Tag Archives: Gabby Truth^*===

return?

Gabby Truth gave Judge Tronesisia a ride back to Toppsity from Cassandra City, since it was his destination as well. No need for the underwater train today. Relief! Tronesisia liked to stay on the surface of things; not get too deep. What if a window broke and her compartment flooded. Rust! The enemy of all antiquated mechanoids, with her as no exception. Gabby gabbed a considerable amount, of course, but it was definitely worth it. She decided to use a lot of head nodding early on. Then she nodded off completely for a while as Gabby talked on and on about scrying devices, his new car, the weather, the strange flu of course — everyone’s favorite topic these days. He must have talked 15 minutes about the significance of the number 19 in her reading, and also Paper. He probably talked 20 more minutes about wedding anniversary gifts starting with Paper and ending with Diamond. Unlike his speedy Little Bastard car, it took him a long time, then, to go from 0 to 60, ha ha.

But then, the witches get the last laugh (as usual). Road block. Literally, a huge block of plywood in the road. Witches sometimes aren’t very subtle in their messaging. Looks like Yoko Ona’s trial will have to be postponed yet another day.

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consultation

Gabby Truth turned over the last card.

“Ahh. It’s just as I suspected. 19 again. The Sun. This means a positive outcome. You *will* be infected. The results will come back positive.”

Tronesisia knew she was a mechanoid and would not contract the strange flu that was going around Cassandra City and the South as a whole. Something else must be afoot.

“What do you mean — infected?”

—–

He decided to consult his trusted magic crystal ball next to augment the magic cards. The meaning of the cards was not wrong but just needed clarification. He had Tronesisia’s question in his mind as he stared into the sacred, smokey sphere. Not ordinary glass by any means, its value more comparable to a Diamond. Gabby’s mind became its mind. He saw — Paper. It was obvious what the next scrying device should be.

—–

“Go!” Tronesisia puts forth her hand to match Gabby’s.

“Good. Paper covers rock. Now we’re onto something.”

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making history

“Ooo. I *love* it,” actress Cathy A. coos. “So you’re Gabby Truth as well. Splendid!”

“Thanks. But let’s see what we see inside my crystal ball. Here. Let me turn it on first.”

“Ahhh. The *Moon*. Didn’t recognize it in the dark.”

“The New Moon is a false Moon,” Gabby Truth (Greg) states cryptically while beginning to stare deep into its glowing, cratered surface.

—–

“Interesting. We will remain Marcus Fox Smartville and Cathy A. instead of Greg and Dharma. Pencil Man wishes it that way and says we already have a Greg (with two “g”‘s) and also Gregg (with three “g”‘s) in the production. *His* production, because Phil has yielded to a stronger, *living* entity now.”

“Phil Austin?”

But Marcus Fox Smartville currently playing the role of Gabby Hayes Truth doesn’t answer Cathy A. and instead begins speaking of Gregson or whatever name the small Northern town will ultimately acquire. “The 66(6) sign was just that — a sign. Owner: the Red Devil indeed. Here’s a quote I’m seeing about the him… or her: ‘Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth — and taste. I’ve been around for a long, long year….'”

“‘Long, long year?” Cathy A. quotes, snapping Gabby out of his trance. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Now let me *concentrate* again — don’t interrupt unless absolutely necessary.” Gabby (Marcus) stares into the lighted Moon again. After a moment: “Devil… yes, I’m seeing it again. An establishment was there (on that parcel). Southern, not Northern, although within the North.” He pulls back, still staring into space. “Red Devil was a Northerner.”

“We *all* know that,” replies Cathy A., new memories suddenly snapping into place via The Magic. “It was a hidden fact, but now the townspeople want to embrace this noble past. It’s in all the local papers, duh.”

“It is?” Marcus behind Gabby then realized this was truth. New memories had snapped in for him as well. “Ahh, yes. His *establishment* there. Southern — but a disguise.” He had no need for the Moon now. Scrying information had become real information for all to see and remember.

(to be continued?)

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The New Truth

Cathy A., natural mate to Marcus Fox Smartville and also a DJ like Grey Scale Kimball, had long dug Elvis White but didn’t know about Elvis Black until he showed up at one of her pretend gigs in Kensington’s Serenityville day before Wednesday. Always with the primmy rose she was, thus couldn’t spin the other record, the dark side this time. Like the South — but they were *barely* in the North now. North side of the middle that is (Hills of Bill/Neutral Zone). But, perhaps: close enough.

Elvis Black, who of course is our Duncan Avocado in disguise once more, just sat on the wooden bench on the far side of the lawn, letting his presence be known. He didn’t want to seem threatening at all, just seen. Here was a keeper of the portal, he thought from within. Like Marcus before her. Maybe they’re even one and the same, or at least soulmates. I think with the common rose it’s obvious. Is it the *same* rose?

—–

Day after Thursday he stands before Cathy, turning Grey in the process. Exactly east from this spot on the day between Sunday and Tuesday of the previous week, Gabby Truth saw it coming.

“You have lost the West but gained the East,” he spoke, seeing visions in his scrying ball once again. “But, at the same time, you have lost the South, but gained — yes — the North.” He draws back his white, pancaked face from the glow. “Interesting.” He looked over at Elvis Black — black Elvis. “All the 4 directions at once, blabber de blah…”

But they weren’t “all at once,” as Gabby proclaimed. He had himself lost separation of time in his chatty mannerisms. Elvis’ — Duncan’s — losses were 2, the latter nested inside the former. This was not seen today, this between day.

—–

Duncan becomes fully Grey on a day of the week further down from Friday. “I have lost the South but gained the North,” he said in DJ character, staring at the 2 records, spun and un-spun.

Gabby Truth finally remembers to turn off the light in his crystal ball.

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Brothers Three

Gabby Truth always thought he’d be a good writer if he wasn’t busy gabbing about this and that. “Put it down on paper,” his brother Amos often urges. “Stop yapping and start tapping (typewriter keys).” One day he’ll get round to it. And finish reading “Moby Prick”, the great whaling story partially set right here in Cassandra City. “Write a ‘Moby Prick’ yourself,” Amos said upon hearing this desire. “Start *now*.”

So he sits here. Wondering what to put on paper before even inserting the paper. What was the first line of “Moby Prick”? Maybe he can just steal that to start.

—–

But we must get to more urgent matters tonight. Brother Keith is in danger and they know it. Gabby, also a seer as well as a gabber (but apparently not a writer — yet), moves from 1st floor typewriter to 2nd floor fireplace, intending to get more scrying type messages about how to proceed even more forward. They got set up in a swanky Cassandra City apartment thanks to Toppsity connections in town. Keith and daughter Jenny would be joining them later on. The window for information was now. Can’t let Keith know the future else he might damage the threads.

“Well?” his other brother Amos urged after several minutes. “Anything?” Amos was trying to be patient but could see the writing on the wall. Brother Keith could be dead in a matter of days. Maybe even weeks.

Gabby continued staring into the fire. Scrying times were the only times he seemed to be not yammering on about this or that. Maybe he should do it more often, Amos thought. Like: every waking moment. But, in truth, Amos deeply loved his brother — both of ’em. They’d been meaning to visit Keith up in Pipersville for the longest time. Now he had come down South to them. But at what cost?

“Triangle,” Gabby suddenly blurted. “3 A.s.”

“3 A’s?” Amos tried to translate.

“That’s all for now.” Gabby looked away from the fire and toward Amos, wondering what to talk about next. How about the weather.

Amos jumped in first. “We’ll subtly introduce that phrase into our nighttime talks with Keith. See his response.”

“‘Scarlet Triangle,'” blurted Gabby, shaking his head and realizing his powers might be off tonight. “It could be just another book I’ve been meaning to read alongside ‘Moby Prick’. You know, what we were talking about earlier down on the 1st floor. About the novel I always wanted to write.”

“Oh,” said Amos. “Well… it’s worth a try to slip it in still.”

Indeed it was.

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more

“We made it Brother Amos,” spoke Gabby, who had barely stopped talking during their whole trip down from Toppsity. “*Twin* brother Amos,” he declared. “Fellow Gemini; no doubting of that. Now all we have to do is find non-twin and non-Gemini Brother Keith B. and save him from The Shallows.”

“Where he’ll be murdered,” clarifies Brother Amos from his own bike.

“Killed at the very least,” supplied Gabby Truth, who always tells. “Hills. Of Bill. Keep him out.”

“Keep him out,” echoes Amos, almost as excited as Gabby about finally arriving in half empty or half full (take your pick) Cassandra City. It was not the destination they had planned for their escape. Not atall. Golden Sink… or even further north, had always been tops on the list. Maybe the Lake District. But something told them to turn left (south) instead of right (north) when leaving their cursed home village via Route 8.

“The 4 colored clown and her monochromatic opposum must be here,” Gabby spoke, half in a scrying trance; not unusual. “Soon at the very least.”

“Okay.”

The brothers got off their bikes and locked them up with the rest already on the rack. Jim’s and Todd’s. Jenny and Keith had come by bus. Tillie and Tealy were walking. Cindy A., perhaps the last to arrive but also perhaps the first, came or comes by plane. Wealthier than the rest she is. Later: the poorest of them all, sometimes not even being able to afford to walk. One or perhaps even two more by boat. Identity or identities yet to be determined. Maybe the Bishop and his center-no-more King. Let’s see, who else? Craighead Phillips seems trapped walking around another half empty, half full (again, take your pick) Bluefield city in West Virginia, Real Life, USA, so he may not be a candidate. Besides, he may not even be born yet, since we’re in the past, before Jenny became Your Mama (for example). Tracy Austin appears similarly stuck around the Blue Feather Sea, another BLUEF (since the variant name is Bluefeather, pronounced BLU-fe-ter by some). But, again, it perhaps doesn’t matter since she may also not be born. Think that about covers it. Oh, I guess I should explain more about the Man About Time/Marcus Fox Smart/Professor Suckaluck triangle. But I might not have time tonight. Have to get to Tillie and Tealy!

—–

“What are you doing?” Tillie questioned her fellow, colorful travel mate.

“Calisthenics. What does it look like?”

Tillie faces the yawning gap again. “Yes,” she agreed, pondering doing some stretches herself. “Looks like we have a longer journey than anticipated.”

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leaves 03

Another witch thrown over the edge of town, Brother Amos Truth observes from his brother’s Toppsity apartment balcony, fearful for his own life. Better grab Gabby and split pronto. He turns.

No time to rent a van in my estimation. We’ll send for the saved trees and treasure later.

And Sacky Doll. He’s been with us through thick and thin. Can’t lose Sacky Doll now!

—–

Cassandra City here we come.

—–

“I thought they were heading north instead of south, Hucka D. To Golden Sink or perhaps even Sink X.”

“Plans change,” states the blog’s spiritual guru plainly.

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Toppsity

Gabby Truth always slept with the lights on. Wakefulness interrupted unconsciousness constantly. “What was that?” he might say randomly at any stray noise. “Who goes there?”

The picture of swinging teen lovers he use to love didn’t comfort him like before. He formerly slept directly with it, creepily enough. Now it just lays by his bed, unused.

Leaves are closing in, he frets. Bushes. Trumping his freedom at every card play. Unable to connect the dots any more. And what *was* his constellation sign? Fire? Water? The local astrologer had fled invading Earth and hadn’t returned, so no answers there. That leaves Air. Leaves… Air.

Gemini! he realizes excitedly, then distinctly hears knocks right afterwards. Three, then two, then one. Twin Brother Amos. But why this time of night? Oh, he thinks. They must have lost the house. Oh drat, oh darnit. The seed and the house. He’ll have to stay with me now. Oh well, at least the Earth’s gone (Ka-BLAM!). He pulls the covers away from him and gets up, being careful not to trip over the lovers’ painting. He also grazes psuedo-Mossman’s head for luck on his way to the door, per usual.

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connection

“I don’t think the creature was a possum,” Gabby modified later in after-vision shocks. “Nor was it a cat named Peepee. Something else. Something in our future.”

“Go on,” urged Brother Amos, back to gathering as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

“I’m seeing… I’m seeing…” He briefly pulled up from his own gathering position. “*Seed*.”

—–

“Tillie, we’re out of seed. Time to call Grasslands again.”

“Okay,” the 4 colored clown replies from the garden. “I’ll ring them up as soon as I finish weeding this row.” As if my life depended on it, she then thought. Strange — why did I think that?

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Niagara

“Well Gabby,” requested Brother Amos, “What do you see? Unfurl the whole long, boring story of how we got here and where we’re going.”

“Yeah,” exclaimed Marilyn in her breathy, ditzy way. “The fire is, *raging* out of con-trol; the earth is, *swamping* us alll…”

“I’m seeing something,” gabbed Gabby suddenly. “2 more; 4 total. A teal figure. Some kind of… creature. And the 4 colored clown. Um, *stumpy*, not as tall as a normal person. But much larger than the creature still.” He pulled his white face away from the scrying ball. “A possum I’m concluding. A clown and a possum.”

“*That’s* our, *fu-ture*?” cooed Marilyn. Warhole across the way pounded one iron fist into another, obviously displeased. “Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn,” he monotoned. “Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn… Marilyn.”

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