Tag Archives: PICT ON PICT

PICT ON PICT…

“Tiger eyes, moved from the front of the head to the back to meet in the middle again, just like (with) Aunt Fannie. Black Diamond is revealed. It is time to tell the truth.”

“Partial truth,” I respond.

“Good enough.”

—–

“Black Ice is not Black Ice,” I spoke to the city or town council, as yet undecided. *Maybe* tonight (!).

“Well??” Head councilman and well respected resident Walter “Homer” Westinghouse was waiting for an answer.

“It’s Black Diamond.” Gasps from the members at the meeting. They hadn’t heard that name in a looong time.

“Bu-bu-but *Diamond*fyre* is the only Diamond named sim.”

“No,” I corrected Homer. “The actual name of Diamondfyre is *Ice*fyre. Sometime in the past, with a bunch of hoodoos like you lot, it was changed. “The decision –,” I measured out, “was – made,” I paused again, “to change. Switch. One replaces another, like if you had a set of eyes you weren’t pleased with and you switched them out with someone else’s.” I let that sink in. No one responded for what I considered an appropriate amount of time to absorb so I added, “and Ice is the same as Diamond — almost — because you can have the glass version of the former while Diamond always remain pure. Always — remain — pure,” I metered out again.

“What about the *belt*?” Murmurs from the members, agreeing with Walter “Homer” Westinghouse. They must talk about the Great Belt of Black Diamond next. How did it get imported into Marwood? And what did *Icefyre* have to do with all this?

(to be continued)

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Aloha 02

“I see… you have the answer.”

“Truth,” he shot back. And then he asked his name.


“You can go home now.”

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site manager

“I’ve been mean-ing to ask you,” coos Marilyn, washing her hands before exiting the joint just as she did when entering. “How’s Di-nah doing? I never see her around any more.”

“Oh, pheh,” Moe waved off the poster behind the wash basin. “That old thing? That’s just an expression. You can do it by yourself if needed. Right Zapppa?”

Zapppa continued to look at the counter, obviously uncomfortable in the moment. “I’m not here for small talk, Moe,” he said in a big voice. He then stared straight into his eyes, determined to get it over. “You’re fired.”

Moe picks up a beer glass, wipes it, sets it down again. “It’s — it’s that girl, isn’t it? She’s *helping* you.”

“No, I didn’t say that.” He gets up to leave; reaches into Cassandra’s brain container first.

“Hey! Where you going with Homer’s head?? And, hey, what’s, er, this here at the bottom of his jar?”

“Retirement pension!” Zapppa shouted back before disappearing over the Montana horizon, knowing that egg would take him far.

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1/2 and 1/2

“I refuse to die this time Jerome T. Newton. I’m going beyond the end of Newton — you — into Oblong.”

“It’s that girl that’s helping you,” Newton declared between clenched teeth. “From the *fu-ture*.”

“Maybe.”

Chef-detective Keat Petty Owens had already moved on from his stalking ghost to a different gallery. He was staring at the beginning of the second 1/2 of the 10×10. 51. “It’s All Here.”

He even gave his petrified hands back to Newton as a parting gift. Goodbye demo(n) alien. Forever. Maybe.

To Montana. And beyond…

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Chef-de…

“You are the station master, sir. You must know something.”

“I am… The Devil.”

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abduction

We do not purport to know what’s really going on at this French rr station with its blurring of time.

But could it be something to do with, for example, *this*?

Out on the platform, people walk one way…

… then mysteriously switch directions for the next shot.

A man appears just in this one photographed panorama and then vanishes. The logical answer is that this is the cameraman himself. Why the similar jacket and shirt to the other man here, though? Is it just chance; did they think this resonance funny and thus the jumping out of 1st person perspective and into the photo? Why at *this* station of all places? The Center of the Universe.

At the end of the camera’s journey on the platform, time is different in the mirror…

… from reality.

For the ultimate answers we may have to look upwards.

https://bakerbloch.com/2017/05/09/52988/

“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”

As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.

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Fantasie

She continued to puff on her Havana while talking.

“Wee found another dooor out, Duncan, Baker Bloch and Ii. Stiill shut… but sooon.” She puffed again. “You are stiill happy here in the Fruit Loopy Islands, noo?” She stares but no answer. “I seee that you arre. You just continue what you’rre doing and doon’t mind mee. Play as iif I’m not heere, hehe.” She stared some more, then looked behind her through the palms, though the location in her mind was far, far out of sight even with the longest draw distance. “Biig Island, eh? Stiill much to exploore. Snaaakes (pause) Manateees (pause) Liooons. (pause) I’ve even heard there are tiigers on the neighborring island with thee temples. Tiigers, Duncan. Tales of thee..”

“And mee in the ceentre. I was *theere.*”

“I plan to goo to Rosehaaven and shaake things uup a bit.” Puff. “Thaat’s my deestiny.” Emit smoke.

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t&a

In his newly rented, creepy basement apartment, Baker Bloch rezzed the entire “Wall of Ass.” created a number of years back now for the Biggie Gallery in Sunklands, only to delete most of it in favor of Salvador Dali’s last painting, “(The) Swallow’s Tail”. Seemed appropriate.

A knock at the door, then. Strange, Baker Bloch thought. No one knows I’m here yet except the landlord. Should I even answer it? It’s the dead of night. Vampires most likely. Fresh blood smelled. The knocks resumed, then a voice. “Baker, it’s me. Martin. Allen Martin. And Wheeler.”

—–

“Nice hat, Martin,” Baker Bloch spoke.

“It’s Allen, actually. Martin is a last name.”

“Oh right. Like the bird.”

“I suppose. Have we even met? I know your sister Baker Blinker, of course. She was my landlord over in Collagesity North.”

Baker Bloch ignored the sister misnomer re Baker Blinker. “I don’t think we have. But there’s a lot of characters in the Collagesity stories now. Perhaps our paths have crossed already and we’ve forgotten. Yes — come to think of it, I believe I saw you eating alone in Perch one night.”

“I did that sometimes, yeah.”

“I understand you have a son.”

“Doogie, yeah.”

“Something has happened to him?” He looks over to Wheeler for help. “See, I was over at your apartment just last night, Martin, er, Allen. Sorry. I was called over there by Petty.”

“I see,” states Allen Martin, repositioning himself in his chair. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Queerly,” answers Baker. “Odd accusations being tossed about. Stuff that doesn’t seem possible.”

“Like what?” Wheeler remained queerly silent. Then she was gone. Baker Bloch turned to Allen Martin, who just shrugged.

“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”

As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.

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Mum’s the word.

snapshot8601_002

“This is the greater me,” explained Tin S. Man to little yellow Spongebub perched on the edge of The Table. It’s a square.

“Bahahahaha!” screeched Spongebub.

“Not an appropriate place to laugh — again.”

snapshot8601_001

“And in the very next post — here let me click through — we have this.”

snapshot8601_006

“That lady!” exclaimed Spongebub.

“Yes. When Mr. Keat Owens pays a visit to you tomorrow, you *do not* know this, um, lady. You erase her memory from your mind. Do you understand? Snowmanster’s existence depends on it. Your wife’s very existence, I said. We can save her through careful collaging, but you have to help us. The detective — Mr. Keat Owens again — cannot make the connection between the two. He must remain in the dark. Do you *understand* Mr. Squarepants?”

Spongebub laughs again.

I hope to hell this works, is all Tin S. Man could think.

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