He decided to test this reality. He pulled out some wadded up and hardened little pieces of paper from his pocket and dropped it into Keith B.’s hand, saying they were for the virus. “Thanks!” the older man from his childhood said, saving them for later that night when the headaches started. Oh the power of suggestion, Biff marveled, and returned to his book. He was at the end of Paper. He turned the page…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0503, Paper, Paper Soap, Pennsylvania
Stuck on a mountain, Norris waits for the train to stop and pick him up. Problem is, he himself is the train, the trees, the mountain. This is plainly displayed for others to see.
Duncan Avocado confidently enters the store, noting the colored writing on the wall. Safe zone here.
He spies what he wants on the top shelf. “I’ll take, let’s see, the policeman, the fireman, and that, um, Star Trek military robot I believe, Rootitooti or something.” He wanted to own them all, practically the entire public safety force.
“5 bucks,” she said so softly he asked her to repeat the price, which she did even fainter. He never got the cost; the train kept spinning and spinning round the small granite summit like a carousel.
One day…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0212, Jeogeot, Newtown, Sunklands^
The Sun and Moon seem to be moving very fast in this town.
“I thought I’d come talk to you first, Marilyn, clarify some stuff about your angle in this, ahem, evolving story. We have bigots in town, we have zombies, probably all wearing spiked or non-spiked helmets. Like that policeman who keeps eyeing me all around town.”
She wanted to say Tank but held back. And Bazooka — Bazooka was his dad, and, as former captain of the force back in the good ol’ days, the one who wore the spiked helmet. Tank: just a bright blue cap. Put him in the bigot category.
Then she remembered the slip of paper in her jeans pocket, the one she was suppose to pull out in case she got stuck. She pulled, she read. “Moms, don’t let your boys grow up to be Dimmy Jean.”
Silence. Was that helpful? she pondered, staring into his watery eyes. Was he… crying?
—–
Dimmy wipes the counter down nervously, thinking that 1/2 the people in the room are watching him and half aren’t. But he doesn’t know which. He tries to determine friend from foe through the caps and helmets but all the lines get blurred together. He’s lost it. He needs to go home but he doesn’t even know where that is any more. Home is here I suppose, he says to himself. He pours two shots of Jack Daniels, one for the raccoon man and one for himself. “Here’s to home,” he proclaims while raising his glass, resigned to the fact. Over in one gulp, he pours another while 1/2 the room still eyes him.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0205, Jeogeot, Newtown, Sunklands^
“I was stuck,” Keith B. tried to explain about The Room. “I was caught.”
“Yeah, by *me*.” The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale. The flip style notepad and push style lead pencil remained unsheathed this time but Jenny knew. Jennifer now. The Mann emerged from a plastic cocoon. It was in all the books, a running motif. Keith B. was stuck in more ways than one. 29 now, beginning HERE.
“It’s just what The Mann does. When the Wo-mann is away. Look at Marion Star Harding, still dreaming of dead Heidi in his own way. When the (new) director does her shoots up at Cass City.”
Jennifer looks around, still confused about the location. This could be Cass City, this could be Pipersville… or Storybrook. But instead: Whiskey plus Clarksburg, Whisclarkseyburg, then (maybe). Whiskey *inside* Clarksburg. She was stuck!
She stopped looking around, spacing out. “What… is the name of this place..?” Should she call him Daddy, Papa, Keith B.? She decided the last.
Keith B. didn’t look around. He knew where he was. And it didn’t work. He’d been uncovered, as if from a secret space.
Former private detective Wendell “Biff” Carter, back on the beat, stopped redding the read book and looked over. That was her all right, he surmised, seeing the eyes. Mrs. Know-It-All.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0509, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara
“You said you wanted to get closer to me, Kate, so here we are.” He turns in his seat. “At the place it all began for Jenny and me. Before she became world famous Your Mama and all turned to rust and rot.”
Kate McCoy was tired of hearing about Keith B.’s daughter but bit her tongue right now. He had brought her along on this trip to Cassandra City and she was grateful for the bonding opportunity. If only *he* were her daddy instead of that low life Craighead Phillips. Where was *he*? Still galavanting around in Bluefield US of A? She didn’t want to know; she didn’t care. She was with Keith B. for the present. She had designs on a long term relationship. Maybe he did too — she didn’t know. Yet.
He starts pointing around the place, indicating changes. “The stage, Kate, use to be in that corner — instead of over there on the side. A lot of these booths have been added too.” Keith B. was disappointed that there’s no indication of their presence in this bar. It was apparently up to him to keep the history alive. “It’s all in the autobiography,” he often tells friends after throwing them a juicy piece of the past. They usually want more and then that’s what he tells them. He’d rather write for many instead of talk for few. He’d learned that lesson decades ago. People like to talk, but words only last if you write them down or record them in some equivalent way. He started a blog in 2008. He could better organize his thoughts about people places things with categories and tags. He had a system.
“Keith?” Kate McCoy spoke, seeing her wanna-be dad spacing out again, most likely about the past. She wanted his full attention once more.
“Yes. Sorry.”
“Thinking about the blog?”
“Yeah. I suppose.” He feels the slightly extra pressure his flip style notepad makes in the back of his pants. He senses the push style lead pencil in his front pocket against a thigh. Tools of his trade. While he was away from the computer. But he must resist the urge to pull it out in front of his wanna-be daughter. That’s not how it works.
(to be continued?)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0020, 0606, Cass City^, Maebaleia/Satori
It was night for Biff. Maybe he overdid it with the BD thing, he thinks while staring over at the now sleeping Keith B. Had to sleep in place since no rooms are available. Maybe he’ll get some decent rest tomorrow; maybe find that couch over in Hoboken or whatever they call that place now. Hobo Ken. Ken the Hobo. That was it. And that was his couch. I bet he’s over there right now. Sleeping soundly away. Well — let’s just switch them out. Test the malleability of this place.
There was no true sleeping animation in the couch. Ken the Hobo must not exist after all. Keith B. would have to wait until Saturday to get that good night’s rest. Let’s return to the present.
He really is gone. It worked! What’s that speck on the globe? Is that where we’re suppose to head next?
This is as close as I can get for now.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0020, 0605, Cass City^, Maebaleia/Satori
Keith B. was back in Cassandra City, exploring old haunts, some still around, a lot: gone. He doesn’t remember, for instance, Big Dick’s Halfway Inn. He quickly figured out that BD stands in or resonates directly with MP, that is, Moby Prick. Here was a famous white whale manifested, perhaps. He better check it out.
He waited for the clerk to show up but one never came. From the corner of the lobby, unseen until now, a man spoke up, his voice crisp with confidence and intrigue. “Place is filled up, sir. You better go elsewhere. Gabby is on one of those long lunch breaks again.”
“Gabby?” returned Keith B., thinking the name was wrong. What was it in rehearsal. Jimmy? Dimmy? No, that wasn’t it either.
The man introduced himself instead of gabbing more about Gabby. “My name is Wendell “Biff” Carter and you were lured in here by the sign. Lured in so that you could meet *me*.”
The *whale*? Keith B. thinks while staring over, trying to get a better estimate of the man while not being so obvious about it. That was it: someone was attempting to create a *report* on this man. And failing. Failing in general. Keith B. was here to help. At least that’s what the last version of the script read.
“Big Dick I assume.”
He extended his arms and scooted forward a little. “In the flesh.”
Keith B. turned away. He was finished studying for the moment.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0020, 0604, Cass City^, Maebaleia/Satori
“The white whale escaped, of course. The famous Moby Prick of the Deep South. But the blue whale didn’t fare as well. Caught in the Blue Feather Sea. Some say she *became* the sea, one equals the other. Do you understand, older Keith B.?”
“Absolutely not, Kate McCoy.”
“Good to admit, thank you. The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale.”
“Maybe we just better unfreeze or unthaw The Man and go. Let him explain it all. After all: he was there.”
“Indeed. Let’s go get him.” They enter the “aquarium”. Dog joined them there.
—–
“The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale,” Kate McCoy pronounces clearly in the direction of The Man. He begins to stir inside his plastic cocoon.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0015, 0116, Burning Life^^
“So they began playing together, even touring together away from Pipersville, the home base. Daughter and father; Jenny and Keith they were called in the days. Well, Keith never changed his name. Jenny, of course, became Your Mama.”
“Of course,” I replied to Detective Biff Carter. Because he was an officer of the law no more. Not since Oakley. But who am I? Just an observer for now. Call me Smart. Like a Fox. Clever, even. Back to Biff…
“I was here when they played their first gig away from home. Sitting right at this bar listening in. Oh that woman, that *girl* at the time, could sing. And Keith. Well, he was adequate on drums. Never guess he’d eventually become a member of a major rock band, let’s say. And, as you can see, he’s still got the star on the drums; hadn’t got rid of that yet.”
I peered over at the illusion on the Cassandra City stage. Keith B., bank employee of Pipersville whose boss recently told him to keep daughter Jenny out of that room at all cost. So he went into the garage, found the drum kit buried under a heap of old moss. Pulled it out, dusted it off. Practiced. Here we are.
Biff Carter stared over at me. “I’m glad I found the Man About Time, even if it didn’t turn out the way I expected.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I decided to test my new catchphrase. “There’s a Sucka born every half century.”
“Overlap,” he replied, nodding. “Good idea. Train the replacement.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0014, 0501, Cass City^, Maebaleia/Satori
“Father, when will mother be joining us?” asked Snowbob the man-child.
“Corsica,” indicated the father. “Corsica, Corsica, Corsica!”
“She’s not going to be here anytime soon. Is she?” The father doesn’t answer this time. Both stare blankly into space.
Snowbob is beginning to theorized his family won’t be staying in Collagesity long. The house payment hasn’t gone through yet. Their furniture is still in storage. Even though he manged to get the main gate to the property open yesterday, there was still some kind of invisible barrier that he had to jump over to come inside — a sign. And his father’s skin had turned from yellow to green. A mysterious malady, because he seems perfectly normal. But Snowbob keeps recheckeding his father’s outfit list behind him. Always green skin instead of the previous yellow. Yellow is missing. Yellow is missing!
—–
I’ve got to solve this case so I can get out of here! thought Owens, wearing the mantle of private detective now.
Tired of staring at roshambo images, he sat down at The Table and enjoyed more leftover wine from the diner. By this time he was drinking straight from the bottle. “Reading anything interesting?” he asked Curled Paper across from him, trying to start up a conversation once more. “‘Winesap’? Sounds intriguing.” But Curled Paper still said nothing (his light was off). Paper, he then thought. Curled Paper. Another clue?
“I wonder where The Librarian went?” he tried again. “He always seems to be here, sitting.”
“Bathroom break, let’s say,” then uttered Tin S. Man in his low voice from the left. “It takes him a while.” Owens had forgotten the metal being was alive. Someone to talk to while he drinks. Nice!
“Well, er… what do I call you?” He squinted up at the giant’s kind face.
“Tin S., please. Like the game. Like the sport. It’s always love something for me. My ego and aggression are always zeroed out.”
“Well that’s fascinating, Tin S.,” Owens spoke while taking another sip of wine from his bottle. “So rude,” he then said of himself, lifting the bottle toward Tin S. Man. “Want any?”
“I cannot drink wine, only oil. Wine makes me tipsy. When I fall down, I cannot get up because of my massive weight. Only oil please. Do you have a bottle of oil?”
“Not on me, no. Maybe later. Listen, Tin. S., how did you get here? I mean, why are you at The Table along with the others? Old Mabel mentioned you were a famous musician inside that outer casing. Dave something. Davis?”
“Davies,” corrected Tin S. Man. “That is a true inner form, yes.” He paused.
“What’s the purpose of all this?”
Tin S. Man moved his joints slightly, then asked a question back: “What do you know of our user?”
“I know that Baker Bloch is the main channel for the user who goes by the same name.”
“Baker B., close enough,” said Tin S. Man.
“And… um, I guess The Table, as far as I understand, represents a gathering of variants, mainly musicians like yourself, who have, er, *donated* their work to a greater whole. This Table.” He then knocks on The Table to reinforce his answer.
“Are you staying in town long enough to attend the next Table meeting?” asked Tin S. Man.
“I *hope* not,” returned Owens. He needed to get back to the roshambo images. Something about that yellow hand. Paper. Switch. He pulled the little, wine stained slip of paper from his coat pocket and read it again. This is the one found in Baker Bloch’s own wine. “Pill” is all it said.
“Reading anything interesting?” The giant smiles.
—–
Meanwhile, over at the Red Umbrella…
“That’s him alright. Owens.”
“And over in Boos as well,” added Old Mabel.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0003, 0207, Heterocera, Rubi^
Sunklands 
