Tag Archives: Patrick^^^*

arrival 02

“Philip! Come here!”

—–

“She said her name was Edwardston. I figured that was code for something.” Billy Jean Kidd had an opinion but bit her tongue for a change. “She said she was waiting for spring to arrive in Rosehaven before properly returning. I told her the snow’s melting, melting, melting as we speak — shouldn’t be long. She said she had to wait until it was good and gone because she didn’t like snow one bite. ‘One bite’, she said. Not ‘one bit’.”

“A byte is 8 bits,” offered Philip to one side. “I learned that in my computer science class.”

“The one you failed. Speeding through your assignments all the time and not paying attention to what you were doing.”

“How about you?” Philip countered to his old school chum Marion. “Always high. Always slow… to learn.”

“Admittedly it was a blur. The whole school thing… but — anyway — getting back on subject, Edwardston said she knew all about the Oracle.” He paused here.

“Well?” urged Billy Jean Kidd on the other side, finally showing her impatience again. They had a 15 minute window here at the Vineyard cafe to talk about something serious, very serious, in as clear a way as possible. And it was 5:36 now. They were 6 minutes in — almost halfway into this theoretical space. Rainbow space. BJK indicated their time limit to the others.

“Aww, that’s just something you made up,” insisted Philip to her left. “It’s not like at 5:45 I’m going to get up, go to one corner, pull out my dime bag of cocaine, line it up neatly on the table, and then take a straw and sniff, sniff, sniff — very quickly.” Philip imagined how pleasant this would be, and the resulting state.

“Yes you will,” states Marion plainly. “You always do. 15 minutes after sweets. Always the same story.”

“5:39 now,” issues BJK, pointing to the watch still not on her wrist.

“Anyway,” continues Marion. “She said the tiger pictures were placed at the end of the tale on purpose. And then — get this — she said she came from *between* the two of them.”

“What’s that mean?” inquired BJK.

“I asked the same thing to Edwardston and she didn’t respond. Instead she got up: ‘Walk with me,’ she said. There was another part to explore. The large balcony was just the beginning of the end, she said. ‘Walk with me,’ she repeated.”

“5:42, now,” implored BJK, sneaking a glance at Philip. His forehead had begun to perspire. So little time left!

“We rounded a corner of the large room and entered another one, with a window facing the opposite direction — toward the north instead of the south, I believe. A man named Pat sat on a couch surrounded by cats.”

Philip gets up from the table.

“Time’s up,” BJK declared, throwing her hands in the air.

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Filed under *Second Life, Rosehaven^^

link

The company put Jackson Bloch up in a shack over in Hambone, just across the sim line from Nevermore. Handy for work, but he had to live with rental furniture and decorations, which he usually hated. However, this place was different. All the decor that should have remained alien to him began becoming more familiar instead. Slowly, surely, he felt like this was home, not only the shack, but, perhaps even moreso, Hambone itself.

He’d heard of a local man named Pat who disappeared in the past that some say looked and acted like him. They didn’t say “slow” or “ugly” or “unkempt” to his face, but that’s the essence of what they meant. Maxine Cornbread, Howard Johnstone, and the rest. The Gossipers, they called themselves, and met at The Last Drop every Wednesday afternoon, sand storm or shine. Jackson Bloch was now part of their outer, extended circle. So was a new dude named Walt: Walter Westinghouse. Philip Tongue as well. The Tongue — fits right in with that nickname. Anyway, the similarity between Jackson and Pat — our Patrick Starr of course — has been brought up several times now by that group. Slowly, surely, the story of the Nevermore abductions will intertwined with those of Pat and Jackson. 1 plus 1 begins to add up to 3. As in an unexpected baby. If he hadn’t died in that killer shark attack 15 years back, imagine the relief Zoidboro would have experienced learning who the true father was. Aliens! “Should have known,” I can hear him say from the grave.

With his mind, Jackson removes several posters from the wall he suddenly finds unwanted and unnecessary.

He’s been doing such things all his life. That’s how he became involved in the ruin construction business. No one puts up ruins faster than him. Or tears them down if the reverse is needed. No one.

Jackson is indeed very blessed and very special.

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Filed under *Second Life, The Waste^^

Ruby Fantasie: savior

“It’s so beautiful Zoidboro. Just like you said. The trees would grow, the water would go. I’m ready to name my baby.”

“Jackson, then?” guessed Zoidboro, steeling himself for disappointment.

“No, a compromise. If our son is very special — say, can do 6 butterflies in a row…”

“What’s a butterfly?” queried his cephalopodic partner while watching yet another shooting star cross the sky.

“That’s right. You never went to dance school like me — sorry. It’s a cartwheel where your hands never touch the ground. Anyway if he can do 6 of those as opposed to, say, 4 or even 5, we will call him Jackson. Otherwise: Daniel. Danny will be a good boy, I’m sure, but not special. Jackson is reserved for Special.”

“Like Jack’s son.”

“Yes. I wish 100 times over that he is special, but we must love him equally either way.”

“Agreed,” Zoidboro quickly returned.

Patrick turned away from the sky and toward his partner, his ally. “And now, it’s time, to go, inside.”

—–

“I have found them! In the heart of the Pineapple Island. My intuitions are correct!”

“And across the street: another tiny car! This must be the controller.”

“I’ll go inside.”

—–

“Ahh. Should have guessed. Tessa.”

“Who are you??”

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Filed under *Second Life, End of Time^^, Hawaii

It’s a boy!

—–

Martha was both polite and curious. “Have you thought of a name yet, Mr. Zoidboro?”

“I’m thinking about Daniel. Or Danny.”

“Excellent. Like ‘The Shining’.”

“Oh… yeah.”

—–

“Danny, huh,” utters an exhausted Patrick, fresh from the Jacobian Hospital. The only hospital on this Pineapple Island, with over 100 beds. “I was thinking about Jack. Or Jackson.”

“Jack’s son?”

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Filed under *Second Life, End of Time^^

Jacob

“It’s perfect Patrick. We can raise our child here on retro Pineapple Island. We don’t need Eotia Village any longer. It’s just me and you, babe. I got you and all that.”

“What about the Oracle?” spoke Patrick, wiser than ever. The baby was coming!

“Oh, that thing. Discard it. Let it go. Tigers can be found anywhere. In the jungle. In the snow. Even in the desert or wasteland. We have our baby to think about now.”

—–

“Something’s not right, Zoidboro. There shouldn’t be a lake here. And the trees should be taller.”

“Nothing to worry about. Everything will adjust. Dog Island, the new one, is right over there.” Zoidboro indicates behind them, through the feed store and across the bay. “This is the new Murdock’s Island. Pineapple. The highway ends here.”

—–

“I think the trees *are* getting taller now.”

“And the water is beginning to evaporate. See? Everything will be fine.”

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Filed under *Second Life, End of Time^^

inn (Eotia Village)

“Amazing, Patrick my man. Man *wo*man. All I had to do was volunteer to preach at the local Broken Clock Church twice a week and we get wined and dined all we desire. Room and board too.”

“No – more – cave!” expressed Patrick, who hated to shiver. Doc said his baby was due any day. “Another glass of rosé?”

“Don’t mind if I do, sir. Don’t mind if I do.”

—–

“I don’t understand, Magnus Ellen. The observing truck is gone here at Crow Island. How do we keep up with the progression of Zoidboro and boy gal Patrick?”

“Something must have changed,” opined the wise Buddhist to his understudy. “Strands (of time) must have been altered.”

Sidechick Corea paced nervously on the wooden swing bridge. “What… now, then?”

“Back to Rosehaven. Back to the cave. There *must* be a portal, for we’ve seen Zoidboro also preaching in Rosehaven Serenity.”

“How many places *is* he preaching, sire?”

“Maybe he can’t stop saying, ‘Don’t mind if I do, sir. Don’t mind if I do.'”


Camouflage knows.

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church (Eotia Village)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherwood_Anderson

Four[5] or five[6] years were spent in Caledonia, years which formed Anderson’s earliest memories. This period later inspired his semi-autobiographical novel Tar: A Midwest Childhood (1926).[7] In Caledonia Anderson’s father began drinking excessively, which led to financial difficulties, eventually causing the family to leave the town.[7]

“That’s an interesting story, Zoidboro. But I thought it was Caledon.”

Again with the smarts, Zoidboro ponders. What was it now, 8 1/2 months? 8 3/4ths? Better get to the caves asap. “Cale*don*ia,” he emphasizes to his pregnant male friend. “It would be Caledon if told from their perspective, but this is through the eyes of Rosehaven. The Princess ruler, to be specific. Soon to be Queen now that the father is dead. And the mother remains in her grave.”

“So…,” Patrick Starr tries to reason, “… Caledon, I mean, *Rosehaven* is way over here.” He moves his right hand far to the right. “And The Waste, *our* home, is way over here.” The left hand goes more left.

“But brought together by the Oracle,” states Zoidboro, shifting slightly on the bed to peer at the strangely colored 8 ball in the middle of the table to one side. “Tiger,” he completes, noting the residual “stripes”.

“I suppose.” Patrick retracts both hands, sits up, and holds his bloated stomach. “Oh, I felt a kick!”

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Filed under *Second Life, Caledonia^^, End of Time^^