Tag Archives: MIDDLE C

00510511

It was the end of us, I knew. End of the band; start of an 8-5 or 9-5 job under a boss who cared not one lick about music or its benefits to society. Creativity *murdered*. 666. How to avoid?

—–

“That’s really beautiful, Frank. Spongeberg #5, you say?”

“Fresh off the printer and into our home. Middle C middle C middle C,” he chants, a thing that got him through the ultra-complex piece. He had to remember that the composer had a plan, an endpoint. Wasn’t writing down notes by the seat of his pants. I heard recently that creativity without outline is just noise. Planners not Panters, at least for the chromagraphs. Spongeberg had the process down.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying it! Wall to wall fun for the 12, 13, 14 people who attended (pheh).

—–

The manager shows up with his wad of empty Money, choice looming. Keep living day to day, meal to meal, bill to unpaid bill, or escape the threat of abject poverty and enjoy the benefits of health insurance, college ed for the kids, so on. He hands me his card (see top).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0051, 0511, Bandanaboro, Omega

00510411 (within, the eyes)

“I’ve changed the title again, Shelley. Not ‘Woman in Red’ now, not ‘Woman in Red Rain.’ ‘Woman in Red Rain*bow*.’ You know what I mean.”

—–

“I can be whoever you want.” He stared at me for a minute — final green following up middle red and original blue — then took a pad from below him somewhere, scribbled something…

… showed it to me. “You can be yourself,” he’d written down, a smiley face tacked on at the end. Well… he asked for it!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0051, 0411, Capital Cy, Newer Island

00490106 (speed limit)

“Oh I hate removing all these beautiful decorations and then taking down the tree. Can’t we keep it up for a while longer, Frank Lynn? Please? Pretty please?”

“I told you, dawg,” he said while continuing to finger the difficult Spongeberg invention, #3 he was working on this particular day I believe. Full of Middle C’s in an attempt by the composer to make the path more clear, but still a very windy and twisty journey indeed. One he still can’t fully navigate to its end. “We don’t have to take the tree down until New Year arrives,” he continued his explanation.

“But… Nada is arriving at 7. For our dinner. Philip and Nada together. Two teams.”

“Frank stops playing, pivots in his bench to look over at his own (new-ish) girlfriend Daisy, realizes the mistake made.

“*No*, not *Nada* New Year. Just the New Year — dawg. The first of the year. It’s tradition that you don’t have to take down Christmas trees — for most people — until New Year’s Day the week after Christmas.”

Daisy stands back, gold ornament still in hand and not the collecting box. “Oh,” is all she could say, and proceeds to hang it on the same limb she retrieved it from not 30 seconds ago. “Good,” she said while putting more on formerly plucked. “Good good good.”

—–

“Where’s he now?” Daisy asks about Frank’s oft times visitor Dr. Mouse. Like House but different.

“Place called Linesville PA,” Frank answers from across the table. They’d finished eating (salmon and brown rice and mixed vegetables, yum!). Now time for leisurely chatting before cards (bridge? rook? Mille Bornes even?), catching up with all the latest local news and stuff. “He’s wondering why it’s so close to the PA-OH line,” Frank continued, “about 5 miles if I remember correctly, but not named for that. He’s also indicated Glenn Islands next to Ford Island in the same area and something about the possibility of watching a lot of Glenn Ford movies when he gets back, hogging my video feed again, pheh. Maybe time to think about that 2nd screen?”

“I’ll chip in,” chips in Philip to his right, partner Nada New Year across from him as Daisy is to Frank.

“Well thanks, Philip. Nice of you to offer. But as I recall, you didn’t bring any actual money over after your, er, *conversion* from Alamo to Nawt Vaya here.” Unlike me, was the unstated jab; Frank planned his metaverse jumping quite a bit more carefully. “That’s why you live with Lexi.”

“Oh,” says Philip to this, remembering that fact. “Right. Which reminds me. Nada you got a tener you can loan me for a while? Need to pay off Frank for my bets the last time we played. Right Frank?” And he hits Frank’s nearest shoulder with his fist — pretty hard. Because he’s pretty mad about it. “Good to, how you say, *square* up before we start, huh?”

“Keep it, dawg,” he says while glancing at Nada, who remained silent, maybe even looked a little sleepy. Was she up for this tonight? “I — again — appreciate the thought.”

“Okay, good. Great — that’s great. Even steven, then. Soo… what’ll it be tonight? Rook?” Philip was always up for a game of rook, his favorite. But Daisy preferred bridge and Nada and Frank preferred Mille Bornes, at least for tonight just to keep things fresh. So the majority wins and Mille Bornes it was. Philip mumbled something about preparing to lose again since it wasn’t *his* game, but then dealt the first hand and started to get quite into it before the end.

—–

“Nada, can you loan me a twenty?” he said as discussion of cards was brought up the next week after another delicious meal (poached eggs, steamed green beans, something bread related) and catching up with local news and such. Frank was just that good — naturally. Let’s call him a card savant although I know that term is usually reserved for precocious children(?). If only Spongeberg came so easily. TBC

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0106, Frank's Moving Castle, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS, Ohio, Pennsylvania

00480304

“Soo. I gotta ask this, Frank. Is Mouse your *boyfriend* now or something?”

“Noooo.” But he was thinking: Might as well be. We’re stuck together up here it seems. Until Mouse learns his lesson; could take a while, he knew. A looong while. “How’s your *girlfriend* doing, Philip?” Frank thinks to ask in turn, knowing Nada and he were still going through some difficulties.

“Oh, she’s okay.” Philip was concentrating on his pinball prowess, Frank doing the same with his piano. Spongeberg’s Invention #4… so difficult to get the fingering down! In other words, neither were paying much attention to what they were saying to each other. Typical. Not really feeling the other’s pain.

More dinging and clanging from Philip, more fingering from Frank. Philip was trying to beat Mouse’s high score for the month. Frank was also trying to beat a score in a way. Spongeberg’s Invention set down on paper. He feels the notes swirling before him like an angry mob, ready to leap out of the page and take over his mind, his castle, everything. 1000 points to go for Philip. 1000 notes to go for Frank. Or so.

“Listen, Frank. I wonder if you could ask the *Pooping Pigeon* up there to turn down the video feed. It’s as loud as my pinball machine and I’m standing right before it!”

“I’ll try.” Middle C, he thinks. It all revolves around Middle C.

After a couple of moments, Philip reiterates his request. But just then Mouse returns to “Earth” to test out a new resonant center he’d found in one of his many Youtube poop videos he’d saved to his various playlists. New Hampshire and Vermont, he ponders while heading down. I think I know where this is leading to!

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0048, 0304, Frank's Moving Castle, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, New Hampshire, NVFS, Vermont

00470612 (tip of the tongue)

—–

“Thanks for letting me come up here today and play pinball. Ironic thing, heh. I use to play this game while I was high on speed! ha ha.”

“That’s great Philip.” Now Frank Lynn wished he hadn’t invited his old friend up to his castle. With Lexi not around, less control over his manic behavior. She’s a good roommate for him, he realizes. Nothing more, but still… I guess there’s Nada for all the other stuff.

“Got any?” Philip utters while still dinging away.

“Um.. what?” Frank was trying to play Spongeberg’s Invention No. 4 and was having trouble with it, mainly thanks to Philip. It all revolves around middle C — must always keep that in mind, he reminded himself while continuing the careful fingering. Maybe I should paint the key red to emphasize its importance.

“You know, *speed*.”

“Um…” Frank then realizes what Philip was asking about. “Oh… *no* dawg. I haven’t done any of that (drugs) since moving here. I don’t need it here.” Back to the invention. Middle C, middle C.

“Well, gotta go then, I suppose.” Philip then lets go of the pinball machine and backs away from it, as if waking up from a dream. “W-what? Where *am* I?

“And who are *you*?”

“Cut it out, Philip. Yeah, maybe it’s time for you to go home.” Middle C middle C middle C…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0612, Frank's Moving Castle, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS

00300704

She was staring not at the fire but a little bit up and to the right like she was good at. That should have been me, she dwelled.

Nearby, Baker Bloch had gotten pretty good on the piano, graduating from “Chop Sticks” to chromagraphic lines of modality. Next up: half lines; doubly long. He can hardly wait. Full blown computer music could be next.

The swallowtail flag points to it: Rainbow Sphere.

“Baker?” she called over as he hit Middle C once again, as he’d done over and over tonight. It stayed lit up from use as his fingers retreated.

“Yes?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0704, Heterocera

centerpoint

Young Ruby looked far and wide for her missing friend Shirley Boot, starting with Yd Bay on the far side of New Island, hoping to hell she didn’t find another bobbing head there like she did before with Trashy the Clown’s (she didn’t).

Another place to visit was Faux Aunt Annie and Karl’s Gloomy Gus on the west coast. Now the last couple of times we checked in — well, actually throughout this *whole* novel, looking back — it seems that Annie was in a heap of trouble with all these pills and incessant dancing and, um, the other thing. And she was! But the death of Trashy the Clown, although extremely difficult to get over at first, was a blessing in disguise. She cleaned up, with aid from loving beau Karl — locked up in the Gloomy Gus for going on two weeks. She emerged exhausted and dehydrated and still a little nauseous, but ready to move forward into the future without drugs and the other, attached things. Karl was her focus now, her beacon of light. So we have a happy ending to that part of our story, and an important one it is. But no luck for Ruby this day — no sign of Shirley there.

Mrs. Fogg and Ms. Frame, now moved in together for mutual protection, food, and liberty, hadn’t seen her either. That basically took care of the whole northwest section of the island, so active these two women were with their sailing and beach running and frequent picnics to the top of Mt. Sondra where they had a commanding view of that part of New Island.

Blue Jay Wade was dead, and his former chum turned complete psychopath Big Red Butler remained incarcerated at the Gaston-Berry jail, at least for this week. But neighbor Zettie Lamont the zebra-ass, similar to Fogg and Frame, had a pretty good view of the lower western part of the island from his perch atop Pimushe Isle. He relayed to the disappointed Ruby that he hadn’t seen the young girl either.

How about one of the houseboats or yachts at the Diamond Sailing Club? Possibility, but since Lisa the Vegetarian Smipson left for Corsica, she has no contacts there.

No one lived at Artist Point in the southeast section of the island. The east was dominated by Mid Hazel’s compound of buildings. Ruby felt that if Shirley had somehow gotten stuck over there she was doomed anyway. Lost to a powerful witch.

Which left center: Mabel’s house (Mabel and roommates Fisher and Bendy had seen nothing), Eraserhead Man and his Rabbit Hole house (nada again), and Robot Derak Jones (who said, check with Eraserhead Man, which she’d just done). Hmm, she thought, standing in the middle of central Route 9 dividing the island almost cleanly in two. She looked down at the buildings: Elephant Club, Axis’ Castle, Flossie’s, a new place beside Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village. “*Wait*,” she suddenly exclaimed. “The Village! I could ask Lavern Glam. She has eyes everywhere.”

So we head back to the ice cream truck, the sole component of this so-called village. Use to be bigger in the day, as they say. But Mr. Glam sold part of his original land to the Elephant Club, who turned it into their western parking lot, and then part to Oranga Black who built the Arcade in back. He downsized from a double wide trailer with indoor seating to the small truck we’ve already seen in that last post, whose cab also doubled as his daughter’s bedroom for a while. She didn’t mind: she felt she remained in the center of it all that way.

Ruby approached the truck. “You’re not Lavern Glam.”

“Yet *you* remain oh-so-red Ruby Roo,” spoke the alien behind the counter. “Exactly 15 1/2 today, this minute, this, um, second actually. Your anti-birthday.”

The island blew up around them. To those on the outside, those who survived, they describe the sound it made as close if not the same as middle C on a piano. Queer, huh? Too queer? We’ll see…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0009, 0615, New Island

(too) red (spot)

“Face it Ruby. Your aunt’s gone. I stopped DJ-ing about 5 hours ago and she’s still dancing up a storm. She’s lost. Lost to the beat of the island.”

“C. The tone is C.”

“C? Like in a musical C? Middle C?”

Middle-of-15 Ruby didn’t answer. “Take me back home, Fisher. I’m tired of hearing and seeing this.”

—–

“We FAILED in this one, Baker…!” Eraserhead Man turned in his rocking chair and squinted over at my avatar, trying to make out the sex, but his eyes weren’t adjusted yet. “Baker B.!” he just finished to cover both possibilities while resuming his coffee drinking.

“Why don’t you turn your hearing aid up, Eraserhead Man! But there’s Ruby left!”

“Ahh, Young RUBY. Elephant’s ears and eyes both.” By just mentioning (shouting) her name, Eraserhead Man could suddenly hear and see better; didn’t even need the hearing aid now. He pivoted again and saw he was talking to the male Baker. “The Corsica continent is still in play Baker *Bloch*. I didn’t try to nuke Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village for nothing!”

“I hear they have land sharks now!” my avatar offered about the continent.

“No need to shout, Male Baker. Hearing’s up.” Sipping EM gave him a thumbs up from behind.

“Oh. Didn’t even see you turn it up. But it’s different times, Eraserhead Man.”

“Pencil, please,” the rocking male requests, still staring ahead. “We’re *friends* now, I’m suddenly remembering.”

Baker B.’s memories started kicking in as well. Yes. *Friends*.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0009, 0502, New Island