Tag Archives: Marsha “Pink” Krakow^^+++++

November 12, 2023 · 11:22 am

00410102

Although not particularly shy, she had to look away as he continued to stare. Dinner was over — roasted chicken on toast — and the kids sent away to bed. Grown up talk now. He looked and looked and then plainly asked: “Are you her?”

Marsha shifted around some more, then echoed back, “Am I her?”

“Yes. The one. The one prophesized.” He started again after his head kind of indicated the outside. “A yellow Volkswagen Bug. Orange is close enough. You drove up in it. It’s probably close enough,” he reiterated.

His voice was pleasant like his appearance. All exterior signs point to a decent person sitting across from her. But not a lover despite his obvious interest. This man was too mesh for all that. And besides she still had Eddie, left behind as she continued to portal jump. But she couldn’t quite remember how she got to this place — something about Bellissaria links (I know I’m spelling the name of the continent(s) wrong but for a reason).

Marsha didn’t tell him her car use to be yellow and she changed it just on a whim shortly before arriving here. This man, Andrew or whoever, didn’t need to know that information; may make him stare at her even more intensely. Nazi, suddenly came to mind. WWII style clothing; out in the country away from everything. Could be hiding from the the police. A war criminal, she pondered. Close.

—–

The year was 1939 but Andrew “Biff” Carter still pretended it was 1919 and he was reading the red book just after it was published; fresh off the printers. He inhaled deeply. He could even smell the new from decades away.

Couple crackers before dinner just to tide him over. Oh what the heck. He shuts the book; can’t delay any longer working on that gall darn old broken down tractor. I wonder if that *girl* will show up again? he thinks while putting on his work gloves and walking out the door. She didn’t know I was inside, washing the dishes from lunch, just peering out the window at nothing. Then suddenly: peering at something.

(to be continued)

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November 12, 2023 · 9:31 am

00410101

She tired of yellow so she changed to orange, another kind of disguise. The woman on the road directed her to the man on the tractor in the distance — up at the farmhouse — but she could travel only so far. Ran out of gas, we’ll say. Another man was waiting who turned out to be the same as the one on the tractor, which was only trick of shadow.

“My you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said in his gravelly old voice when she approached, being use to only cows around here. “What’s your name, Hot Pink?”

“Pink actually,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow answered with a wry smile. “But you call me Marsha — I only let friends call me Marsha.” Lie lie lie, she thought. They call me *Pink*, which you never will again you old pervy man on the road. She noted his half buried legs. “Looks like the ground’s a bit soft around here.”

“This?” He looked down too. “Got caught in some quick terraforming by the owners, people named Locus. Only met ’em once or twice I believe. Now I can’t get out.”

“Would explain the smell,” Marsha said, noticing it for the first time. She wondered if she should pull him out, get him going again.

“Don’t worry,” he said, sensing her desire to help. “Owners will come around again soon enough; they’ll set me free.” With this, he looked hopefully down the road beyond Marsha’s now orange VW, beyond the woman still standing there. Christina I believe is the name, from Wyeth County, Missouri. Waiting on her dad Andrew.

—–

She found herself driving up the road again to the farm with the tractor. She didn’t run out of gas this time. There was no man on the bench waiting for her. Instead someone was actually at the tractor, apparently working on it. Christina’s father. “My you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said as she approached from behind.

“H-how do you know?” She got within 10 feet or so and halted, looked at the pleasant back of the dude.

“Switch places with me. Know a lot about tractors?” He had seen her from before, she realized. Test run.

“Not really. I was… *pretending*,” she decided to explain herself.

“Nothing pretentious about farming young lassie.” He turned. “Could you pipe down for a moment, Wally?” he requested to his punk playing son on the left now, a Ramones song I believe, perhaps “Rockaway Beach”. Hard to tell since they all sound alike and he’s just kind of mumbling the words as he quickly strums along. Probably doesn’t know the lyrics, Marsha guessed. But could it be possible? Could he know about her stint in prison?” Just then, he pretty clearly mumbled the words “Rockaway Beach.” It *was* that song; he *knew* about the prison. What *is* this place, actually?

“Christina!” the tractor man suddenly belted out in the direction of his older child. “Time for dinner!” Her wait was over.

“Joining us I assume,” he spoke to Marsha. Was she?

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November 10, 2023 · 10:09 am

00400616 (Dolores)

And so she was back in NWES City Big Sandy, Dr. Mouse having come through the secret door just before. “Bye Prontus!” he said before leaving his beloved Anti-Omega monitor room, following bow and arrow into oblivion. He’d have to trust the door would take him where he needed to be. And Marsha: the same with her likewise cherished yellow bug just outside with Eddie, her Edward in tow.

They were all waiting on someone or something to appear on that purple ottoman over there, including the “housesitting” little demon locally known as Wilbur holding the bowl of patriotic soup that can make one grow large or small, depending upon the situation. Suddenly, something began to form on the ottoman. A spirit.

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2023 LATER”!

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November 10, 2023 · 8:17 am

00400615

In the morning it was all smoke and ashes anyway, the central cabin never standing a chance surrounded by a burning ring of fire. Millbank was dead, at least for another 10 or 11 months or so. Rock and his entourage found a secret portal inside the spiritually juiced piano he was playing so they’re okay. Zapppa is the key. Zapppa.

Marsha “Pink” Krakow looked up from the text she had just typed, thinking: Did all this really make sense? The reference to Zappa’s Civilization Phaze III again and people living inside a piano that he was so eager to explore toward the end of his life? And what happened to my Oz novel everyone here was so keen on? That’s it! she realized. They didn’t come out in Big Sandy but in Oz. And Alice Farrowheart the precious precocious child’s grandmother along for the ride; not being excluded this time.

In fact let’s go back in time and change something else.

Quickly twirling and catching Prontus Archereus (Archerus?) by surprise, Dr. Mouse uses the power of his cane to instead open up a portal in the wall which swiftly sucks up the bow and arrow into an oblivion of no return. De-armed, crudely drawn cartoon character Prontus was powerless before the menacing man of action.

Marsha ponders removing Prontus’ actual arms in the picture above to continue the joke but decides against it. Too late in the night to start all that.

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November 9, 2023 · 10:48 am

00400613 (Yellow again!)

Marsha thought they could talk freely here during the night in the park between all the buildings of the compound. Little did she know the trees, the birds, the flowers, even the bugs: bugged. Dr. Mouse would analysis the recordings later from his various sources. Eddie looked up at the big fat full silver moon before starting his soliloquy, “I love you,” being the summary sentence.

“Run away?” she said about one of the other parts, the “plan” we’ll call it.

“Yeah,” he said at the time. “Look over there. Between the bushes. I brought you something.” Broad smile. About time to say the “love” part.

Yet another bug, seemingly a different kind this time. But it was miked up as well, along with having an attached tracker. And perhaps even another one of those explosive time bombs, but definitely the first two. And maybe even Eddy, her Edward, put them there, in cahoots with the good Dr. Mouse by this point. Maybe he knows about all the bugs here. Thanks to the mother once more.

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November 8, 2023 · 2:55 pm

00400612 (holiday rotting away)

A homeless person in Millers Pond looks across the sim line and takes pictures of neighboring Millbank before it’s too late and all the Halloween oddity over there goes away for another 10 or 11 months or so. Specifically, he’s recording a supposed secret meeting between Dr. Mouse and Dr. Brown not far from the mortuary and mental asylum where we first saw them in this here photo-novel: 40, fast drawing to a close itself. Which will last longer might be a question to be asking, Millbank or this?

Two went in, one came out. Murder. Most foul.

—–

“Pretend you’re a woman of that type, Dr. Brown,” Dr. Mouse said within, “with alll these temptations just sitting there all around you. Would you stay on the grounds?”

“No red blooded man *or* woman could resist,” spoke Dr. Brown, knowing human psychology and physiology all too well. Convex and concave — attraction. Irresistible, especially in that overall climate. And he didn’t forget concave to concave; applies here too. The institution Dr. Mouse set up will not hold the girl, a true Venus.

“Serenity Lane, yes,” spoke Dr. Mouse about the fairer sex aspect of the situation, having studied the combined files thoroughly by now. “Drugged her, then drugged her over to the prison, the mother mayor’s magical cuffs in place. Serenity loved Marsha just as much as she loved ex-wife Shelley before; would keep her around at any cost. Shelley… Johnston — Johnston, right?”

“Yeah. Think so,” answered Brown.

“And the other?” Dr. Mouse tested.

“Brown,” answered Brown.

—–

Mouse couldn’t take a chance on the name synchronicity. He’d have to find another second hand to go along with his first in the aberrant bomb clock of time that is their story. Tick tick tick goes the sim of Millbank. Tick tick tick goes the text of photo-novel 40. Oh what the heck, let’s just start with this house to destroy the evidence.

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November 8, 2023 · 6:28 am

00400611

“I still have a home on Nautilus. It was a retirement gift — very pretty there. Lots of vegetation.”

Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, still dealing primarily with bodily fluids but hoping to graduate to full blown psychiatry soon, looked at his e-machine and gauged this was true. “Describe… gift,” he decided to say.

It was the end of 31 and it was the end, period. March 1 of last year, 12:01 AM we’ll say. Eddie D’Aigle, who sometimes preferred D’Aigle, Eddie, especially if he was traveling in the Orient, had just retired from the private sector of the records management business, having made his fortune archiving the files of rock stars Ozzie Osbourne, Ozmo Daredevils, and the like. His last blog article for the latter, the last he did overall, was about how the song “Jackie Blue” was changed from “Jackie Pink,” which drew the attention of Pink, Marsha, Krakow. He had the evidence before him as he wrote: the altered lyrics, everything. “It was suppose to be about a man who peddled drugs during the day while working nights as a bartender, a very Dada affair,” he reinforced to her in a reply email, then, seeing her avid interest, invited her up to [Blue Mountain] to look at the actual, revised lyrics herself. “Come with your driver’s license or a birth certificate,” he said, “and our staff will bring the whole box out to you; I’ll put it on reserve and not reshelve. You can look at one file at a time, and just mark what you want copied with green (START) and red (STOP) paper we’ll provide.” She ended up photocopying the whole box. New 3d scanner the office just purchased did the trick in a 10th the time it would have taken the old fashioned way. Marsha’s, in fact, was the first request accomplished using that method. Boxy Marsha, she went down in office legend as. Prototype. Especially since Eddie, on his last day of work, helped her tote the (wrong?) box to her still hot pink car, soon to change to yellow. Thanks to what was inside. In many ways, she became the box she requested, a black and white facsimile of herself.

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November 7, 2023 · 3:53 pm

00400610

“I try to meet our new, ahem, students at least once but I hope in our case we encounter each other again and again, Ms…”

“Krakow,” spoke Marsha to Dr. Paul Mouse, head of the organization and secretly working for Head, often known as Perch.

“Yes, Marsha Krakow, hmm. And with an additional name if I remember correctly. One only friends can say.”

“Correct, Dr. Paul… what was it?”

“Mouse,” said Paul Mouse.

“No. A middle name.” She smiled wryly.

“Oh yes — clever. I’ll give you mine and you’ll divulge yours. Well, mine is [delete name].”

“Never heard of that. Well mine is Pink, spelled like the color and not the cologne.”

“Not p-n-k, then. I remember from when my wife got me some a couple of Christmas’ ago. Still sitting on the shelf above the medicine cabinet, unused.”

“But other people swear by it. Man of your,” not age, she thought — *distinction*, “*distinction,*” she said aloud, “– might be handy is all I’m saying.”

“So you believe in its love potion powers. You are a true P-n-kie.”

“Look at me,” Marsha spoke about her appearance. “I use to sell it. I had a hot pink car before I traded it for a yellow. Got tired of seeing putrid yellow-green as an aftereffect all over the road on sunnier days.” So for the first time we understand the color.

“Interesting. But do you *really* believe–”

“That is for me to know and you to find out.” Could she wield her considerable powers over *him*? This is what her mother feared, why she was put into that totally colorless black and white cow costume and forced to forget. Venus power. All this, she realized, all this organization must be about her.

He realized he was staring at her uncomfortably. He pretended to organize his files about her before him, shuffled Pink on top again from the bottom. This was no time to bring up the 3-n-1 and the presence of Shelley Johnston Struthers (I was right!) and Frankie Brown Beige (or Beige Brown!) within as well. Pink on the surface; Pink she is. If only Marsha to him still, not counting as a friend. Yet.

(to be continued)

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November 6, 2023 · 3:27 pm

00400609 (Perch)

The slideshow they had prepared was *bore-ing*, but at least she wasn’t in Rockaway Beach Municipal Prison any longer, thanks to her mother. But it was thanks to her mother, she reminded herself, that she was in there in the *first* place. What did she do wrong except be adorable, she couldn’t help laughing at herself.

She looked out the window, at the large, altered American flag flying out there. At least they also like Obama, she thought about the face superimposed atop the stars part. But maybe this is just an older parcel and he was still the president when all this was formed, this *reform* camp. Land description does say the owner is not that involved in Our Second Lyfe any longer. Would explain why the mug of Trump isn’t around, because it sounds like the guy, from a glance at his other interests (suggested open gun carrying in Our Second Lyfe? say whaaaat?), might be a follower of *that* cult. Cults attract cults after all, refuge for the causers.

And what’s all this stuff about worshiping Venus?

This is what you get for following a Head without a Body.

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November 5, 2023 · 7:27 am

00400608 (Dr. Mouse)

“I know files are your department, Dr. Phile, but I had to make sure this was done correct. See? Come over and look.

“I’ve created 3 files on your computer system, you’ll notice, one for Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow — that should remain the top one — then one for Shelley Johnston Struthers — think it’s Johnston instead of Johnson… I’ll let you check on that — then a 3rd one for Frankie Beige Brown… or Frankie Brown Beige, whatever. She’s not the important one, or at least the one on top or even in the middle. Put her at the back — we probably won’t be referencing her much except to determine if she’s only *in* there for the gestures or a bit more, perhaps some kind of conscience. And — here’s the trick — we’re going to take those 3 files, front to back as I’ve specified, and then combine them into one overarching file called, I don’t know, let’s say ‘Unknown’ for now. Or maybe file it under ‘Miscellaneous’. Filing is your department and I’ll leave you with the overall labeling on this *3n1*. Yes, I said it. It’s the rarest of rare type of file, you see Dr. Phile. 3 in 1’s don’t come along but, say, every once in 3 years. Or maybe that’s 3 centuries. I’ll let you work it out again. You’re the file doctor,” he deferred for the 3rd time trying not to step on the younger doctor’s toes.

But in pivoting his chair to make a point somewhere, he realizes he’s done just that.

“Oh. *Sorry*.”

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