In Charter Hills…
… the day time stood still.
Headless.
Tag Archives: NODAL
00450302 (opened up)
“What you see before you is the Power of the 4. Let’s start with green, okay?”
“But — we’ve already *done* green, he he,” said talking dog Jack.
“Oh,” said Bill looming above them in his deep, lispy voice. “Alright. Then: blue. Okay? We haven’t done blue yet, have we?”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” says Fink, still human as far as I can tell. Much like *Susan*, but we’ll get to that. Su-san.
“Okay, great. I’ll just put a little gemstone in the slot representing green, and…
“… close enough. So are you ready for blue? This shouldn’t take as long.”
“Okay, alright,” agrees Jack.
“Sure, why not,” says Fink.
“Nice. So let’s begin.”
—–
“After retirement on that fated day of 3/1/22, err (checks his notes), we have no further contact with green and blue is to pay. So you approach blue, tell him who you *really* are and that you actually have a life *outside* the library. You tell him you’re a writer, a creator (by nature). You don’t tell him about the photo-novels but he didn’t ask either. He is *busy*. He was going to respond to your email but hadn’t had time yet. You must be patient with him. His story is not yet told. I suggest we come back to him in, say, 5 years?”
“*5 years,*” I exclaim. “But I need to resolve this *now*.”
“Oh.” Pause; deep sigh. “Very well. I’ll accept that blue’s story is done for now even though it really isn’t. Yes (smaller sigh), we should move on. To red.”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0302, Oooo
00450201 (stone’s throw away from something)
“Shoot man, you don’t know *nothing* about Doggtown, choom. Buy something from a poor ol’ peddler of junk and I’ll tell you all the places to go, not to go. Mainly the latter because there’re so many of *those* around, huh.”
“What’s with all the flamingos around here?”
“Don’t get me started (!). Flamingos been around since before the beginning. Killed all the birds within a 10 miles radius of town because of that a-vi-ar-y flu, you know. No flamingos around any more. They’re ghosts. Heck, *I’m* a ghost. Anyway…”
This is Ronald. He mentioned business being down because the whole town is chasing after a VIP named Roslyn (sp?) whose plane crashed nearby. The flamingo perpetually behind his head is colored pink, which is close to lavender. Another thing we are close to, then, is Twin Peaks. Only a reference to Northern Exposure in some way remains to seal the deal. I’ll keep looking.
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0201, C2077, Doggtown, Washington
00450112 (associations)
After being left alone in the Badlands desert without a male to ogle them, our two Mary Anne and Ginger type girls decided to play a game within the game around a warming campfire to pass the time. After all, Lexi had been summoned and Panama was already there. Just around the corner. She could return. So she did. Sister act. Act 2 of 2 can wait. Still point in the middle.
“It was right around a campfire much like this that the legend of the Burning Man began,” started Panama, wise to desert ways being the nomad she was, an outcast of the city. “A man we only know as Edward D., dancing up a storm to summon… well…”
“Me?” Lexi guessed. It could be so, Panama thought, but she pretended not to hear her and continued. “Soon, very soon, others remembered a rock with a depiction of the scene, along with the glyph 01 + 02 – 03 = 00.” Lexi repeated it to make sure she heard right and Panama nodded. “It all added — and subtracted — up — and down — to zero.”
“Hmm,” said Lexi. “Burning Man,” she summarized.
“But wait, there’s more. If you go to this rock at 3 o’clock at night you’ll find him again. The Burning Man, burning away inside a fire much like this one. You smell the flesh searing right off of him. Or so they say. You can follow him, burning away like a fireball, streaking across the desert…
… then collapsing, the screams finally silent as the fire keeps consuming.”
“Wow,” says Lexi. “That was a good story.”
“Wait. There’s more. So move the clock back to daytime — return. There’s only a dummy there, not even charred. An Arasaka robot, a crash test dummy, or so it’s been described to me.”
“Uh *huh*.”
“And *that’s* the end.”
“Great. My turn now.” Lexi already had a follow-up and was eager to get at it. “City this time now obviously — where I’m from.”
“Right,” says Panama.
“But burning man again, but in a different way.”
“Oh?” says Panama. “How?”
“Penis burn. Or some say balls. Crotch malfunction. But — get this — Arasaka again. Interesting, eh?”
“Eh?” says Panama.
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0112, Badlands, C2077, Small China
00440508
“My first real gig as an owner of a business actually came through the vineyard. I bought out the O’Neill Brother’s crop dusting business when 2/3rds of them died in that unfortunate fire which destroyed their family home, including the only 2 of the 3 who could actually fly a plane. Like me. Only later did I learn the true culprit behind the tragedy.”
“So… you knew how to fly a plane?”
“Yeah. Learned it from my 2 uncles growing up in Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina.”
“Interesting.”
“Isn’t it? Anyway, Martha — the owner of the vineyard at the time — said to come by every week to douse the vines with a special herbal pesticide she concocted herself, just like those O’Neill brothers did before me, and be sure to leave by 3, or else take a break at 2:45 and don’t resume until 3:15. Else — and the first time she mentioned this she made a throat slitting gesture with her hand and mouth, which of course I took as death. 3 o’clock — death; keep that in mind. But at the time I just took all of this as part of the peculiarities of the old woman and didn’t believe the stuff she was telling me. After all, she had a special recipe for pesticides, you see — a weird-o. But I still didn’t fly at 3. No use taking any chances, I figured. She later revealed that 3 o’clock at night would be bad for me too but didn’t mention it at first because she knew I’d only fly the plane during the day.”
“Why did you call yourself Jack Sheepe in those days?” he asked, thinking of the hanger and its sign. “Instead of Jack Shepherde, like you are now — like the LOST guy? But, let me guess: because you view yourself as a *leader* now, and not a follower. You changed the name to show this.”
“Correct. Do you even need me here? Sounds like you could have done this interview by yourself (!).”
“No, I need you here,” he says with no humor. “Now. Let’s talk about the move to the big city, how that came about.”
“First there was a detour. Through Christianity.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0508, GTA, Oregon
00440412 (Badlands)
“Edward’s dead,” she put it bluntly, witnessing the spectacle herself. “Out in the desert. Dancing up a storm, dancing harder than anyone else. Then: the storm hit, shall we say. Like in Arroyo.”
“But… *I’m* Edward,” I say back, remembering the conversion. “In Kabusie this time, on the other side of Nightsity. Next to the canal. Ditch Canal. Or Channel.”
“No, that was a close call, but you’re not Edward. He passed you by. Close but no call. Lucky for you now.”
I recalled seeing the crybaby being consoled by a girl, probably a girlfriend or at least a friend. Then immediately afterwards: Edward, who I’d already identified as such; that was my actual nickname for him (Crybaby). He passed through me. I *became* Edward in the heart of the moment. Or at least I was convinced at the time. In retrospect, yeah, maybe Fern’s right. Fern the Nomad (now). Maybe it was close but no call. Like baseball. Like not being out at home.
“Dead,” she said again to reinforce her point, looking at me trying to grasp and grapple with the issue. “Out in the middle of desert which is the same as its edge. I went back the next day. I *saw*.”
(to be continued)
00440402
“No you don’t understand,” she said calmly but firmly after the proposition. “I’m through with you now. You can go back home… the North Pole or whatever. Some circle of ice. I have someone else to meet. And a name change involved — tricky business. So… shoo.”
He shoos. RosE T. takes his place across from her.
She tried to be inconspicuous when listening in, but *this* Rose was indeed curious how the discussion would go. She already had a twin next door with the same name. They bickered all the time about who to call what. A 3rd would *definitely* not do. Tin knows this, she understood. Tin will set her straight. If she wants to stay. Because otherwise… blood may be on her hands.
He walked into the next establishment over, determined to succeed with his proposition. “Buy a pretty lady a drink?” he said to the tender. Rose, he observed. Name seems so familiar, *she* seems so familiar. But of course, he realized, recalling the twin not 50 feet away. This is the sticky name change situation Tin mentioned. I understand now why she didn’t have time for me. Potential blood on her hands. Pretty Roses always come with pricking thorns.
“Yeah, not going to happen,” said Rose T. firmly but calmly back. *Now* what? Tin thought.
Then, knowing this particular Rose got her name from a Zombies album, she figured out another angle of attack.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0402, Blue Feather Sea+, C2077, Maebaleia/Satori
00440311 (Hellboy?)
He comes around when I sit down and slap him. He looks around. “Where are we?”
“Motel. Middle of nowhere.”
“Any specific Middle?” he intuited right off the bat, being the smart-ass psychic he is. They had to talk about Jonny. They had to talk about the relic.
I soon got this out of him anyway with a couple more slaps, turning his cheeks from orange orange to apple red: “The suicide model was just a prototype. *Arasaka’s* aims were always higher.”
Arasaka — the *Tree*, I think. Should’ve known. Add another hotel/motel to the growing list of hanging fruits.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0311, Badlands, C2077
00440309 (Rose T.)
She resided in Dairy so she thought it was appropriate to start her long delayed *diary* here. To begin: renaming the place after the book. Aisle of Diary it is from now on in the writing. Or Isle — either one perhaps, depending on, let’s say, the weather. Sunny right now. Isle, then.
Dear Diary,
Today I begin my life anew. Beautiful day here in the Isle, let’s call it. Edward D. is cooking up breakfast, no dairy. I’m allergic to dairy now. Milk, cheese, all of it. My diary makes it so.
I want to first talk about Dr. Kelp and how the two timing f-er stabbed me in the back and replaced me with A. Pond. I want to talk about the lie that is Edward D., because I made him up, name just off the the top of my head back there. Let’s see, 5 sentences back now. Oh here he comes now, breakfast in hand. “Thank you dearest!” I say to him, putting down the loaded down tray beside the keyboard in front of me, planning to nibble on it for the next hour or so. Writing and dining, two of my favorite activities. 5 sentences, 5 bites (so on). I don’t do dairy. I sip on the glass of milk he also provided (“Thanks again, dearie!”).
The breakfast turns into a sandwich loaded down with at least peanut butter as the sun becomes square and black, Skippy and Jiff both chipping in (skip). Aisle it is.
I think of po man’s George Washington (Carver) not for the first time today. Nor the last.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0309, Blue Feather Sea+, Maebaleia/Satori, VOTV, X-City
00440201
“My treehouse! Not… real. Sinking. Sink-ing. “No. No no no no…
“… NOOooooooooo!”
Aeriel woke up in a cold sweat on the very spot she just fell into the void in her dream, voices all around and not in a good way. This would not do. She needed to make contact with the Mother(ship) hovering far above to make all this more, well, solid. Time for her weekly bi-meeting anyway. Two birds with one stone, a bird in the bush, so on.
—–
“You will not stay long enough to make it worthwhile,” the almost torso-less but still lab coat wearing Mother said bluntly of the treehouse she had constructed, along with… her sister? And where was?… oh no. Oh NO. The dream was *real*. The *sister* who remained in the fantastical world had fallen into the void; they’d drawn straws over who would stay there before the Earth trip. She’d forgotten which is which, and that, in the end, it all goes round and round, dreams merging with reality and visa versa. Just like Oz.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0201, Oz, VOTV
Sunklands 