“Nothing here,” he muttered. “Might as well be another Messed Up 05 for all it’s worth.”
I got a strong feeling that this is the night, Axis-Windmill.”
“Bigfeet,” he guessed, looking over at the tittering squirrels. They too knew more than him.
“Bigfoot yeah. Samsquanch.”
Axis-Windmill didn’t bother to correct him this time. There would be no Bigfeet or Mossmen or whatever they call them colloquially. Because he saw the giant green shoe fly away last night with all the little houses and even the umbrella centered windmill. They had succeeded in loading up and moving.
She hung up her black hat and dress and boots. She put on her blue flower jeans and rose shirt and red canvas shoes, made for a kid. Because she was a kid again, or at least closer to such. Our friendly, lovely Alysha. And where was projected mate Axis-Windmill these days? Still in Neat Town talking to Kick-ass Boos about bigfoot, locally colored green and called mossmen? Actually the last time we checked in with him, he was in Bellisaria chatting with a painter rabbit about primary colors, specifically about blue and black and how one can change into another. Perhaps he wants to know because of Hatti’s witch hat, which she just hung up. He knows about the alchemical cemetery, the alchemetery or alcemetery if you will (his coinings). He knows he has a rival and he doesn’t have much time, this White fellow.
He doesn’t yet realize he’s also staring into a mirror.
“Whitehead, Mossmen,” he mutters, waking up again, but this time not in the cabin, at least in *that* one. Instead: Reality.
“The Neat Town moss people never received that big squid or octopus and so the red and white lighthouse remained on the green, no one else able to move it, not even jointly,” Kick-ass Boos recites from the top bunker again, joint still in hand, although almost small enough to require pliers. “Dwarfed, they were,” he finished.
Well that’s a nice story, thought Axis-Windmill from the lower bunk bed opposite him. But it doesn’t explain my dream where I lost my hands!
Claude looked over at Paul, realizing if he bent his will there might be no leaving this place, ever. The 20000 lb. lighthouse could not be budged; time to call in reinforcements.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Fish Stew Boos finally installed an invisible fence on the other side of the road to keep her shopping carts from disappearing. Now they couldn’t take them through the hidden portal in the small hillock to do whatever they do with metal objects like that. Maybe build primitive spaceships for all she knows, trying to rocket off to whatever God hell awful planet they originate from. Truth was, they were trying to make another one of those giant shoes. They had enough metal. All they needed now was a large quantity of moss and an even larger octopus (or squid) and off they go. They’d get the moss after molting season. Shouldn’t be long. Martha went to all the trouble for nothing.
“Just leave it,” Claude commanded from within.
If our timing is right, a green shoe should come into view about here.
Always look for the spaces between things. There lies art.
I am not a painter in this life. I am a collagist. Moving on…
“What does the future hold for me Esmerelda?”
“A cave? A *landscape*?”
Very faint from across the table again: “Enter the cave.”
He paid Ms. Wells handsomely and was on his way again.
“I tell ya, Hucka. If I could just find a nice, understanding city to settle down in (like Cassandra City), I might just give up Collagesity here. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Hucka Doobie, walking beside Baker Bloch straight into the setting moon as well, pauses before answering, knowing the truth ahead of time like she often does. “I’d — give each equal weight.”
The moon gone, they were passing underneath Perch now. The head was still absent above them at the main entrance to the restaurant, revealing the clock beneath that brought back sane time to this virtual village of mine, me as baker b., or Baker Bloch, animus, and Baker Blinker, anima, combined. Instead: Carrcassonnee possesses it again, just like in the beginning, the great 3n1. But is she yet fully activated? What about new sidekick Frank who replaced former sidekick Spider? Where is *Spider*, then?
“Thinking of the past?” Hucka Doobie spoke over, seeing the glazed, dead eyes again. “The future inside the past?”
“Maybe.” I was a bit defensive of her prescient presence (present?) sometimes. We walked further, past Mossman’s bar, past funny feet John Lemon. We seemed to be heading out of town. But where?
“Senor Green Jeans is a cousin,” states Gene “Mossman” Fade in that oh so grating voice of his after I told him about Alice Farrowheart and granddaughter Toddles’ recent encounter at the Neptune Pool in NWES. If only it were an octave higher Baker Bloch may be able to tolerate the gutty gravelliness for suitable periods of socializing. But I suppose that would mean he’d have to be *Jean* Fade instead of Gene, a girl instead of a boy. Hmm: I wonder, then, if Senor Green Jeans is a girl? But he must get out of here soon. Very much so.
“What does this mean for the town, this name change back to Collagesity?” Gene continued, wondering how it would affect the business at his small bar on Northside.
“It gives it a center,” Baker spoke, the male one that is (there’s also Baker Blinker, of course, the anima to his animus). “We have a tower now. Have you gotten down to that side of town tonight to see? Everyone is gathering. Looks like an instantaneous party, complete with a bonfire. All our friends will be there.” Time’s up. Baker can’t take any more of the voice. He gets up to leave. “See you there hopefully?” he throws back while walking away, rapider and rapider.
Baker was too late for the party, although the bonfire was still smoldering. Police office Jeffry Tanner (yes, yet another cousin), making his nightly rounds, puts it completely out with a special spray made out of anti-tabasco sauce.
But, in the background, we can see the tower, so high from this angle it’s a little hard to make out the “Collagesity” sign.
And even more has happened in town. A certain, special special deity has bloomed new life. Or visa versa. Details soon!
Welcome back Collagesity!
“And these wings? They’re called *Dali* in the description. Dali didn’t even do the butterfly painting. We all know that now.”
“Auditions in 10 minutes,” gruffed Mossman in his deep, scary voice. A pussycat underneath it all he is, though. And calm, really patient and calm. The ability to live over 400 years gives you such. But he also knew Baker Bloch didn’t like latecomers. Then he had an idea. “Tell that story to the male Baker. It might give you some type of edge over the others, Jiggy.”
“Iggy, actually.” But Mossman knew that. He was joking with him again. He jokes with everyone.
“Would you like some more coffee or would you rather switch to cigarettes, Jiggy.”
I know who Mossman is! After all these years.
But there was more afoot tonight (of course!). Awkward afootness.
“Wish me luck,” requested Colored TV.
“Break a leg up there, I suppose,” returned the Black and White, knowing he was doomed, wings or no wings.
They emerged from the sunken pool quite refreshed and relaxed. Woody continued their tour.
“Here we have symbols representing the primary holidays of Christmas and Easter,” he piped up in his whiny, nasal voice. So irritating, thought Wheeler. But she must concentrate — she knew all of this was important now. But that’s not Christmas and Easter. Something else. Or was it?
Maybe nearby barwoman *Jean Fade* would know.
Yes. She did.
“Sister,” she explained in starting out. “Twin.”