lips. He looks around, just realizing where he is. Oh yeah, had to crash here, he understands through the brain fog. Nowhere to stay. “I– have—”

“You haven’t got a place to go, yeah I know,” says Daisy. “Frank and I have solved that for you. You can return to the castle. You can have your old bedroom. Just—” Daisy stops here, decides not to mention the drinking, the night wandering around the castle. *Their* room that one time; Fecked and Philip *both*.  And they can’t lock the door; have to keep it phantom so *they* can enter. Stupid, primitive castle, she sometimes laments. But it’s such a nifty vintage build. There are advantages to old too.

More smacking of lips. Finally he makes eye contact with her. “My… *bedroom*?”

“Yes, Fecked. You can go back. You can return… home.” Hard to say that word for her. *Their* home, ugh.

Smacking of lips, looking around, then eye contact again. “Home?”

“Yeah. I just need to clear you out of the bar tonight. No Lag’s playing in a couple of hours and the place should get pretty packed. *Hopefully*. Because, you know, I need the money. Sea Monster set me back you see.” She starts cleaning the beer glasses “Go on, now. Shooo.”

“No… Lag,” he manages in his gruff way, turning toward the stage.

“Yeah, the local genius guitarist. Haven’t heard her yet. But she’s popular. Drew in over 35 at The Burg last weekend, almost broke the sim. She’s a known commodity, as they say.”

Meanwhile…

“We’ve thrown in this bed — just like ours, guys. I think you’ll like some of the new moves, he he.”

Philip looks around. “But where will I take my wees?” Now that the castle’s big tongue is gone, is the unspoken part of his question. Philip loves to dangle his willy off its tip and pee into the landscape below.

“Grass,” Frank instructs while waving. “All around.”

Philip decided that would have to do, or Nada did for him, eagerly eyeing the bed. TBC

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00500112 (creating concrete truth on the banks of Nawt Vaya)

“It’s not 3 X’s in a row, Hucka. It’s 3 bunnies. Happy belated Easter btw!”

“Thank you. Are we ready to talk about Concrete?”

“The gallery, you mean. And not the WA town.”

“Correct. Should you start or me?”

—–

“Father Fecked was pointing with his possessed cane to end photo-novel 49. But he wasn’t really pointing at the Anton pin stuck in the Anson sim below Nautilus Island. He was pointing to the future, to ‘The Point of It All.’ Thus the name. We can recreate the scene in the present by looking head on at the wall separating the two and seeing both sides. See?”

“Interesting, Hucka D. Strong start for you. So… you mean he was, um, pointing to the side of the VWX Detective Agency building and not necessarily at what’s inside.”

“Both in one. But: correct again. Just on the other side of the wall from him. In the future, when the Concrete gallery was actually formed in 50 and the collage was hung there on the side of Petty’s detective agency. That’s why Petty stated he knew where to place the time machine. He was standing in it (!).

“We can even pull him directly forward through the (detective agency’s) wall, see where he’s positioned in respect to the collage. What’s he staring at now? A crime! Vandal, just like the policeman assigned to the town is distracted from by the passing pretty lady. Pretty can solve it, I mean, Petty. Petty crime too, perhaps. And that’s just one meaning. He *knew* where to place the time machine,” Hucka D. reinforces. “And as I’m sure you’ll notice, Petty is inside the collage too, magnifying glass in hand. He studies monsters.”

https://bakerbloch.com/2017/05/12/53217/

Baker’s turn.

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00500110

http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Jeolla/55/74/24

Concrete gallery is now open in NVFS’s Cement Village, featuring 40 pieces from my Bogota collection of collages created in 2016-2026 (photo-novel era). Also in the village currently are Ray’s Pizza, VWX Detective Agency, and a key shop. 1 beat cop from the Nawt Vaya Free State police department has been assigned to protect the collection and businesses.

May not be enough…

Scenes from Silverton Street, main thoroughfare for the tiny village.

Yoga on the bay.

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00500109 (Magnificat)

“Good. Good good good! I feel *rejuvenated*.” But it was the excitedly pointing cane talking this time, ha.

We downloaded an image of the liner notes from the source DVD this newest cane appeared in the exact center of — “Barkley’s Barnyard Critters: Mystery Tail” — and put it on a prim for closer inspection. “There, *there*. That’s me (*SWIG*)!

“Rudy the cane!” he named himself as his master (servant?) continued to drink. Ventriloquist!

“It says ‘Ru’y,'” I say back, just going along for the ride, the adventure. “With an apostrophe.” But then I realized the “D” was simply erased for some reason. Trying to bury the message deeper?

“I *hate* Snakeworthy Price,” he issued, remembering that bit as well.

As Frank hovering beside him somewhere, I also realized that the Old Sweetback character pictured just above Rudy with arms folded behind his head had recently appeared in my photo-novel here, 50th in number (so many!). Concrete WA’s MIB (Man in Brown), face obscured again. Wi-erd.

The plank is the cane! I also realized, moving my attention to the car. TBC

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00500107

Frank surprises Philip with signs on the doors of their High Castle bedrooms so *that* mistake won’t happen again. The thing which firmly convinced Daisy either Philip or Father Fecked (“New Mouse”) had to go so the bedroom downstairs could be claimed by the remaining one. The sounds in the middle of the night too! Earplugs were a given lately, PHEH.

“Why not just demand Father Fecked sleep upstairs?” I asked.

“Because he *snores*,” said Daisy in disgust. “Worse than the other!”

“What will you do with the room?” I queried. Daisy’s pause gave me pause too. A little bambino? Could it be possible? TBC

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00500106

Just later:

“Given XXX Dream right before this on Main Street, don’t you think Bear Square just across the road from Red Square Head Woman equals Bare Square, as in baring it all?”

“Could be, Mouse. Can I call you Mouse?”

“Dr., please.”

“Alright, Mouse.”

“Father, then.”

“Father,” I acquiesced. Didn’t want to get in a row this early in the morning. 11:25. Better head back in the woods!

“This is the start of it all. Red Square. As in *highlighted*!” This mention made my row alert go even higher as I knew that one thing could lead to another and another until it’s out of control like a Baker’s Dozen, never mind the interval remaining at zero. I couldn’t take the chance.

“W-what about the plank of wood sticking out either side of his car?” I try to divert the build up. “Balancing act? Michael Kane?”

He peered at me through half dead eyes, as if his batteries had just run out or a fuse had been blown. How long could he hold on at this advanced stage? Constantly flying to the moon in his Jim Beamed UFO. Jack Daniels; whatever. And *is* this actually Mouse? is always a question that is swirling around my head these days, the good Dr. himself returned, what is it, *two* times now? The cane makes the man — that’s what he told me. Doesn’t matter as much about the body, apparently.

Picture to end, with him sitting in his seat, *his* seat, before the single video feed we still have in the castle. Gotta get to work on acquiring a second for sure now that everyone has come back, Philip Strevor included, maybe even his girlfriend Nada. Right next door, though, since Mouse, er, Father occupies the lower bedroom. Right – next – door. That can’t be long term either. Philip or Father Fecked here, one or the other, must go. Daisy totally agrees.

New, significant center spotted? Who knows with this one. Could just be the liquor speaking again.

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