He was trying to stay in the present and read about horses in a row but his mind kept going back to Evelyn. Evelyn Hart. She was the center of his world; the love of his life. His name? I’m picking up on Murdochh, yess, a Middletown moniker. The plot thickens more, like a vanilla shake turning chocolate and beyond. This man was a link.
If only the toys would stay still enough for a proper portrait (dramatization).
“Stay. *Still*.”
The present had been opened, plain lavender box inside the first, soon to have a big red button attached to it which also meant nothing. No Thing. The toys, having done their part, could move back from end to beginning. Aloha (we’re not finished with it (!)).
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0405, Blue Mountain, City Park
“We do know that Tintown, this second found one outside Madril, was totally unique, although others have tried using the same general energy found in the area. Like this one about 20 miles away, a more elaborate place but missing something — slide 2 please, Hucka D.
“And then this one, in turn, 20 miles below it — slide 3 please. This one is an attempt at a town actually made out of tin but it turned out to be just a cemetery.
“Why was the one in the 1st slide unique for us, you might ask? What made it so different? Slide 4, please.
“Because it contained The Void.
“I’ll open up The Table for questions now.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0110, Jeogeot, Middleton^, New Mexico, Towerboro
With all the going back and forth in time it’s always good to remember the present, the gift that keeps on giving.
Merry Christmas from all the toys at “Hello I Must Be Going” Aloha! (it’s still there!)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0211, Blue Mountain, Carrcass-06, City Park
“There it is again, Dixon 02! Shoot it this time with your bow and arrow! Quick!”
“*You’re* Dixon 02,” protested the one with the weapon. “*I’m* Dixon 01.”
“No time for that now! POOF. Oh… darn! Look at what you’ve done brother of mine, *second* out of the womb.”
“*You’re* second out.”
“She’s gone.” Pause.
“Pretty boots, though.”
“*Darn* pretty boots.”
“And gloves.”
—–
“‘Nother dream this time about those Dixons, Grassy. Something about them poisoning the alcohol of this town.”
“Hmmm.”
“Wonder….”
“Yeah,” predicted Grassy to what Sassy was about to say, Nogin’s horrific tossing noises also etched in his memory. “Me too.”
“Should we warn somebody? Who’s the mayor of Hardrock Island?”
“Hardrada, actually. Remember, Hardrock I. contains the guitar with no strings. The pool here has strings. The one you like so much.” Maybe more than the bigger one I prefer, he thinks to himself. Differences: small, but they can add up.
Sassy contemplates heartstrings again, and how Grassy should make her sing but not quite getting there; differences again. But no strings might have its advantages as well, as in, no hands advantages. As in *recording* advantage. If you don’t play forwards, you can play backwards — that kind of advantage.
“Welll?”
“Based on a dream?” he protested about the earlier warning request.
“Dreams,” said Sassy to this. “Repeating dreams.”
“See what happens tonight in your dreams and then tomorrow we’ll go to the authorities if needed.”
“*No* alcohol in the meantime. Or only what you brought in.”
“Cough syrup,” complains Grassy. “Stuck with cough syrup.”
“And mouthwash,” chips in Sassy. First time she’s glad about having a mild case of chronic halitosis. Wouldn’t be the last.
“Don’t get sick in here, Nogin,” said Bob the bartender. “It’s not my fault you rode the Ferris wheel for 2 hours and then came in here for a couple of margaritas.”
“Carousel… *next*,” he gruffed as he looked over at Grassy and Sassy doing the same. Stay in motion, he decides. Because if still — this. *Head* in motion. Stomach.
“Well, yeah, why don’t you go ride the carousel over there — away from me — and get sick off it. I’m sure Bud (carousel operator today) won’t mind, ha.”
“BLEEHHHHH.”
“Great. *Thanks*, Nogin.”
“You’re BLEEEHHHH… welcome.”
—–
“Little hard for me to skate in these tennis shoes.”
“I’m doing just fine in my slick sassy boots,” his Mmmmmm partner returned, gliding along with much less effort. Good thing Grassy is 5x bigger or he wouldn’t be able to keep up.
Does she have to name *everything* she wears after herself? he ponders while struggling onwards. Well: 2. Gloves and boots. And the occasional “sassy” hat.
“What about that guy getting sick at the Beach Bar?” said Sassy over. “Sick and sick and *sick*. I could still hear him throwing up when we left the park to come down here.”
“Why we chose not to stick around for the Ferris wheel,” spoke Grassy. Else why would I be *here*, he thinks.
—–
“Oh God, there he starts *again*. Just when you thought it was over.”
“Let’s skip the margaritas and go straight back to the cottage for some Alka-seltzer.”
“Good idea.”
—–
“Oh (‘BLEEEHHH’), yet *another* present, Nogin. Christmas keeps coming and coming (‘BLEHHH’).” Where *are* those paramedics? Bob thinks.
“He’s quite a big bigger than her,” observed Baker Bloch or Wheeler Wilson, laying under another one of those umbrellas on the far side of the pool. “Your turn now,” one of them said.
“I didn’t know Mmmmmm’s came in different sizes like that,” said Wheeler (making the 1st speaker Baker).
“They seem happy,” spoke Baker. “For now.”
“Com’on. We don’t know how this species really interacts with each other.”
“I know they have an average lifespan of about 26 years.”
“26 1/2,” amended Wheeler.
“And the little one, perhaps even less.”
“Again… you don’t know that. You’re thinking of dogs or cats or something. Could be the bigger one, the male, who has the shorter life. Plus males tend to die earlier than females (in general).” She looks over at Baker Bloch, those dead eyes, and remembers he doesn’t have to worry about all that. Already deceased. Her? Could be immortal as well. We’ll have to make sure she’s archived if so.
“Notice the TILE floaties all around?”
“No I didn’t. But that’s more your thing. I have my own kind of TILE.” She wonders again about his missing piece, the thing that can turn from an I into an E given the right circumstances. Ones she controls: E; perfection. There’s a whole ‘nother side to the religion/philosophy/game that Wheeler could explain to us in great detail. If she were allowed.
“It’s something we could talk about in great detail (told ya). Me with my own more analytic take, and you with your more physical slant.”
“Hmmm.” She was drifting off now in the noonday sun, just downed Russian Roulette doing its work.
“Notice the Christmas trees,” Baker added about the props in the central platform. “Green and red (line). Being emphasized above the blue and yellow.”
“You’re talking about Roberts now, and what she might give Franklin as a present,” Wheeler replied without opening her eyes. She was seeing in the dark. “Franklin hopes, anyway.”
“Why… did we have to take that away from her?”
“I didn’t. *You* did.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, right. Think about that analytic boy. Why would I care enough about her Gang of Willard to remove it, like a surgeon. No, that’s intellect, that’s airiness. That’s…”
“Male.”
“Yes.”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane,” Baker spoke while pointing between them. Wheeler couldn’t help but chuckle a bit with this. If only.
—–
“I like this pool *much* better than the guitar one. Bigger!”
“Oh, Grassy,” said Sassy, his new girlfriend, perhaps his new wife. They may be on a honeymoon. Certainly not the first date at least. The other one fit me better, the smaller one, she thinks internally, not wanting to disappoint. She’d save up the grudges, spew them out later like an erupting volcano. A smaller one, but packing quite an internal heating unit. What attracted Grassy to her in the first place. Sassy indeed.
—–
“So I was over here paying my rent and I thought we’d hold an improptu Table meeting. Thanks for making the time, Wheeler. I see you’re still dressed as Shelley.”
“Like the clothes, like the fit.”
“But you’ll go back to being her mom, right?”
“Oh sure.”
“We still need that angle of course. And… looks like Arthur might not be making it.”
“No, you locked him up for being married to me or making love to me. Something. He’s still in jail over in, let’s see, Morgan? Has the jail been deleted? Guess not,” Wheeler answers herself. “Or else it seems he’d be free to join us.”
“Right, I’ll check on that,” Baker still dressed as Policeman Clubb replies.
“Hope you have better luck than the last thing *I* checked.”
“Morgan — deletion, yes. Which brings us to perhaps our main topic. Spider. But first, lemme just see if I can call Arthur. I believe I, as Clubb, allowed him to keep his phone on his body, after a full search on the rest, ha.”
Wheeler smiled. In that 30 minute window allowed, she’d done a full search too but for different reasons. Shelley, I mean. Not Wheeler. Although she was wearing purple at the time. And it’s *not* Arthur Kill but Kill van Kull, a sophisticated, clean as a whistle, non-crinimal twin cousin. It was all a mistake, a mix-up. She looks up at the screen. This may be him here too, she realized. Or Clarence, although he was going by a different name if so. This was the last dance in the created town of Morgan (Orient PO) whatever. It ended after that, for Wheeler but also for everyone involved, all the group, the gang.
The receiver rang but there was no body around.
After 6 rings, Baker got back to the subject of likewise caged Spider. The numbers deleted the town, but it had to be all 24 to work. He had another idea, tried Arthur/Kill van Kull again, let it ring 24 times this go. Didn’t work.
But not because Spider didn’t hear it.
The deed was already done. Newt shows up to the meeting — Shelley’s father — *not* playing Arthur Kill importantly. He stares over at Wheeler, giving her a look like: you could have made the effort too. He felt she was becoming trapped in a role; unable to be herself any longer. How far would she go?
“Where’s Grassy?” Newt then asks, seeing the empty chair across from him.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0407, Mountain Lake^, Nautilus, North, Omega^^, Rooster's Peninsula
Empty throne. Note the also newly placed female green Mmmmmm to its right, controversial in the news recently for so-called “reverse sassification.”
Who lives here?
Remarkably, I saw a garter snake sunning itself between these 2 spoons in the dirt today at nearby what-I-call Lineboro (photo from about 2 weeks ago).
I know this fellow!
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0510, Blue Mountain, City Park, Mmmmmm's, Toy Avatars
A new Red — or is it the same as the old Red — offers Grassy Noll a tempting present (*the* present?) to lure him back across the tracks and into the village proper. If only he could get his dad gum car turned around (wrestle, tussle).
Cpt. Americus at a junction is saying, “Peace for all. Today is a special day. Make up. Rejoin the flock that is your tribe, Grassy Fitzgerald Noll.” When Americus uses the middle names, you know he’s totally serial about something. Special day it is. He’s all about beginnings, middles, ends. Because the latter is coming and he well knows it. “Celebrate while we can!” he could also say this day in a month beyond May. “Soon there will be no crossing the line, crossing the tracks. We will be where we’re suppose to be in time and that is that.”
More drama on my Mt. Tom. Apparently this camp site was burned badly enough to be evacuated. A rug appears to have caught on fire. Whether accident or on purpose is a larger question. Are there nefarious agents working on this high hill on the edge of the town I live in, maybe the actual owners of the land? Because this site is well across the line from legal into illegal. “No trespassing!” the perpetrator might have shouted as the flames did their dastardly deed.
Another camp site further down the same ridge with rather elaborate stone work. Suspiciously so, perhaps. Rock can’t be burned, you’ll note.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0506, Blue Mountain, City Park, Mmmmmm's, Toy Avatars
Sunklands 