Tag Archives: Mid Hazel^^++++%

August 1, 2023 · 2:44 pm

mayor

He remembers that island, small in size but big in passion. Alysha. How did I measure up so short?

—–

“Thank you for the huge bowl of patriotic soup bowl, Herbert. It does cheer me up, warms my heart. Whatever was left of it after the Abyss Absorption.”

“AA,” said Herbert Glenn Gold to this. He remembers it more by the initials. He only learned the meaning of the initials at age 17, after all the really spooky visions of the event had faded along with his imagination. Spiders, spooks and goblins he dimly recalls through the Age of Newton that had taken control since. Hard to go back to Jasper once it’s done and you go through the secret, basically invisible door. To adulthood — manhood. And I mean that for everyone. Because of the whole Newton angle. The giving of the big bowl of soup was the equivalent of giving a teacher an apple for, hopefully, good favors ahead. A is for Apple after all, and an A++ is a really big one — full of steam, it seems. He had done good, he felt. He deserved what he wished for. Promotion. Alysha back. The works.

“I recall — you like the initials,” said Mid-Hazel, about ready for the big reveal. “Helps to cope with the reality. I wish I had that luxury.”

“I only wish you the best moving forward,” Herbert Glenn Gold said rather naively, rather transparently. Mid-Hazel, in her almost infinite wisdom thanks to, ahem, AA, could see through it pretty clearly, unlike the bottom of an opaque lake. She notes the (anti-)name as a good place to take a rest and maybe a picnic in the afterlife — nice ring to it; easy to remember. Sometimes she desires not to see bottoms. If man (everyone) was meant to view that man would have been born with eyes on his fanny (etc.).

“I’m… dying, Herbert. No no no: no pity.” Herbert fakes a gasp then stifles a yawn. He’d known about this for days, almost centuries he felt. The Big Reveal dragged on and on… and on. This was about the 100th, nay, 1000th time she’d said this to him. And still she keeps on keeping on: doesn’t change much in appearance when he returns. Why does she keep telling me this? he wonders.

But then he takes another gander. Big, goofy eyes this time. Sewed up mouth. He recalls way way back. Yes, this was an original form. He’d only seen it in pictures. Just after AA, he realized. Maybe the old hag was really dying; not crying wolf again.

Opaque Lake, Mid-Hazel thought, staring at the golden figurines before her. Pre-AA here I come!

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April 27, 2023 · 4:45 pm

00380108

“Heyy. Howdy! Welcome to 108. You must be the Golden Girl I’ve heard about.”

“Well,” I said. “My hair is golden for sure. Some say dirty blonde but I like the metal.”

“Who doesn’t, who doesn’t? Come on in. I have *so* many things to show you, Golden Girl! Mineral. Plant. Animal. You name it!”

“I think you just did.”

“Hee hee, you’re a bright one. A big bright piece of shinyy gold, yeahh.” He waves without speaking again. He’s fading.

—–

“I found this after the dream. He must have been from the Moon.”

“Or the *Moon* of the Moon,” spoke the old hag more wisely than me, per usual. Not a golden girl any longer but, ooh, once upon a time…

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April 2, 2023 · 9:52 am

“Yelloo!”

—–

“Whatcha reading these days, Older Me?”

“Oh, pretty much blank pages, you know. Just me — you — reflected back. Everyman’s Problems.”

“Or Everywoman’s!”

—–

“Oh I’ve had my share of adventures down through the years. Hiking (pause). Biking.”

“Sounds like you plugged along nicely.”

Solemnly: “I did. I had to turn into a man sometimes to get by — female animations only go so far! Right in this very room in the center of the Cactus House it started, in fact. Long long ago. Lemont was with me of course. Your Arthur.”

“*Your* Arthur.”

“No. No dear. That’s not correct. That’s not correct at all.”

—–

“In terms of Nautilus, things have become a *bit* more complicated.”

“I *see* (!).”

—–

“I better get back to work, child. You should leave now.”

(to be continued)

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February 1, 2023 · 9:52 am

00360704

“What are we negotiating *now*, Young Me?”

“The return of Karoz Blogger to Mainland, Jeogeot continent in particular. Somoco specifically. The Julia House to pinpoint.”

“Ahh,” spoke the old hag that was also Shelley. “You want a return to the *N* (for it).”

“Not… necessarily.”

“You *know* what that means,” she says while nodding her head up and down in an irritatingly frantic way to Shelley.

“I… do.”

—–

Wasn’t going to happen, both knew, but they were playing along. The unexpected beaver float in the cove out back pinpointed *this* location. Something had to happen here. They were experimenting. They started again.

“You *know* you will retain your current form.”

“Yes,” said Shelley back to her older self. Much older.

“You and Arthur will continue to be married. Might be rocky. Might be bumps in the road. Maybe a pothole or two. But you will persist. I should know.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you want–?”

“No.” She didn’t.

“Get in the float,” the old hag then said. “Easy as that. Transport,” she explained. “From this photo-novel to the next. Just get inside. Enjoyy.”

Shelley stared over, wondering if this was on the up and up or not. She couldn’t tell. The old witch was ahead of her again. “I’ll… give you a big ol’ choco chip cookie if you do it. You can hold it in front of you. Like a steering wheel. You are a Carr… repeat after me. You are a Carr.”

“I am a Carr.”

“You are a *Carr*.”

“I *am* a Carr.”

“You are… well, you know the rest.”

—–

“Come on, Carr,” urged Clifton Mahoney, full transferred over from Baker Bloch. “I know it’s early but your bath is 5 days overdue. Get your drying moss ready.”

“Broken,” the great olive being replied.

“I know. We’re going to get you fixed up… cleaned up.”

“Not what–”

“I know. Come on, get up. I know you can do it.”

“Need… help.”

“Why I’m here.” And he moved toward Carr to help her get started.

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January 25, 2023 · 1:12 pm

the witch cometh

“It was the end of the line for me, Baker Bloch. Car broke down, you see.”

“I see.”

“Couldn’t go further down this road. Had to give over to another.”

“Who is yourself,” the male Baker attempted to clarify.

“No.” Fellow core Wheeler Wilson left it at that. I suppose it was like saying Baker Bloch here was the same as Clifton Mahoney — oops, there he goes again.

“You’re breaking down too,” Wheeler pointed out, staring over at the new figure. We’re *old*, Baker Bloch. Time to yield. There’s… even Liz standing behind Shelley now, 2 down the road instead of 1. Clifton Mahoney—” But Wheeler shut up here, not wanting to revealed too much future stuff again. No need to know about Carbon Glow right now.

Baker/Clifton extended his draw distance out to the maximum (512 meters), stared out across the flat plain toward the mountain he now rents the top of. The castle never rezzed above the bus stop in front of him, although it did when checking from this very spot yesterday. He sat and sat…

Broken once again. Our Second Lyfe has a fatal flaw, he thinks.

Wheeler could view it fine but she could see in the dark. And twice as big. Secret weapons. Among others.

“Nice redwoods over there,” Wheeler tried to deflect. But he couldn’t see them properly neither in the moment. Moving on…

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January 18, 2023 · 7:29 am

00360512

Now Arthur finds a similar meditation pillow on which to sit. Shining 01, he thinks. Is he a Shining 02?

He must be. They are one beneath it all, after all (he believed). Soulmates. Counterparts. Two paths meet and unite. If not in the moment — separate for a bit again. She’s over exploring the witch house. She’d found something. A witch. An old hag with real long hair wearing a gimmicky orange and black Halloween costume, although she said that’s just part of her schtick.

“Do you understand… the pages?” she asked before Shelley could ask about the same — jumping ahead of her. Unusual for Shelley. Could this be? Nah, couldn’t.

Shelley looked at them flying about above the table and a little beyond on all sides. Almost in danger of hitting her face but she kept steady, not blinking. She instinctively knew this wouldn’t hurt her. Ahh, she recalls Jem in her eyes, checking the blog again, making sure she’s up to speed. Jem had this power. Edward Daigle asked her to shut it down so he could be *safe*. She’ll not make that error between her legs here. Conception. “Arkansaw?” she tried with some assurance. She stared over at the eyes. Umbrella too, she recognized. This was her.

Arthur walked into the room, having finished his own exploration once more. The pages fell like cards out of the air, fluttering down to the ground and on the table before her — them. The witch was gone. The witch had never been here. Physically. She picked up a piece, studying. It contained a picture of a prism, white light leading in, colored out. 2 parts, 2 1/2s. She looked at Arthur. He remained refracted, unable to unite the various selves as whole. She — different now. She had seen herself in the future. Sitting here. Dealing with these cards, the life she’s led. It all led to here. Purity, happiness… maybe. God at least.

She saw shadows of a pained face on Arthur’s face, amplifying the shock that was already there. Yes, he saw pages/paper flying in the air of their own accord, then the spell was broken. The Ouija planchette beneath them had also ceased moving.

Stopped on Z; she knew where to head next. All the way back to the beginning which would then become the new end.

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February 17, 2022 · 2:44 pm

where’s the point? 02

The water system of the town was *barely* serviceable — toilets slow to flush, water flow weak overall — but *someone* kept up all this infrastructure to a degree. She wondered about the 10! on the door of the stall she just exited, and how it could be connected to this 102 group she was assigned to investigate, linkable through 101 (10! > 101 > 102). Or perhaps the exclamation point stands for 2 somehow instead of 1, bypassing the needed link. She’d heard things in the middle of the night, scurrying from below, from the other side of the walls, even from above. Although the place appeared totally empty and deserted, someone was here. Her witch training gave her more clues. A *soul* was present: intelligent, secretive, perhaps ultraly so, and, finally, *powerful*. It could be Mid-Hazel disguising herself for one of those lessons, Esmerelda pondered here for not the first time. That might fit — why she can’t penetrate the soul further and read its thoughts, etc.

She was also told 102 represents a missing letter, which she’d narrowed down, again using her witchy powers, to either S, E, or W. If W, we’re all in a heap full of trouble. But I, the omniscient author in the moment, happen to know it’s S. Esmerelda would find out the same day before tomorrow before tomorrow.

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March 26, 2021 · 9:57 am

Picklemoon 02

“So you’re ready to move on from this… *Pickle* state. Now that you’ve found a new host. Is that how it works?”

“I suppose so, David.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“I’m sorry.” Pause. “But I did what I had to do to better…”

“… yourself,” David finishes for him.

“I can’t argue.”

David A.B. settles back in his chair, tries to calm himself. Although he is a God he’s prone to errors too. More emotional ones for him rather than intellectual, because of the brilliant, diamond-like brain and all inside his nogg’n, thanks to Mid Hazel. Or thanks to Mid Hazel for allowing him to keep it there. What does she want long-term, though? he ponders once more. It’s a direction he can’t see clearly, which is unusual. He’s asked Jenny to help. She should be here soon. Better wrap it up with this Pickle man dude.

“You better confer with the Ant. I know you hate him but…”

“… he’s a part of me too,” Sandman finishes for David this time. There is no me without we, he knows. Maybe he should have thought this whole host transferring thing out better, but, too late now.

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December 29, 2020 · 9:32 am

Heaven

“Did you find her yet, my little, precious Herbert Glenn Gold down at my feet?”

“I… suppose you mean Tessa,” he said up with a markedly weaker voice than Parasol’s. “I… *know* you mean..”

“You’re stalling,” Parasol declared down toward her other feet. The ones of the Rainbow Butterfly; Pickle I’ve called it in this here blog and attached photo-novel, about to be closed up for a day or three. Just to be complete, Parasol is also the same as Witch Hazel, but she must make a choice first. That of red (service to self). Blue would be better, and so she keeps pressing. The girl must be found, she rationalizes. *Then* I can decide which way to flip! This seemed to be an error of thinking. Herbert Glenn Gold was about to pass through her legs and leave, she sensed. He had had enough of abuses; had to put up with a lot of this with his then wife April Mae Flowers. Former: because he was dead now. She decided to use this angle to create a save.

“Would you like me to tell you how you died? Would you wish now to know how you got *here*?” The fiery Golden Sphere beside them spun on without noise. There was no air yet they talk.

Herbert Glenn Gold pondered again whether he wanted to know this. Would it help? He decided before, in the long run, it wouldn’t. He would still be taking the psychological pictures wherever he went. The portal could not be sealed back up. He affirms this to Parasol above him. He knew she was somehow responsible for him. It was a weird relationship, with many incarnations. Father, mother, brother, sister, wife, husband, uncle, aunt, so on. But for now it was more perhaps a mother-son relationship, with he being the son. Gold, like the.

“*Herbert*,” she interrupted his reverie. “I need the girl.”

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2020-2021 WINTER” PART 1!

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December 18, 2020 · 9:25 am

Bake’s

“Peppins, Pippins, Pippens… the name shifted all around down through the months, now almost years. It all had to do with that Peppi machine: that was the center it all revolved around, The Diamond some call it. David A.B. put his heart and his brain into designing that machine; literally for the brain. He knew what was just around the corner. A beat up old station wagon with an Illinois license plate reading BDR529, intent on harm. He didn’t have much time.”

“But what does this *mean*?” ask Poetry Dancer, with Jeffrie Phillips for the moment. Until Charlene Brown the punk woke up about 11 o’clock. Morning walk he could say, building up a sweat by running in place for a couple of minutes. Poor Charlene — so involved in her cryptozoology dissertation writing late into the night that she was oblivious to the transgressions. Jeffrie was taking full advantage of that. The bastard. But a smart bastard, perhaps the worst kind.

“It *means*, my dear, that the death was planned; on purpose. We must track down this Sammie Parr, who is in the collages after all. She is an amalgamation of 5, just like me. That means…”

“Pot-D. *Sorry*. I mean Pan-Z of course.”

“Yes. A rival member, perhaps rogue. *Obviously* rogue because of the murder and all. David A.B.’s brain must have been in there all right.”

“But what will they do with it *now*?” queries Poetry Dancer further, no ugly in her face for the moment.

“They got him to the hospital through trickery, just like before. The brain I mean, and not the host.”

“Of course.”

“It’s Mid Hazel,” he suddenly intuited, putting collage pieces together in his own brain. “She’s up to something.”

“Oh dear.”

“More… *cake*?” he said after a weighted pause.

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