Tag Archives: Peggy 01 02^^+!%

February 16, 2022 · 8:05 am

102

After “Mr. Body and Man” closed on Tuesday, the theatre’s marquee was changed, heightening debate about the monument becoming the priority for the town, this Mountain in the Air. Because a new option had been added to the first two: Cyclone Stone, spelled wrongly in the marquee due to, at least in part, the hastiness of the switch. Bradley Pitt said: get it out there asap, let the town decide, not 2 wankers playing chesskers in a cornfield. He closed shop for the night and left his assistant Stu to remove the old letters and put up the new, working overtime again but of course not getting due pay for it. Bradley would pay for his stinginess. Stu did this on *purpose*, he realized in the morning, still holding his resignation letter in his non-fist pumping hand before it. And he *knows* I have arthritis and can’t do the job myself. Bradley decides then and there that Stu would never hold a proper job again in town, and would have to move elsewhere. In truth he’d already packed his bags and was heading through Diagonal as Pitt thought this, soon to pass the northwest corner of the county. So many lost down through the years now. The glory days were, I guess, around a Century ago by now. Which makes the monument, the rock *or* stone, even more important, a new *beacon* of hope for the seat and the county as a whole.

Which brings us to Roger Pine Ridge again, still waiting under the Rock or Stone (You Choose), still hoping. “Marty. Where *are* you,” he mutters between white stick tokes, watching a beat up old Chevy move away to the northwest beyond the square.

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February 13, 2022 · 7:53 am

Monroe 04

“Alright we’re just passing Ray Ray Ray on our left, which has taken over Monroe. The Pointer (he points). It must be around here somewhere (he follows the point). There!”

“Well park the car!” Marty demanded to Roger. “Let’s get out.”

“10-4,” Roger said, rogering that, and pulled into the next available space on the town square.

Stepping up on the curb in approaching the stone, Roger saw something different, something he couldn’t explain. Marty couldn’t see it from his angle, and there was a reason for that. Absorption.

He came closer, still barely believing his eyes. “Marty, come quick! Your name! The rock –” sputtered Roger, ” — has *your* name on it. Marty?”

Roger searched in every direction from his position at the SW corner of town square. But Marty was nowhere to be found. One Strange Rock indeed.

 

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February 8, 2022 · 9:09 am

Monroe 03

Central square: ready to *rock*.


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February 8, 2022 · 7:51 am

00310416

Armed with more knowledge of a startling nature, really, I drove past the house with the white Robert’s son sitting sadly on the porch still, mouth agape, and with a lack of friends. I think back to how I got here, got to this point in time. Three letters floated before me, spinning actually, like around a common axis or center. R… B… T. All found under the fingernails of victims.

Leland Palmer burst through the front door of the Sheriff’s office, holding the same central or axial picture in front of him — partially obscuring his face — and saying he *knew* this man, who was a neighbor of his grandfather when he was growing up and who use to flick matches at him.

He believed his named was Robertson. Investigating Agent Cooper then exclaims to Twin Peaks sheriff Harry Truman standing with him before the blackboard: “Robert. Robertson. That’s what the letters are spelling. Hawk, get up to Pearl Lakes, find out who was in that other house.” But it was all a dead end, a misdirection possibly manufactured by BOB, who is the same as Robert’s son, also according to Cooper. The Son is the Sun. And that’s where we have to head next as front turns to back, ow ow ow. Painful past.

Halloween Tree. Lashings. You reach around to feel but realize your arm is bent back.

(to be continued)

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February 5, 2022 · 12:37 pm

eye for an eye

Visit to the unusual “eye rock” and subsequent discussions. Lester Jackson, owner of the cornfield, wanted to name it *I* owa and town councilman Alex Bald countered with Hawk*eye*. They would fight it out later that day over a good ol’ game of Iowa chesskers, 1/2 chess and 1/2 checkers where black always moves first. Make that Hawkeye chesskers, because Alex won. Plans to move the Hawkeye Rock to his town’s square were in the works before they could say night night to each other. The next morning neighboring Taylor County and its superior moving company based in Siam was rung up. “Ringgold County here,” they started, then cut to the chase. “We need a crane.” “It’ll cost you,” came the not-so-neighborly reply, terms which later telescoped back into the equally unusual 14 year old girl and her twins.

—–

And that’s how Rose ended up in Our Second Lyfe on the Omega continent in the Tesseract House with the tailors, who are actually Taylors.

“Andy! Bee!” she joked through the door she couldn’t remember was oriented east or west on this particular day. “Come quick; he’s done!” And so they entered the bedroom for the first time in who knows how long, maybe Tuesday.

“Why do you have him tied up?” asked innocent Tealy, stuck on his one color. The more worldly, multi-hued Tillie explained it to him later.

“Oh, *that* kind of creation.”


front


back

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January 29, 2022 · 4:28 pm

Monroe alone and heavy on Twin Peaks

Black children, a brother and sister perhaps, emerge from a Halloween Tree beside 4th of Juli flags to play in the sun alongside a backyard fence…

… while Robert’s son, a white kid with slack-jawed mouth, sits on the front porch alone, bemoaning a lack of friends.

Past the Princess, Ray takes over Monroe as far as the eye can see, whitewashing a red car past.

A hidden letter in a kind of burning bush reveals another clue. A white S. The Son? The *Sun*?

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December 12, 2021 · 12:31 pm

00300416

“You must love me exactly as I love you!”

And so we’ve returned to Black Lake in a very unexpected way through Misty and her partially submerged beau, soon to be husband (??); circled back around. We have similar choices that we did before here, then. Return to Paper Soap from Paperweight using the resonant keyword Paper? A painter paints, a complainer complains. I’m no painter and I’m no complainer. I can go with the flow, even if it doesn’t involve oiling it up and applying to canvas. Joey Avatar knows how comfortable canvas feels now (!). I don’t need to break a couple of nails to understand, but I do need to hammer a couple. In our fence. I’m looking out our Real Life window now. So many people outside, though. If only they would go away for at least that one special day of the year. Hmm.

And I still have a foothold in Paper-Soap, with transfigured Moes’ pink welcome mat seen here back in the sewer tunnels behind sitting old Keith B. I always seem to have to brighten up the place considerably with “Phototools – Lo Gun Light” sky to snap a proper enough picture. But the dark, conjoined sims seems very important still — moving down the road. Photo-novel 31 should start just after Christmas or around the New Year. Omicron’s moving in from the north west east south too. Soon we’ll be surrounded on all sides, blocked in. I need to keep my options open. I’ve had a good run at my job. I’m saying goodbye to the school as a whole, wrapping things up. I know where my mentors are, the painterly ones, the ones that draw as well, were able to bridge the gap between the two disciplines, like Paul Clay. I was relaying to a student I was working with the other day about not liking clay, as in pottery. Foundation classes were cool, but when I moved on to the specialty courses, like pottery, like *weaving* — not a weaver — I lost interest. I dropped out. I returned 6 years later under the good graces of the college, completed my art degree. But, as stated, I’m not a painter, even thought that was my declared emphasis. Never was. I’m not a Warren. I’m not a Dennis.

But what do I have instead? A canvas true, if a map can be considered as such. It’s the world as a whole but it’s very focused in on our US of A. And within that US of A: Iowa. Ringgold County, even — just one county. And at the center of that county: a hypercube; there can be no doubt. You look inside the translucent layers, like paper, and see the bottom writing on the walls. Everywhere.

We continue…

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November 30, 2021 · 8:02 am

choices

I sit down, trying to gather some local color. I brighten up the place (smoky blue sky).

Tulsa was taking orders from a white couple nearer the front door. I could tell there was some tension — a bit, but noticeable, at least to me. Peggy and Wanda played with their cell phones at the table nearest me, not engaged in conversation at the moment. I tried to glance at what they were looking at, Peggy at least, who had her back to me. Some site about jobs — they were looking for jobs in this town. They were tense. No: just more focused. The other white couple in the room: well, they were all just kind of normal.

I decided to manufacture a friend for Wanda and Peggy and have him sit at their table with them. Let’s go with Chet. Chet was dressed to the hilt for the holiday season, anticipating December 1st like it was his birthday or something. Wanda had known Chet since college. Peggy was Chet’s girlfriend for the moment, at least until he dumped her for Phyllis. But that was in the future — no more going forward into the future which is also the past. We are *here*. Chet walks up. Ah, another core — not me. I can stay seated; I can still listen in.

Wanda giggled in Peggy’s direction after he sat down. “Isn’t he so cute with his mask and all.” Of course I’m wearing a mask, thought Chet. There’s an f-ing pandemic going on. He had the urge to leave. He wasn’t being respected, like he was some kind of Christmas dupe instead of their friend. He decided then and there: he was going to start dating that girl Phyllis he’s had his eyes on as soon as possible, as soon as he gets out of here. He’ll give it 30 minutes. Peggy didn’t say anything back to Wanda’s little remark. She kept playing on her phone. She wished she’d brought a mask herself now. She didn’t want to get sick just before the holidays (!). Chet was thinking about the holidays, in contrast — all along. I’m going to celebrate it like it’s f-ing Halloween, Christmas and Easter rolled into one (!), he decided on Thanksgiving Day, watching Uncle Bert come down with it afterwards. Then Aunt Jermima. Then Cousin Lute. And with a new baby’s sex to be decided — they weren’t up for it! Uncle Bert never got back up. He was 82 and more susceptible than the rest, having married beyond his age. He went to the emergency room; said his cat bit him. Infection spread; virus weakened the immune system. Gone in 2 days. There was a wake but Chet didn’t go. Instead he went upstairs in his house and decided to wear Christmas garb for, I don’t know, until Arbor Day maybe. Yeah, he got the tree out as his mother demanded, but he got a lot more out of that closet. I can’t really say he snapped, because about a 1/3rd of our great country is bonkers now and at least he wears a mask in public places. Tulsa was uncomfortable with the white couple she was serving because they also weren’t wearing masks in a public place and it put pressure on the owner to say, “don’t wear masks,” while serving them; “makes them uncomfortable and put-off,” he decided. He’s gone over to the dark side, Tulsa thought. She has about 30 minutes on her shift. Won’t be coming back, she punctuates the post.

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September 6, 2019 · 9:19 am

school

“So can anyone tell me where this word comes from?” Kyao Suki tried not to look down at his chalk dusted hands, wanting to wash them. Instead he projected forward, toward his audience, his pupils. All except Kevin A. (Kevin Orchardsity), who was asleep in the front row, slightly snoring even.

Vaulter Valerie Kempbill would have raised her hand if she had any. Instead she spoke up. “Piedmont,” she uttered proudly from her headless head. She had read all of 2 hours the night before. Such interesting material!

“Very close, Valerie. It’s *Pietmond*. Like the artist Piet Mondrian.” Kyao could tell this flew over everyone’s head so he let the resonance drop. He briefly thought about the 3 chalk disaster that was suppose to be a rendition of his “Composition II in Red, Blue, and Yellow” and decided not to go down that path as well. Leave art for the artists, he decided. Like Peggy Bartholomew up on the 5th floor. Ahh: Peggy. But enough of that. Back to teaching!

“Do you know why *Pietmond* was the source of Sinkology, Valerie… anyone?”

Garfield Hatfield looked around the room, thinking they were all a bunch of losers; castoffs. Well, *he* was. Seeing no one else speak up, he offered: “Because it existed in a sinkhole?” He almost said *stinking* sinkhole but backed off at the last second. What was this thing he had about biting remarks? He wasn’t like this as a kitten.

“Correct, Hatfield. Very good. Pietmond existed in one of the 6 legitimate sinks of the continent of Jeogeot, which we covered yesterday. As you recall, this is also the Southern Continent or the 3rd created by our makers. Does anyone remember the other continent we spoke about yesterday, hmm?” No immediate answer. “The one with the 2 other sinks that all Sinkologists agree are legitimate — real? 7 and 8?”

Valierie Kempbill was thinking something like “Concrete” but decided to keep quiet, already embarassed about the presence of one mispronunciation.

“Corsica,” Kyao Suki pronounced clearly. “Corsica,” he repeated. “And *today*, we’re going to discuss the one we’re on now to complete the survey of our sinks.” *Surely* they know the continent they live on currently, he though to himself, but decided to ask anyway.

Half said Satori, half said Maebaleia after Kevin A. woke up enough to chip in. Even split between Northerners and Southerners we have here, Kyao Suki realized, taking a better look at his assembled class.

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August 18, 2018 · 9:09 am

Wall, The 02

“What do you see outside the window?”

“Umm, a mound?”

“Good. That’s the mound where we lost Hector and Lewis. And two fine Russian Greys they were!”

“Yes. Sorry to hear about the loss of your alien friends, doctor,” Tronesisia responded.

“I.C., please. As in Ice Cream.”

“Yes.”

“Now turn to your right.”

“Hold on.”

“What do you see now?”

—–

“This is the night I’m going to do it,” Roger Pine Ridge mutters in the general direction of Natali/Molly. Another day off for the latter, but she was too interested this time not to care. Roger was going through the door, he said. She’d heard the story before — a choice between green and red. Which way to flip, etc. She only understood a portion of what’s been uttered by the sad former Floydian, but resonance was there. She too had made a similar decision. Her alter ego: Molly (Lustrous). Colors again; violet and orange in her case.

“The other wizard chose red,” she tried to help. “It turned out okay. Ultra successful film franchise and all. String of best seller books.”

“Yeah, but it may have turned out better if he’d been clad in green. Obscurity has its rewards. Hidden in the depths, the mud, the *muck*. A jewel in the rough. Not rough: just a jewel in hiding. Alexandrite, perhaps. Best of both worlds.” He sighed. “One way to find out.”

“So you’re going through with your trip to Corsica, huh.”

“Short stop on Jeogeot first, though — Dewey, weirdly enough. ‘Nother map synch.”

—–

True, pure water bubbled and splashed just outside the door.

“You’ve made a wise decision, Roger Waters, um, Pine Ridge,” spoke the green doppleganger standing before him. “Obscurity here we come!”

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