Phylllis/Cybercat-Woman, the cyan “it” power inside the walls now (thanks to Peter), illuminated the next place Herbert Glenn Gold should dream about.
She slept on her guitar so-as no one else would dare steal it. This weekend was the big ta-do. Concert with her sisters at Loon Lake, also known as Kow Pond. It was to be the center of everything. And so it is.
A miracle, thought Herbert Gold, looking on. I was just dreaming about this fenced-in place yesterday and no flowers. Yet spring is still far far away. I will mark this spot in my mind.
He takes second psychological photo and moves on.
Past the Petunia Trail toward his old home.
“Snow or sand?” queries wife April Mae by his side, trying to snap him out of it. No more meeting makers and dying! she vowed day before Friday of last week’s Wednesday. He rubbed his non-platinum head, sat up. “Snow,” he responded, looking around as if trying to gauge the place he’s in. Seeing his color return, April Mae breathed a sigh of relief.
“I was looking for — home,” he explained more later at the breakfast table. “But the bridge — the middle of the bridge…” Stopped him? he then thought. He still didn’t know where he was.
“If you take away the Fire Tree it all begins to make sense. We can peer back into a time when the deserted village was full of life and living. The days before Tully. The wonder years.”
“Was that before the mist or after?” Parasol asked, trying to be patient with Ingo’s historic ramblings. She had a meeting with Herbert Glenn Gold at quarter past 10. Yeah, she was pissed at him (hence the full name again).
“Before of course.”
She glanced out the window at the Fire Tree she couldn’t quite see from this angle. She couldn’t wait any longer. Time to *see* Herbert.
“I was wondering where we would meet,” spoke up Herbert. Wonder again, thought Parasol. It was here she realized Ingo was right about the Fire Tree, the village. All of it.
She jumped right into it. No time for niceties tonight. “I want you to *get* her here. I want to trap her like a fly in a bottle.”
“Erm.” He shivered as her feet dangled menacingly above him. As he stood on one. “*Who* are we talking about here?”
“You know who.”
George V. Norris, barely 2 feet tall, prepared to play the harp in his wee abode. “A Bach tune will do tonight,” he squeaked to himself, then reconsidered. “Or is it Buch.”
“Does my hair look all right this morning, Herbert?”
“It looks fine, April Mae.”
“Hmph.” She takes a noisy slurp of her tea, then winces. “Next time, dear, set the microwave on about *60 seconds* for the pot, not 40. Lukewarm tea is the worst!” Another slurp, another wince. “Oh dear.” She scoots the twice drunk cup toward Herbert. He knows what has to be done.
“Tastes all right to me,” he shot back, irritated the she *always* knows, within a few seconds, exactly how long he’s heated any item of food or drink up. Next time he’ll try to get away with 45, but he knows he there’s no way he can pull it off. He’s always testing his limits around wife April Mae. And failing.
After putting all the tea back in the pot and reheating the thing, he returns to the table. His mouth might scald a bit but he’s use to it. Better living with that than the alternative. She tests again.
(SLURP) “Yes, much better, Herbert. Thank you. Now… tell me about that dream you had last night. The one where (SLURP) you met a maker.”
Grandpa (Herbert) Gold was introduced to the ringleader but didn’t know quite what to make of it (!).
“Other Other?” he ventured.
There was some kind of acknowledgement from the contraption, so Herbert went further.
“What is Cat pole star?”
There was a mysterious exchange. Then Herbert asked, “Do you know who I am?”
The avatar who seems to be Other Other didn’t know who I was.
More exchanges. He (or she) indicated that he (she) wanted to improve the sim by depicting reality more accurately.
I went for broke and gave him/her the link to my Sunklands site. Herbert Gold looked over while chatting, and couldn’t help but think he’s staring into the face of God.
There was a couple of exchanges about the 100 story building. I enthusiastically commended him/her on the project. He/she expressed hope that a planned, second 100 story building would be as successful.
I was translating both Japanese and Chinese at once. The contraption pulsed behind me but not in a menacing way. Herbert Gold’s head bounced with its.
Although wishing further contact, I had to excuse myself by saying my translator was out of date. Will we meet again? Could be.
He was in a totally different dream place this time where everyone seemed to speak Chinese. He understood enough (somehow) to know that his mission was to retrieve something from that eye filled alley back there behind the soup restaurant here.
“Patriotic Soup Store closing in 5 mister. You’ll have to finish your food and go.” Herbert Gold looked at the squat cook standing on a high platform to stir his vat of soup. From the tone of his voice and then the aftermath stare, Herbert gathered he’d have to leave.
He then studied the big bowl of P-soup in front of him, realizing he’d never be able to polish it off — hadn’t even actually touched it, in fact. “You can have this back,” he then offered, pushing the bowl across the counter. The cook shook his head, seemingly in non-understanding but then uttering, in perfect English: “No refunds,” surprising him.
Herbert was about to protest that he didn’t want any money for the soup and that he just hated to waste such a goodly amount of food — a byproduct of growing up in tough Bennington Square — when a noise of something falling occurred behind him, drawing his attention to the end game of his current dream. When turning around after *seeing* nothing, he noticed the VHS tape beside him on the counter. The part of the title that he could read on its edge was, “(with) Other Other”. He realized *this* was what he was suppose to eye-ball here. Not something back in the alley.
He looked at the soup cook again for hints about what it was. Did the cook slip him this tape at some point? *What* was with Other Other? Or perhaps apart from Other Other now; Chinese against English? A yin yang, black and white cat that was also red all over? He logically thought back to Omega town and the newspaper referenced there through black, white, red. DDD. A dream, yes. He must keep remembering this is not Real. None of it.
“2 minutes,” the cook exclaimed, the glare from his face intensifying along with his stirs. Should he ask the cook to translate the Chinese underneath this cat? Was there an *opening* there to do this?
“1 minute.” He showed him the tape.
He heard someone over the waves. “Aww, you got me, Baker Bloch. Remember Mabel? Your old Martian pal?” The voice faded, to be replaced by another. “And me? Tessa. We’re still in the cave! Find me, find me, find me…” the second voice echoed, as if in a, well, cave.
He was ready to step off Dog Island and come back to mainland.
Or at least the bigger, less isolated island in front of him currently.
Then he found *her* as well. The ex. She spoke without turning while dancing on a west facing patio. “You find *them* or I’ll find *you*. And you know what I’ll do to you when I do!” She faded as well. He was starting to sweat coldly.
A smoking gun dropped from the sky, barely missing him.
Still hot to the touch, he picked it up. He realized he would need this gun to get to the cave. A person would be in his way. And that person was…