Tag Archives: Mr. Babyface^*

the state of Collagesity…

… is good. Healthy, even.  Mr. Babyface is back at Perch reading his voluminous newspapers at 15 till 3, thinking along these same lines while puffing on his oh-so-smooth Red Dragon tobacco. Night this time: PM. He has that freedom now the head is back where it belongs.

Yes, Perch is back in Carrcassonnee’s nogg’n, but she isn’t quite “fixed” yet per se. The Man About Time and others are working on it. A second one-eyed monster has been purchased on the marketplace as a potential translator, perhaps even — dare I? — a — no, can’t say it. Carrcassonnee rules! But: a little buddy, yes. Frank?

“Frank?” Nothing yet. The Man About Time will try again tomorrow.


The Man About Time playing Carl Nielsen’s “Commotio” for Frank and Carrcassonnee.

What about Wheeler, then, remembering that she took over control of Collagesity late 2016 in a political coupe which seemingly has been reversed with the at least partial reinstatement of Carrcassonnee, the deity she deposed?

She’s okay with it all. But decisions must be made about the Blue Feather. Is this still Wheeler’s “palace” or is it a place owned equally by all the Blue Feather club, which also includes Baker Bloch, Baker Blinker, Hucka Doobie, Karoz Blogger, and the rest of the core avatars? Not just Wheeler: all. Is this what’s happening?

Wheeler and Baker Bloch, the 2 owners of the land the town is situated upon, don’t know yet.


“We don’t know.”

But one thing for sure now is that Collagesity has returned. The town has a true center with the tower bearing its name, a default landmark for all those who enter from the outside.

“Hmph,” voiced visiting Alice Farrowheart from over at NWES (which we’ll return to very shortly). “I wanted to go to the Red Umbrella but instead I land here.” She turns. “Oh, I understand. This is the place where you get to *all* the galleries. Not just one: all.”

“And what about this museum?”

Yes, what about that museum, visiting Alice Farrowheart from over at NWES?

It’s a subject for another day.

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Steamboat

Mr. Babyface looked down at the large palm tree The Man About Time was currently referring to. “The Hole is gone,” he had just said about the mysterious object formerly underneath it. “When Mick jumped in, the effect was gone. The great 2-n-1 was over.”

“Takes 2 to know, yeah,” Mr. Babyface says in response now, thinking he needs to phone up Greg Ogden as soon as possible. Or, on the other hand, Gregg Oden, if he’s in that form presently. He’d been romancing a living, breathing Mandela Effect for months and didn’t know it, didn’t know the term for it. The Man About Time is attempting to clear this up.

“Gaston has a lot to do with this,” then offered MAT in his mild voice while scratching the back of his neck on the couch. “Changes people, and sometimes not for the good.” He scratches more. “Sometimes… for the bad.”

“And that’s where Greg said he was going in that letter he wrote me,” completes Mr. Babyface while turning, more eager than ever to pick up the phone.

But which way to go, he thinks, receiver in hand just later. Does he go to Gaston or does Greg come here?

“I’ll come to you,” responds Greg Ogden at his red Gaston house. “They frown on mutanty looking people around here,” he said, referring to Mr. Babyface’s baby faced head.

“Well I *never*.” But he was coming back and that was the most important thing. He was pulling him out of *there*.

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return of the Dawg Pound?

“… nice view of Carrcassonnee’s new, blooming tree over at the Temple of TILE. I think this could be our new spot, Other Baker.” He woofed down another delicious piece of Raggedy Ann’s pizza with this. “This — um so good — this new pizza item is the *best*, Baker Blinker.” He takes yet another bite, and talks, still with his mouth pretty full. “Ginger, yum (*chomp*). Just a hint of ginger.”

“How about that table over there, though,” suggests similarly woofing Baker Blinker, not as convinced this was their new spot at Perch. “Better view.” She was at least polite enough to stop eating when she talked.

Baker Bloch glanced over after swallowing. “Too near the door to the place. You know I don’t like sitting in front of the door. *Everyone* can look out on us.” He returns to the pizza and the devouring of it. “Besides (*cut*), Mr. Babyface is over there right now (*bite*).”

“Mr. Babyface has *been* over there. What’s he doing with all those newspapers?”

Baker Blinker’s been glancing over here, thinks Mr. Babyface, paused in his reading. She may report me to the maitre de, gasp, who may tell the owner. Maybe even Perch himself, who sees *everything* anyway.

Oh wait, he suddenly realized, playfully fooling himself. Perch is back in (Carrcassonnee’s) head — not mounted up there above the door any more. Grease stain left behind covered up by a big clock. Oh well. Guess there’s no one around to monitor my voluminous newspaper reading today. Maybe I’ll order another cup of coffee around, say, 3:30-ish.

At 25 after 3, Mr. Babyface spots the odd conjunction that would influence the rest of his life. An ad for a football camp featuring Leroy Kelly, and just below, an ad originating from Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

Steamboat Kelly, he ruminates after reading one then the other. The famous running back who replaced (best running back ever) Jim Brown but also made a (smaller) name for himself. Sat on the bench and bided his time — good for him. Patience pays off.

Trouble was, there was never a *Steamboat* Kelly. Only Leroy — sans nickname. Mr. Babyface had entered an alternate universe where up could be down and Cleveland Browns players, former and present, could be manipulated by a higher power.

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changes

A new skyscraper has come to 7 Stones. More details soon.

Hand in hand with this addition, the townspeople have decided to keep the cubic form of baker b.’s “Art 10×10” of 100 collages, locally known as the Edwardston Station Gallery. Mr. Babyface originally huffs at the retention to anyone within earshot, but is then partially pacified when he realizes he can see the distant Whirlygig Temple from his apartment window by extending his sight range a little beyond the norm, as he did the day of the discovery while trying to spot the top of the new skyscraper mentioned above. Mr. Babyface even contemplates attending services at the temple, if any regular ones are to be found. He’s now a pious fellow, originally praying to God to help him cope with breast tenderness while in his early 40s.

And speaking of temples, there’s also a new one in Collagesity itself;  Mr. Babyface may have a range of religious options to choose from all of a sudden. I am pleased as punch to announce the return of Karoz Blogger’s Temple of TILE, which I suppose means Karoz himself will return to 7 Stones, along with wife Baker Blinker of course. This was a surreptitious decision because Karoz was just about to splurge on a larger parcel over in Chilbo to set the temple up when townspeople voted to retain the ESG. “Come back to 7 Stones,” then urged town leader Baker Bloch to his old friend. “Free of charge; you’ll have all town resources at your disposal.” And so it seems it will be.

The price for all these additions? The groundside galleries holding the “Art 10×10”, namely Gallery Jack,  House Greenup, and SoSo. But, as explained a bit in this earlier post, all of the 100 collages displayed within these structures are still in the Edwardston Station Gallery skybox, so no real subtraction for the village. And now… well, let’s wait to describe some new art coming to town until later. A bridge-maker between old and new. Important!


The Man About Time also pondering religions in his Kidd Tower apartment.

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another chance

“Ah so. 7 Stones,” Mr. Babyface mutters to himself after The Man About Time left. “What am I doing here? Where’s Greg or Gregg? What happened to being oiled up all the time. Now I’m like acrylic: too fast to dry. Not fluid any longer. Ah so.”

—–

Like Elton John on the “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” cover, we step up and out of Fal Mouth Moon/7 Stones and into another world. A trailer.

—–

I’ve sent Space Ghost and Bullfrog away. The gay problem has been resolved here in the heart of Bill Country. Hecklers be gone!

—–

“This is your new home, Danny. Better than the old one in my opinion. And now you’re gainfully employed. You are custodian of a whole, huge gallery!”

“Thank you *so* much. I promise to keep it clean.” He hangs his head down here. “Unlike the old place.”

“Don’t worry about that now, Danny. I have faith in you. I believe in you.”

—–

5th floor now:

“We’ll be installing the new bathrooms (he points) here.”

“I’m ready, sir.”

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penthouse

“See? It’s all about Greenup, Mr. Babyface. This Floydada Lime it’s called.”

“All (sections) named after fruit?”

“That is correct my fine neighbor.” His voice was mild and youthful; his neighbor’s gruff and aged, countering the babyface appearance.

“Well… if you’re Pierre, as you say, then this town is in for a lot of turning upside down soon. Do you plan to bring back Carr?” Carr was short for Carrcassonnee, the former, alien ruler of Collagesity/7 Stones before the 2016 coup.

“It all depends,” he replies to the babyface man with the gruff, aged voice. “Tell me all about this Wheeler.”

—–

“Damn eyesore it is,” Mr. Babyface suddenly declared, pausing in his spiel about present town ruler Wheeler. “Look at that thing looming up in the air.” He indicated out the window at the boxy Edwardston Station Gallery, the skybox everyone in town is voting on whether to keep. We have two naysayers in the matter sitting here in Mr. Babyface’s lower floor of his Kidd Tower apartment. Mr. Babyface decided “no” the minute he set eyes on the cube; The Man About Time’s choice came a little later. And now he had “Floydada.”

—–

“There’s also a ‘Floydadada’, Mr. Babyface. That’s the one I want next — might even be in SoSo. When I find that I’ll tell the townspeople who I really am, and that I wasn’t killed atall in that giant Lake District gash known as Piers Gill. Instead: Gills Pier. Michigan. 2052.”

But Mr. Babyface knew all about the legend of Pierre Schaeffer. It had been taught in his schools since he was a babyfaced lad.

“Let me show you something, neighbor. *Confidant*.” He scrolls the page down just a bit. “This is me.”

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A to Z


Stan Lee (1922-2018)

—–

“Why did you come here?” Greg Ogden queried his ex-wife Flo. “You know I’m with Mr. Babyface now. Oil me up and all.”

“I know. I’m kind of cool with all that actually. You and The Face. You and *you* and The Face.”

“Middletown’s where it’s at, Flo. Treasure Hill. We get oiled up, we paint, we gear down by looking at the bay, then the next day we start over again. Over and over. And over.”

“And when you’re finished… you’re the monster?”

“Sometimes.” He pauses. “Often,” he admits, which was a lesser lie.

Flo pondered this, guessing it was more than he let on. “You paint to stay sane, then.”

“Maybe,” he replied reflexively. Greg turned, stared at the apartment’s media input with Flo. “‘Hidden Vilage’ is you, you know,” he says, referring to his geometric work portrayed on the screen, completed almost a year ago.

“Red yellow blue perfection. But…”

“… there’s always green to contend with,” she finishes.

—–

Banished to the upstairs apartment, am I, while he and the ex talk. Well (he sighs), might as well make good use of it instead of being all jealous and green eyed, I suppose. Study this Big E again — been a while. Let’s see, where’s Xilted on it again?

Ah so. On the other side. Must spin it around.

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