Tag Archives: Marilyn^^==$

Gunpowder

Wind.

More wind. Cold.

—–

Jen reviewed how she got to this God forsaken place on the very western edge of Nautilus, almost disconnected from the continent. If only it weren’t for Vavra, who led her here. She use to blame it on someone named Jim, but then realized that was only a masculine projection of herself, a double created as a dark, oppositely sexed companion. He probably still exists somewhere. On the Mainland. Here, though? Nautilus but not Nautilus. Mainland but not Mainland. Different, an In-between World, ‘nother one. If only Vavra didn’t have that barely Linden water sailable boat, that Annoying ZZ Mat I think she called it, whatever that means. What-ever (Vavra-speak; I think she may also go by Marilyn).

She looked around even though she didn’t want to. Although certainly not the mountains of the Omega continent, it still was cold this time of year this far up the coast. Too close to Corsica to be temperate. None of the sim’s neighbors liked this place — didn’t consider it to be their “downtown” in any way. They too were isolated from the rest.

She needed to get out of this dress and into some real winter clothes but that would mean removing and rearranging the underneath pillows and she couldn’t make the effort, brrr. She hadn’t eaten in what felt like almost 3 hours.

Oh there were enough people here at any one time, it seemed. She’s counting 7 on her inworld screen besides herself. But where was Bert? Jim? No: Bert. Former police officer turned gigolo. Or pimp — she can’t recall; just as bad anyway, although she assumes the money is better with the latter since several of his ilk work for him instead of visa versa. She was the bookkeeper of the place. Kept tabs on the ledgers, made sure they balanced out each month. Numbers were her bag but figures were too. She oft times had to beat them off with a big black stick she kept handy for the matter. She thought of changing her name from Jen to Gen but didn’t want to lose full contact with Jim back on the Mainland, however imaginary he actually was. She could dream still, then. Her apartment? She wished it was the attic of the town’s Brownstone so she’d have a better view of the goings on of the place, but it was instead the 2nd. Vavra had the third, and always seemed to be bathed in dust-ridden light when she went up there to check on her or to socialize with her or to gather her up for one of those nights on the town. Like tonight. Big girls night out, but not too big. Vavra was on a weight plan. And herself? She started putting small pillows under her antiquated clothing to disguise her talent with figures as well as numbers. Some thought she had been knocked up, therefore, by Bud the grocery store manager Bert she was known to hang around with, but that was just because of the maths. They use to count the town residents one by one by one, as the green lights lit up on the map come din din time, as they called it. It was like a bell went off, a ding dong, and they came. Poor Mama had it right. The tiles were falling off the wall, red green yellow blue. If the camouflaged zebras start to show their true colors, then… trou-ble.

She wore strange makeup like an android: stars, rings like big red spots marked by a pin. She started out as a demo but she was more than that now. She was a real life girl. She decided at a certain point that she would pretend to create Jim instead of visa versa, and turn Bert into a gigolo with a corresponding loss of power. Because this was a woman’s world from now on. Adam, I’m Madam, nice to greet you. 2 + 2 can equal 5 if she wanted it to. Aloha can mean goodbye as well as hello. Inflammable can mean flammable, and so on. She was a mixed up boy-girl because her one head had turned into two with the schism. Mainland over there, [delete name] over here. The Wild West moniker had it right. Dodge, she decided, this is Dodge. Because she’s trying to, she *had* to. Jim had to remain real.

(to be continued?)

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player at piano

‘Big Red Machine,’ ‘Big Red Machine.’ *Here* it is.

No place to read — all seats taken, thanks to my colleagues in crime. Not crime — anyway, I’ll stand. I don’t mind. These 2 always seem to have the upper hand, testing this and judging or determining that. When I have the information in this book, things might change. Worth a try. Good, they’re not looking — absorbed in their own research.

Chapter 4: Twitch of the Morgan. Okay, getting somewhere. Um, hmm. (read read read). Ah ha. (scan scan scan) Getting late. The others seem bored. Better wrap this up, come back when I can ditch these two snitches — yes snitches. To the cause. I’ve found the book, that’s the important thing today. Fern is still looking around, almost as if — she can’t see me (!). Can they *hear* me? But too risky to test while she has the book. No need to attract attention to herself, whether she is truly hidden or not. She could become unhid, and whatever spell was cast on her by unknown powers (but probably Fern; maybe by accident even) wore off.

Okay, definitely getting weird here. Fern’s looked right at me several times now and it’s as if I didn’t exist (!). Ghosted somehow; Lichen the same. They seem to be finished with their own reading, kind of staring and glancing around. Probably looking for *me* I would assume, since we came in the same car or whatever. Carriage. The time is April through July, I know that. The day, the *century*, though, is unclear. Fern said this was a place we could research the hypercube, and better understand the link that is forming between 1st and 2nd lives. Great! I said, and Lichen also smiled across at me, knowing that Fern was onto something and this would be a better library experience than the one over in Dairocha Castle on Nautilus. This wasn’t Nautilus, oh no. This was the Orient by comparison. And me, me… Oriental. This is about me! Another test, most likely. But why?

The 9th and final chapter beyond the Great 8: gone. As if it had been ripped out by unseen hands. The crucial information! Soo sleepy. Fern and Lichen are still looking around. Sleepy. Eyes getting heavy. *Gone*.

“I don’t think Alysha is coming back,” Fern finally said, tired of the wait.

“No. She must have gone back to the carriage.”

“Carriage?”

“What-ever.”

Lumbering Big Red sitting nude with his big ass parked on the piano bench over there was finishing up Part 9 of his suite of compositions. Soon the spell would be over and Alysha would reappear, a bit confused but otherwise okay. But the book in her lap would have disappeared along with the music. One and the same.

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00300616

With her kids shoes and grown up hair, Alysha was more red than ever. She even had a red door to her office here near the center of Squared Root City, where I’ve decided to end this particular section of “Collagesity 2020-2021 Winter”. But not the (photo-)novel itself — I don’t think. Haven’t quite made up my mind yet, actually. Anyhoot, we’re back, Alysha is in charge again, *not* Fern Stalin, and ditzy blonde Lichen Roosevelt is merely along for the ride, at least that’s what the other 2 think.

Alysha hangs up the phone. Herbert Glenn Gold is okay — she just wanted to check. April Mae is back in prison over in Collagesity. Good. She speaks to the people present.

“So you see, Lichen, Fern, we’ve been working on three different scripts ever since, well, I guess, since the last director left.”

“That’s *me*,” interjected Fern, still sharp as a tack. “Why are you *there* and I’m *here*?”

“Well, that’s the basic problem,” explained Alysha, the same age and also intelligence as myself, actually. A bit dimmer than Fern, perhaps, but one up on Lichen in that department. If only she had Lichen’s comic timing, though, she often laments. Back to business: “It started — or we picked up on it — with a phone call from this very town — just right over there at one of the coffee shops.” She tries to determine if she can see it from this direction but decides she can’t. Took her just a minute to get her bearings. Fern silently thinks she would know such a detail *before* the meeting started and not embarrass herself with such a thing in the middle. Lichen was thinking of an Abbot and Costello type dialog involving the confusion of “here” and “there”, but she hadn’t gotten very far. Fern can’t wait. She puts forth what she knows.

“So *I* have the blue script, since I’m ahead of everyone else — July apparently. “Then you have the white one in front of you there, Alysha — or you did — anyway, we can collage that in later — then Lichen has red — or pink — to end. Even further back. May.” She turns to Lichen. “May, dearest?”

“W-what?” Costello was about to find out the center fielder’s name was I Don’t Know.

“The date on the script, beautiful. May? April?” Fern then recalls it is actually April and continues with her theories, ignoring Lichen’s fumbling through the pages attempting to determine a date.

Alysha jumps in before the bazooka that is her mind starts firing again. “We are all one.”

“That’s what I was just about to say (!). We are all one core. Wheeler Wendy Wilson.” The full name — Fern *must* be serious, the other two think at the same time. “The 3 faces of Al — Anselmo.”

“Right, right,” Alysha tried again. “Ansel…”

“… also reverberates with Adams the black and white photographer, yes.” Fern with the upper hand again. She rarely loses it. Unless a name like Helmet Newton comes up. Which it did next.

(to be continued)

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00300615

“She’s coming mum, sire!” called the gardener through the window, having nothing to do now except be a watchdog since there wasn’t a garden in this new location. Only flat plywood covered with a light snow.

“Do you think she found him?” asked Herbert Gold over to his wife, often his partner in crime. The latest theft: “The Blue Panther” by Horace Go Lightly of Spain’s France, prized for its use of cobalt in a thin veneer.

“Doubtful,” replied April Mae Flowers, out on bail from Collagesity jail and thus able to help her hubby with setting up the new house. She just had to have the “Panther”, bail or no bail. She talked her husband into it. As she always could. A team once more, just like Baker Bloch and Wheeler thanks to Nauty. Googling the safest and most efficient way to commit the crime, they bought a fishing pole and lifted it out of a transparent ceiling. Suc-cess!

“She’s pulling in now, sire, mum. She has something in her boat. She has *someone* in her… boat?”

The house never stood a chance.

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choices

She was dancing in the center of the taijitu but she didn’t have a pole. Yin and yang halves spun round and round, making her dizzy. making her *ditzy*. They were almost opposite each other. She woke up.

She was blonde.

Oh well. Time to continue the course.

As long as she stays in Crisostomo and doesn’t veer over into Crispell she’ll be on target. Crisp itself.

Ooops (center of sea): *stall*.

In a subsequent dream, a rabbit driving a battymobile drove up to the center and asked her if she needed a ride . Wait — that was reality. Two days ago.

“Need a lift to the meeting, Wheeler?” Baker Bloch was always complaining she was late. This way — not so much.

“Sure.”

“*Hop* in. Get it?”

“Sure.” And she did.

But which meeting in Baker Bloch’s new rental by the Soap Bay Beach did she attend, hmm? It could be spun either way.

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short for Anselmo

Baker Bloch couldn’t help himself. “Hold on,” he said, delaying the meeting even further. “Lemme get another beer out of the fridge.

“Everybody good?” he calls to the assembled cast and crew while fishing out a Krings from its depths, including new gal Jinx Doll. Who invited *her*? he thought when she arrived at 15 til 8, 20 minutes before anyone else. “I’ll take one,” said Wheeler directly across from him, who wandered in at 8:35, the last to show up. Immediately before her at 8:25 came Opp, her true love. And then, before that (8:15), Grassy Noll, the most famous of all Mmmmmm’s, a species formerly inhabiting the Great Lake area of Herman Park. No longer. Now friend Wheeler originally questioned him about selling out his kind, but he denies it, despite being the only true Mmmmmmm left after successfully transferring over to virtual reality using his massive wealth and status as bargaining chips to the Great God of the Great Lake in ’64, just after the JFK debacle he was also responsible for, a warm-up act some called it. Like Wheeler, although she was only echoing what she’d heard at the time. “He took a *shot* for you,” she grilled beyond cooking and into simply burning to a crisp. Crisp Lake crisp. Grassy was use to the heat, though, and took Wheeler’s best (return) shot in stride, deflecting it a little bit up and to the right like he was good at — he was *fractally* good at, in fact, able to whirl it down into a vortex hole if needed, out of sight and also out of mind to those swirling all around, still trying and failing to become a singularity like that. Bay City was renamed John Fitzgerald Kennedy City because of it but that was only Alaska. Things happen differently it’s so cold up there, far away from the heat of the grilling and burning. It was a displacement, you see. And because of it “America the Beautiful” became the national anthem instead of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” But no one remembered, no one knew, Marilyn (Lichen Roosevelt) least of all because she was so close to the subject, a tree for forest deal-i-o.

Baker slid a Krings over to Wheeler past the face of Al, the second to arrive after Jinx Doll at 8:05 and the last member of the Table to be brought up in this here post. He has 3 faces, actually. That’s the story we must go into next.

(to be continued)

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missing

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killer

That girl over there, Priscilla Persley thought. How can she stand it? I mean, she’s got *coffee* at least, but: jees.

Claudia Curve turned her back on the “spectacle” as well, instead staring at another pretty Christmas tree and trying to pretend the world was going to be okay.

Rose Schultz stood at attention, knowing this was going to be a busy night for hot beverages. She was armed and ready. Despite the uptick, two should still do the job just fine. If only she’d wore her long sleeve uniform but it was in the wash, brrr. But that wasn’t the spectacle, that wasn’t the one. She couldn’t see it from her angle. Not yet.

Thank Gods the pigs have arrived, thought carver George Wash, tired of trying not to look. More people should arrive soon. Time to get her outta here.

“One Adam One, over.”

“Go ahead Eve Two, over.”

“We have a situation down at the frozen food court. Lady not cooperating with the, ahem, elements… over.”

A pause. “Should we send reinforcements? A coat? Over?”

“Copy that, er, she’s heading… she’s heading over to the hot beverage stand to refill her mug. Everything is going to be okay.”

—–

Upon a tip from Rose, her defense was it was all in the wash. All of it. The pig carver was arrested on the spot.

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sold

The Samhain strapped a harness on her and put her on the marketplace. Legs too long, one potential buyer complained, and moved on. Thanks a lot! she thought. Should she have gone through with the reverse operation now? They were a 9, good enough for most. But this was Our Second Lyfe, where perspective is a little different, physics too. A 9 in Real Life could actually be a 10 here — hard to put into words. “Take off that silly red lipstick,” one said before the strapping. “And the blue eye shadow — NO makeup!” the other, even more haggardly one beside her barked. They were Samhain but they were also types of witches, even if they despised that appellation. They reserve it for the East-West duo and the In-Between 3rd, the fruity one, who is also a blonde. Like her. No wonder they hate her so much. “You should have kept your legs short,” they also said, hearing the complaint from at least that one gentlemen who wore a fine tuxedo and black velvet top hat to match. He’s one to talk! He must be 6’10” if translated to Real Life, she thought later in her lonely cell, after all the sales people had retreated from the scene, the tableau even. She was secretly making an arrow for her bow, just over there. You have to look hard in the corner to see it. Magical it was, thus the camouflage. She had plucked the hen for feathers; she had sharpened the flint tip with her chisel and ballhammer; now all that was left was the shaft, and she could complete that tonight, when everyone was either in the bathroom in the dark or in bed in the dark — all the Samhain heathens. It wouldn’t land at just their feet this time; that was just a test to see how far she could go without them noticing. All she needed was a piece of lumber.

—-

Damn! she thought at 9:15pm. The guard that is actually competent is back from being sick on pill. Can’t get to the sawmill beyond his bench.

—-

The Abbot rode into the marketplace on a white horse the next day. He wielded a shaft of the exact proportions she needed, another 10 to her. He dangled it enticingly in front of her, asking if this is what she desired. What could she do? The alternative — with the Samhain *witches* — was the greater of 2 evils, at least it seemed at the time.

(to be continued)

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34th Street

“I’m just saying you haven’t been the same, since… since…”

“Cincinnati. Just say it.”

“Bench..”

“I know,” he interrupted again, knowing the story all too well.

“It was a lot of lumber!”

“He deserved it.” Silence for a bit, then: “I guess we’re going to talk about Rose next. The *ul-timate* Red.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m just saying…”

“It was the frigg’n Metz!” he exclaimed, finally raising his voice on the subject, as he almost always does. “How would I know, a MIRACLE would occur?”

“It,” she tried to calm him down, “was… a long time ago.”

“Not in my nogg’n.” He knocked on his head. It made a hollow sound. Lumber again. Bench would get his revenge. “The whole *team*, was jinxed. Just look at their names. Rose, pheh. Bench, *huff*. Perez… well that one was kind of normal. But *Morgan*.”

“Now dearest, why don’t we wrap up some more presents,” she distracted again. “Then afterwards, afterwards…” She dangled her leg seductively. No need to think about 69 any longer. *That* 69.  It was often the only way to get him to shut up about it once he started. Now the other leg joined the first: two danglers. Would he take the bait?

—–

“Tom… SEEVER!” he said to end. Always the same.

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