Tag Archives: Junbug^^+++++

November 22, 2023 · 3:44 pm

00410116

“I have come from the mound I have come from the corn. Your turn now.”

“From the mound?” still sitting Pamela returned to the person claiming to be Jane as in Plain, even though everyone knew her as June. “From the corn?”

“Yes. From the mound from the corn. Your turn now.”

Pamela pondered what to say next.

In the gap: “Follow me.”

—–

“From the mound…” she said, standing before it with Pamela now.

—–

—–

“… from the corn.”

“*Five* people is all,” exclaimed Donna, leader of the husking team and owner of most of the stuff in town: cows, vineyards, etc. Using the other hand, she counted them off with each finger starting with the thumb. “There’s *Tom* — and he’s all thumbs ironically; probably won’t go through a half a dozen himself; there’s *Stan*,” she continued this with the index, and then freed it so that she could point in the distance. “He lives in *Braggtown*. Do you know how far away *Braggtown* is over those hills? In other words: will take him half a day to get here, half a day to get back. And, let’s see, half + half equals whole, as in, a whole day away from *husking*. If he even makes the effort.”

“I believe that’s where Christina claims she’s from,” offered upbeat Ben beside her, leader of the sweets and drinks team and solid with his own personnel. Scowls all around. “*Christina*, then,” said Donna, holding the middle finger now, “can’t mow grass much less husk corn. And that leaves…”

“Jane,” spoke the person everyone knew as June just back of the white corn mound. Pamela had disappeared beside her. Pamela was never real as it turns out.

“Jane,” said Donna back to her, taking in her plainess from about 10 feet away. “Is that what you go by now.” She didn’t add the “whore” part but everyone knew she wanted to. They had some bad blood between them, namely a man named Bazooka, formerly the police chief of this here little village. Former owner of Biff’s farmhouse before he allegedly came over from Braggtown himself, but perhaps that’s just more Christina talk, Christina’s World.

“And me, Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow,” she spoke while walking in stage left. Donna let go of her ring finger and took firm grasp of her pinkie. She joined the inner circle; tried to smile cheerfully. Dick to her right (music team leader, replacing stressed out Sitton seen in an earlier blog post here) tipped his hat, a built in gesture. Silently amused Harry (weights and balances) studied Donna’s reaction to this newcomer, this Johnny-come-lately.

“Marsha, huh?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Staying up at Biff’s I understand. Found the secret bedroom. Found the *truth* behind it.”

“Um. Yes, er, ma’am. I suppose I did.” She looked over at olive green Jane beside the unhusked corn, recognizing an old friend from Storybrook. Jane will get her through all this. There *must* be a loophole.

(to be continued)

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November 22, 2023 · 2:36 am

00410115

So what of White Rock population places in the Oracle? one may ask (31). Jane pops up.

And then the same for Gotham (2).

White House (10) or Whitehouse (15) only produces itself. There is only 1 White Mound and that’s in Grayson County, Texas. Curiously, the county also contains a Whiterock (or White Rock), which is actually very nearby. And then both in turn lie near a (larger) Whitewright, making a kind of White trilogy in that location.

And then there are 2 separate Black Rocks in Grayson County, Kentucky, the 2nd of 3 counties sharing that name. Notice Kentucky Town in the midst of the White trilogy pictured above, along with Tom Bean.

The 3rd and last Grayson County (Virginia) contains some interesting place names too. We could go on and on.

Dick Grayson was the actual name of Batman’s crime-fighting superhero sidekick Robin.

There are no Blackhouses, Black Houses, or Black Mounds.

Continuing with our story…

—–

“It’s a beautiful view you have here, Reuben, and I can see why you stand here all the time, looking at it.”

No answer.

“I… know something else about you, Reuben.” She looks up at the boy towering above her from this sitting position, the last member of Batcorn, the one supposedly with an identical twin named Steuben. Dream girl Pamela knew better. Instead: Reuben is the same as Steuben, as in a first name paired with a last.

She knew this from Kansas.

No, let’s make that an ancestor to the twins who were named for him. If so, his grave might be here.

And here.

Center of old White Rock. Or maybe White Mound she hasn’t decided.

All of Amiable came from this.

Someone appeared over the hill from the direction of it, walking toward them.

Jane.

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November 19, 2023 · 10:28 am

00410112

She was outside using the little girl’s room that had recently become the little girl’s *and* boy’s room, courtesy of her kidnapping of Biff. He acquired inner workings again so he needed to do such things. And he acquired back the bits that gave him other urges June formerly Jane could manipulate. And he wasn’t tone deaf any longer. In short, he was real when before he was mesh. He found he could even draw his Private Dick pistol when needed, if June hadn’t taken it from him. Where was it where was it? he said to himself while June was indisposed, looking under the bed, the chair, the table, the… wine. Ahh *wine*. Another thing he could enjoy now. He uncorks the recently opened bottle. He takes a sip. He takes another sip. He takes a swig. He takes 2, 3, 4. He turns the bottle over into his mouth like it is a funnel, leaves it there. Glug glug glug glug glug glug — GONE.

Smoothing out the ruffles in her olive green gown, June walks back into the cottage. Biff’s turn now.

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November 19, 2023 · 3:08 am

AC/DC

“Do you realize if we get married, Biff, that I’d be June Carter? We’d have to do it in Franklin KY again, then. Just like before. Do you feel like a Man in Black, Biff? You’re almost dressed as one.” She kept strumming her punk song while talking and he kept picking his roots based music one while silent. But somehow, despite the 2 wildly disparate genres involved, the tunes blended perfectly with each other. June Bug Johnston made sure of that with the spell that keeps on giving.

“Awesome,” he finally said, paying attention more to the frets than the fretting. He’d have time for that later. Much time. Much later. After all this wore off, the potion.

We’re at what they call Isolation Cabin, but not far away enough from Amiable Proper that you couldn’t sense the corn. Thanksgiving wasn’t that far away either: shucking time. But who would be participating from the small group of villagers and visitors we’ve already met? Certainly not Eddie, Pink’s Edward, who quickly teleported away upon learning that actual work was involved here. The members of the band Batcorn — Jane, Rachel, Reuben, Steuben — would be providing the music so that lets them out I suppose. Christina’s mind was too far gone to chip in much. And Wally would be seething somewhere out of sight, pissed off that the town didn’t want *him* to perform instead of Batcorn. So that leaves, well, Pink herself. And then maybe these 2. And maybe that Pamela, if she’s not merely a dream figure of Pink’s — probably not. But we’ll meet more soon. Better end this post so we can get at that.

“Songs are over, Andrew ‘Biff’ Carter,” she said, putting away the guitars back inside the bench. “Time for bed again.”

“Where’s — my tractor?” he asked, partially out of the trance since the music was over but quickly put back under inside.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re free of that old clunker now, along with your clunker of a family, Biff. You have me now. *Now*. Inside with you you old shucker,” and she slapped his buttocks to get his big feet started in the right direction.

We’ve answered the part about Biff at least and, by default, June. Formerly Jane as in Plain before she turned herself into a witch.

(to be continued)

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August 29, 2023 · 7:29 am

colours

“So tell me how you came upon this place, Shelley the kid. We can speak freely here. We are above the fray. No one comes up here except me, I’m thinking. I enable and then disable the climbing mechanism each time I use the yarn, the thread.”

“I noticed that,” spoke the observant younger child atop the giant cupboard, indeed safe from everyone and everything else in this space.

“You got past Zero,” spoke the older girl honestly about the mouse “guarding” this whole place, this Story Room as I called it previously. “I intend to do the same heading out.”

“Leaving?” said Shelley to Marsha. “But there’s nothing out there.”

“Ah ha! So you do know where you come from. You have memories!”

Shelley knew that she could leave but Marsha couldn’t. Simply because she was living and the other, well, the other was dead. Like Tammy, who she knew before as Frankie. Frankie “Beige” Brown, *1st* best friend to Marsha because Olive and Green weren’t around as much as they were. Different set of companions here, but Brown is the constant for Pink.

Must be tied in to those brown and pink donuts at the beginning of Constance’s Heart of the Island Trail. In a way we’ve never left.

“Don’t *you* have memories?” she decided to phrase her reply as innocently as possible.

—–

Freshly arrived at her newspaper job on a table below, Tammy “Beige” Brown, brush in hand, ponders what stories to paint this morning. Don’t start with brown don’t start with brown don’t start with brown, begins her mantra while, at the same time, eyeing that precariously positioned full cup of coffee over there. But then she always does, just tips it over to fuel the inspiration; handy prop indeed. The new boss she’s so trying to impress always seems to eat those kind up. Or drink them, whatever. She’ll change directions soon and experiment with new hues (and shapes and forms) but for now… being a neophyte… well… same old same old *SPILL*.

She looks down through the stain at the articles she could produce.

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October 18, 2021 · 9:54 am

base

It’s time to bring a new character into the picture: Jennifer Lane, twin cousin to our Shelley Lane, right down to the all seeing umbrella eyes. She remembers the bombing, the underground, the… flight.

“Another one, sweetie?” Lichen Roosevelt asked from behind the counter, presently cleaning a glass, perhaps the one she would pour a new drink in for Jenny.

Grasshopper? she thought. No: too obvious.

“Just another stack of potatoes.”

“Coming up!”

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October 18, 2021 · 6:50 am

Dream Book

Kick-ass Bogota gets valuable information from an ur-parent and relays later to Axis-Windmill in Horns of Hatton.

—–

“I’m trying to reclaim the messed up 5th. You know Messed Up, don’t you Kick-ass?”

“My *brother* does. A different Kick-ass…”

“… for a different season, yes. You are… unformed… yourself.”

Kick-ass Bogota thought about this for a minute, then said: “You have been uninformed about this. I am instead *uniformed*, as in decorated, as in ace pilot of the 1st World Wide Web War.” He knocks on his forehead with this, pure metal revealed by the clunks.

“Faulkner, then.”

“Maybe,” he shot back quickly, then looked out the window at the surrounding chaos. Unformed, uninformed, uniformed. Brother Kick-ass would switch signs with him later in the night so he could talk more with Axis-Windmill at the Horns bar where they now meet regularly. Lichen Roosevelt is usually there, serving up drinks behind the bar. The Mann is *always* there. Taking notes, most likely. And who is that he spies (at the time) in the back. Green like him, at least in the shirt. And those apples…

—–

“It’s time you got away don’t you think. You’re only *Kind of* Messed Up.”

Kind Of Messed Up takes a sip of his drink and mulls this over. Junbug does the same with her Bombs Away.

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June 2, 2020 · 5:34 pm

another one LOST

He’d run into Philip Strevor on the mean streets of Heartsdale, who told SEAN “Green” Penn to meet him here to receive more information about the Missouri “Most Foul” Murder Mystery he and Blue were now trying to solve together. “Hello there!” SEAN observed on the motel lobby’s window shortly after teleporting to the location. Optimistic!

Oh dear.

SEAN sensed a trap, especially since Philip Strevor was nowhere to be found. Too late. The rats were upon him like tiny hounds of hell. Yeo the cat looked on at the carnage unbemused, seeing it all before.

“Whoooaa Nelly!!” *MUNCH*

*Down* goes SEAN. Only one original color left now. Blue was warned not to bring her into the story but — here goes anyway.

—–

“Green is dead now, Olive. Brown too. Pink as well. It’s only — you and me.”

“Perfect,” she responded, and then split herself. Split in two that is, June remaining seated and Jane standing now. But call her Phyllis. Phyllis Phox. Still married to Ben Wolf last seen somewhere in the Southeast I believe, but heading toward Southwest. We better catch up with him. Or else…

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May 19, 2020 · 6:41 am

irreality

She carefully checked her inventory. She had only 1 even satisfactory picture of it, a polaroid taken almost 2 months back now. Nothing worthy of showing former photography (and calligraphy) teacher Tom Banks for artistic reasons. But still, very *meaningful* to her.

A solid lime green car, formerly in the very back of the backyard of her neighbors the Hendersons who had since moved to even greener pastures. She thought she might make a poem about the object; call it “Lemon”.

There was no feined variation of hue
Lime green it was through and through
A car of such utter color solidity
That it brought into question the rest of the city

It was a start at least. Her inspiration for the title, a Warhol print pointed out to her by Brown (Beige):

And now Tom Banks is accused of killing Gene Kelley (aka Jake Trimmer aka Mr. Fix It) behind another lemon of a truck, as he called it that day of the killing, in front of Brown and herself no less at his gas station. Of course they didn’t understand the circumstances at the time — couldn’t grasp the gravity of the moment. Now it weighed on her mind constantly, and she turned back to the other lemon in town, that queerly solid hued car behind the Henderson’s house, almost hidden within a small grove of trees there. The two *had* to be connected. But how?

She remembered being disappointed that the car was suddenly gone, followed by the Hendersons themselves. She never got to ask Gerald or Geraldine or Gerald Jr. or Geraldette about it, so quickly they left shortly after the sighting. But she has the polariod, she didn’t dream it up. A solid lime green auto. And now she suddenly feels that the town is empty without it, a shell of what it was. Growing pains are difficult. She better get down to SEAN at the beach, help him continue to move…

—–

“What are these, um, *eggs*?”

“Oh… just something I bought from some witch over in Egg Hill Sink,” Green replied to Pink, obviously thinking of Olive here.

There was only one egg, he understood now. And it was a nest version.

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May 3, 2020 · 7:18 am

another Black

It all looked so tempting to Olive, but she must choose — or die. Because she has to eat to live. Eating: a strange concept to her. She’d lost so much but wanted to lose so much more. The Black Moon was the healthiest place to dine in town. It was here she found herself hanging out more and more. And away from Pink and SEAN (Green) (or Green (SEAN)) down at the Black Elephant. Policemen also frequent the establishment and that’s how she met and begin to, ahem, interact with Bazooka Ferguson, father of Tank Ferguson who took his slot as the Storybrook Chief of Police about, oh, 12 years back now I suppose. But Bazooka has a lot of fire left in him, as Olive had found out. They’d even talked of marriage, or at least Bazooka has. “You realize you’re still paying for me,” she offered to the confused old geezer at the time of the first “proposal”, part real and part in jest and uttered after at least 3 Corona-V tall stouts, maybe up to 5. “I’m technically still your, well, you know.” “Whore,” he finished, head sinking low to the money filled table. “I *need* that income,” she furthered for him, raking it in. “I can’t give–” “You’ll be with me,” he pleaded. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

And thus here she is, staring at food as it rotates rapidly past her. Like the sands of time. *She’s* not getting any younger either, which perhaps exacerbates the weight problem, or what she thinks is one. And yet she knows she appears as a 15 year old to Pink and perhaps Green as well — she must remember to ask him sometime. “What is my appearance to you?” she imagines in the moment. “A girl… or a woman? I’m 15 years old after all.” “I thought you were 13, ho,” she fantasizes him coming back at her in his witty, urban style way. Yes, I’ll ask Green how I appear to him, she finalizes.

The front door slides open. Bazooka: ready for another “date”. Will he propose again today? Can she keep saying no forever?

A funny (funnier) thought then crossed her mind. What if Green stopped calling me “ho” all the time. Would I stop actually being one as well? Another thing to ask Green.

(to be continued?)

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