Tag Archives: Professor Young Harris/Harrison Jett^*~~
I had to face the tiger head on.
Wheeler is Charlene is Her Majesty the Bigfoot!
One remained on the jigsaw pieces to our left, because there was only one left. Waiting for the snowman to turn orange again (it always did).
There (Wheeler joins the game).
Harrison just kept on dancing like a fool with his new mates behind the theatre. He was free!
“Thanks for helping out, Charlene Brown.”
“I’m busy: but I’m here.”
“Okay, so there’s the two girls who must have seen Bart, yacking in front of the Giant Tiger painting. This would be catty-corner to you standing at the intersection of, let’s see, Main and Elizabeth. Bart should be skateboarding by you right this instant.”
“I see nothing.”
“So let’s just swing the camera around and… Charlene? Where’re you going? Come back!”
I finally spot the pink dress wearing punk again just beyond the Rosehaven Yarn Shop, about to walk under the Regent Theatre marquee. But she’s way ahead of where she should be. Where’s she going?
“I see him Baker Bloch!” she suddenly exclaimed as I pull back beside her at Main and York.
Three Beatles were crossing the road in front of me and I knew this was a special, sacred spot.
“And that’s how Bart Smipson travels between Picturetown and NWES City,” I write in a letter later to Hucka Doobie. “Through that alley with the 102 graffiti. He’s indicating how he does it!” I sign my name with love and stick it in an envelope addressed to the White Palace.
“Thank Gods that shaking is finally over,” Charlene the Punk declared to Harrison Ford Jett, still with those apples. “Getting on my nerves sooooooo bad, arrgh.”
“The sim below Brodovima we’re in presently,” Harrison recites mechanically. “And an expression commonly used in the famous Peanuts comic strip.”
“Arrgh,” she exclaims again to something different now. “No it’s not. That was ‘aaugh’. I should know.”
“Right. Being Charles’ brother.”
“I’m technically still a Brown. Jeffrie and I aren’t married yet. We may not even be engaged — hafta check. But *you* — you’re different sir, different indeed. She looks at his face, and then down at the apples again still in place in the blouse-shirt. “You’re…”
“Don’t say it.” He looks at her own blouse. He’s guessed what he is. It changes.
Charlene drinks alone now. Maybe she should wander up to the bar and talk to The Mann, also drinking alone. Might be worth a try.
And this is how Fern met fellow shapeshifter Lichen, with Wendy still in the future.
“Two pickles,” she explained later. “One yellow or sand colored: here. Then the one over there that’s more green.”
“Like my apples!” exclaimed listening and looking Harrison Ford Jett to her side in Spunky’s cafe down on the docks. Charlene’s home away from home, now that she’s in the thick of her dissertation. Detailed description of Knob Noster coming up next! Charlene looks over at her good friend Harrison, then down at his apples. Still in place. Still hasn’t been sold to the highest bidder.
“I suppose so,” she realized, and turned back to the girl holding the pickles in the doctored picture on her computer screen (she wants to be a doctor, after all). “But: sand. Sandman. The sandy pickle. That came first, although it was formed second.”
“What does that mean?” Harrison F. Jett instinctively held one of his apples then the other, as if testing they were the same. Then he turned red as a winesap as he realized Charlene noticed what he was doing. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Force of habit — I’ve been thinking a lot about them later. What it would be to be without them.”
“Well… maybe that fits into this as well.” She puts hand to chin while activating deep thinking mode. She scrolls to the next picture, undoctored this time. She’s losing vision of the future. Detailed description of “Knobby” will be difficult, nay impossible to achieve. She faces the prospect that it could be a stumbling block on her way to fame and glory.
“More Bigfoot art,” Harrison Ford Jett whispers in the waning light to no one except himself. “It’s all here.”
“A cave! Marked with green again. Pickle. Pickle Too. Let’s go!”
The underwater rock cavern was pretty long; about 200 meters.
More of that type of art? Harrison F. Jett found these identical, half filled bottles of unknown alcoholic content wedged together in a rock opening and was unable to move them.
The rocks holding the stash penetrated the roof of the cave, making a distinguished marker. Watch out passing Bellisarian ships!
The rocks even appear to have feet.
The man who was also an ant back at the Hideout said I knew Bigfoot. Something about my shirt… should be getting back to NWES City and meeting up with Charlene. Maybe she would have some ideas about what the odd superhero or supervillian or whatever he is, was talking about. He recalls she studies these type of things, and her dissertation she’s hard at work on late into the night is about a somewhat similar creature called the Loch Ness Monster. And she talks of another “monster” called Knobby (actually: Knob Noster, *not* Knob Monster!) — maybe that’s what her paper is about instead (he intuits in the cave, staring up at a rainbow hued crystal cluster in the ceiling).
At any rate, she certainly lives in the land of Paperville. Hmm, odd thought — where’d that come from?
She watched him walk away after they freed him from the Bigfoot picture in the soon-to-be but not yet present consignment store with the old clothes and such. No explanation, no thanks. Just walking. He had to see someone *immediately*. A man posing as an ant, the big hypocrite. Sticking me in that photo with that hairy, stinky… *monster*! He needed to be dealt with. No love here.
He kept walking, right out of Black Ice and into the Great Beyond.
“Harrison Ford Jett,” he spat out. “I sense the force is strong with you, buh huh huh (*sip*), buh huh huh huh (*sip*), buh (*sip*, *sip*), huh.”
“How much for the apples?” He wasn’t in the mood to beat about the bush. He wanted to get rid of the chafing, gnawing things asap; let someone else get gnawed on for a while. He takes another drag off his Chesterton Lite, waiting for an answer that never came.
Instead: “You know Bigfoot.” The half wine colored half ant, half man paused, taking in the surprised expression re his statement seemingly out of left field, or thrown back over a left field fence or something. In truth, he was the shirt she wore, but that will take a bit of explanation. Another night it is!
“See. I *told* you if we waited long enough he would change colors.”
“Very good, Sandy. I need to tell a story now.”
“Go ahead, Wheeler, um, Wendy,” encouraged Sandy. It was her turn after all.
“I was wheeling my way from Picturetown, trying not to be late for the Blue Feather meeting with Baker and, er, the other one. The green toy fellow.”
“You know his name,” Sandy complained.
“Anyway, I see my name on the side of a small square house as it comes into view around another house…”
“Lemme guess. Which has the same name.”
“Do you want my apples yet?” asks Harrison Ford Jett opposite Sandy now, waiting his turn. He was eager to give them up. He wanted to be a man for Charlene.
“Not yet. We already have the orange and that’s enough for now,” answered Sandy. “Bananas: not needed.”
“So I’ve heard.” Harrison Ford Jett glances sideways at his own partner, his own bestie. They both knew something the other 2 didn’t. That Charlene the Punk was… well it should be obvious by the shirt. We’ll get a pic in a moment. Back to Picturetown and Wendy’s story who is the same as Wheeler.
“In that frozen moment, it was then I noticed a (red) car on the other side of the road from the buildings with my name, also coming into clear view from behind a passing truck. Before the obscuration I knew it was an ordinary car. Now, after the passing, it had a flat. Then *I* had a flat. I became the car.”
“Carrcassonnee?” Harrison Ford Jett guessed, turning his attention to the story and away from his gnawing apples, those chafing, gnawing things in his shirt-blouse. His head pivots to Charlene. “Carrcassonnee is a deity of the Temple…”
“I know who Carrcassonnee is. She’s talking about a car.” Let’s get a picture of that shirt in the pause here.
Oh well, turns out we can’t see it from this angle. Sandy presses the issue on. “Blue again,” he says while staring at the tiny snowman in the midst of it all, formerly All Orange. “We’re losing the reader’s attention.” He wondered if he remembered that line correctly. Must be director Eraserhead Man breaking the 4th wall once more. He glanced at the camera, pretending it was the reader he mentioned. He complimented himself for the improvisation before fully coming back into character.
“I looked over at the square building again. My name was obscured once more (around the corner). I knew I couldn’t make it to the meeting on time. Then, in a flash, everything changed. A boy came by on a skateboard.”
(to be continued?)
Goodbye Ant Castle at the end of Eleph’s Trunk. I feel like I hardly knew ya.
The only related castle remaining on The Trunk is Harrison Ford Jett’s, whose enhancing apples were recently mentioned in relation to a city crime. The City now. But was he suspected perpetrator or victim in a series of 4? And is he truly a man or a woman? Perhaps it doesn’t matter; let’s go with it doesn’t matter.
“Sure you can stay with me, Ant. Until you get your 6 feet back on the ground.”
That taken care of, let’s move back to The City and the Happy Travels Travel Agency…
“Hellloooo. I’m ready to go on vacation. Hide away again.” It was typical of Hidi to do so; in her genes, one could say. Speaking of which…
The artist whose name sounds like Rothko sits opposite Andy Warhole, one a-hole of a guy.
“The soothsayer will be here soon and we’ll *see*…
who’s the better artist in hyperspace and hypertime.”
“Just hypertime will do. I don’t do hyperspace.” His voice was level and confident, like he was the more famous artist already instead of a basic unknown. Andy was threatened. He’d been to Gabby several times since we last saw him over in Cassandra City (Moe’s –now sold!). The picture was clearing in his smoky ball. Andy was not the most famous artist of the land! Gabby then explained this was in hypertime — Gabby worked mostly in hyper worlds to see his visions, he said — and thus there’s *time* to change the outcome. Gabby didn’t illuminate the idea of complementary hyperspace to the rather dim witted Warhole; probably knew it would be a waste of his breath. Hypertime was enough for today. The stage had been set. And here he was, murderous covid ravens circling above and outside this tiny cafe perched on the top of Yellowmoon or thereabouts. With the artist whose name sounded like Rothko but wasn’t Rothko. Close! Close enough for Andy. Because Andy indeed thought he was this artist. He had trouble resolving near from same in his fuzzy way of thinking, and Barry was just playing along with the confusion. So this would be another Post involving Close.
Thoko: that’s it. Maker of fine designer women’s clothing. But that would become a front for something much more deep and sinister, like the Amazon itself. It was like going from Nowhere to Somewhere…
Ant arrives from his castle in the distance. Harrison Jett will shortly show up from his castle in the opposite direction acting as rear guard. Soon the battle will commence in earnest.
(to be continued)