Tag Archives: PURPLE/BLACK LAKE BUNCH

July 10, 2021 · 9:16 am

saturnine

She looked down at her, this Winnie, but obviously Wendy again. As she was Wendy. We’re all Wendy in this Second Lyfe of ours, a Wendy City of sorts through and through. Cub Run. Centerpoint. “Release the Pooh!” she wanted to command from afar with voice so loud you could hear it clear over to Heterocera. “Allow Winnie to become Wendy!”

Someone asked once why she wasn’t herself in Our Second Lyfe and instead always in disguise, a strange question at the time but perhaps starting to make some sense. The man-woman uttering it was obviously kind of insane, though. She suspected a sea monster because of the seaweed hair, despite the pink tutu. Release the Pooh, she also mentioned. The famous toy bear rolled the wagon with the honey pot down the cobblestone street of town, pausing in front of Perch to peer in at the past. Spaced Ghost turned back into Space. The honey pot was suddenly something else; the held red umbrella was both inside and outside at once…

The pirates were coming and she didn’t know what to do. Directly over the throne now, they had stolen her mistletoe. She wasn’t jovial about it.

They’d make landfall by nightfall. The clock kept ticking, tick tick tick.

I should strike first, she suddenly realized, thinking of the Big Wheel and the 12 at the top. Everyone was scared of her, after all.

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed at 12:37.

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July 6, 2021 · 9:58 am

quietly Tuesday still

With his brother Corey, Jonny Blank waited patiently for the crucial phone call that would link him up to the infamous Black Lake Gang cabal.

Not seeing anyone around that seems suspicious, he checks the nearby airport terminal screen again, keeping one eye on little Corey to make sure he doesn’t wander off (again).

Good, he thinks. The airplane is still in the runway. Let’s keep her there.

With his powerful psychic mind, he freezes time just before the start of Wednesday.

—–

“You don’t understand, Sidechick.”

“Chip… please.”

“If I go through that doorway it won’t be the same as before. We won’t have fish — me. We won’t have chips — you. We’ll just have the two separated out again, which will amount to nothing atall in the long run, really. Meal time: *over*.”

“Don’t… go.” On the spot, he decides to make up a song for her combining the two food products in a different, musical way; food for the mind instead of the body.

Does any of this work? The map seems to know.

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June 3, 2021 · 2:15 am

dopple effect

“Figured you might be here, Biker.”

Well. I had to go *somewhere*. *Burt*. Wasn’t that your name the last time we met? Black Lake Bunch?”

“Brutus, actually. But enough of the past.” He fondled his skeleton heart medallion hung from his neck like an underweight albatross, knowing he had to further the plot. Biker was merely following steps.

“Evening wood be too kind for this sky.” He waited. Nothing. This must not be Eveningwood.

“Amazon is awfully hot for June.” Nothing. But then:

“Ama*zonia*.” Bingo. We can continue the dance.

—–

She stepped out of the subway and into the light.

“Mother?” Cory asked at the top of the stairs, hands folded. He hadn’t seen her in nigh on 20 years.

“Cory?? My little baby???”

“It’s me, Mother. Your little Cory.”

They hug. They embrace. Cory had heard she had been gunned down in a crosswalk over in Urqhart or thereabouts but here she was, full of blood again and pumping like hell. He could feel her heart pound through his. He hugged more. She embraced more. It was a warm moment, hot even.

She drew back from him, arms still entwined. “*My* *little* *Cory*.”

“Yes, Mother. It’s me.”

She exhales bigly. “Wellll. Where’ve you been??”

“Where *haven’t* I been.”

“Biking. So Peter tells me. And Jonathan.”

“Biking with a man named Biker, yes. I’m a biker, he’s a biker, but more than one. TWO TO KNOW.”

“What did you say, darling??” She hadn’t heard that expression in years and years, the last time being…” She unclasped his arms from hers, stood back, staring, no love in her eyes now, or just shock. She knew this wasn’t her little boy all grown up. She knew that this was some kind of doppelganger manufactured for a reason. *A* *reason*.

“Mother? Anything wrong?” He couldn’t even see it in her eyes, but he wasn’t programmed that way.

This Middletown was big, far as the eye could spy. Women wearing red wishing they were wearing blue. Visa versa. It was all a big game of 2 in this most central of cities.

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May 31, 2021 · 11:44 am

00250506

Gotta keep my eyes peeled like a banana, thinks Officer Spotty John, back on the beat. Crime everywhere in this town these days. Why it’s becoming as bad as, say, that Collagesity down in Lower Austra I’ve been reading about in the local toilet. Nautilus (continent) is being overrun by animals!

Officer Davis Jefferson was asking the local hookers in a nearby alley if they’d seen any illegal activities lately while working their own beat. “Nothing,” came the answer from Shelley Poplolly, a member of the City Gang and thus friendly with the police. “Something,” deviated Nancy Pantsy further down the wall, a Country Girl and thus not obliging to the local law. She was being paid by the Black Lake Bunch to get them off their tail.

“Weeeellll?” exuded Davis, tapping his foot in anticipation.

“Ketchup,” she said.

“Whaaatt?”

“Ketchup stains… all over the body. Then mustard came along and squirted him real good too. He was a true hot dog then and fit to be roasted, er, roosted, in that a pigeon came down and then roosted on his buns. He was done.”

“What’s alllll this with pig-e-ons, for crimeny’s sake?” Officer Davis Jefferson, formerly a busty barmaid of the Irish Resistance Movement out on loan for the moment, scratched his head with this. “So we’re looking for two squirts…”

“Squirters,” corrected Nancy Pantsy quickly, not wanting him to get too close to the truth.

“I’m going to call them squirts because that’s what they appear to be. You are how you act. Am I right. Ammm I riiiiiight?”

“Yes Officer Davis Jefferson,” dutifully recites Shelley Poplolly, a Loyalist.

“Yeah, what-ever,” recites Nancy Pantsy, a Dissentist, but then realizes her slip-up as he glares. “I mean, yes Officer Davis Jefferson.”

“Thatttt’s betterrr. Now: tell me more about this… doggg.”

(to be continued?)

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April 9, 2019 · 7:08 am

exit

“He’s gone. Our leader is gone. What do we do now?” Archibald Duke had just spoken 10 times as many words as he’d ever said before.

“I’m going to explore more of the BEH dimensions,” offered Dollie quickly in her high, thin voice.

“I’m going to go hop around that nice creek behind the lodge,” added Piper in his deep, masculine tone.

“Hmm,” said Archibald, looking at both of them. “Suppose I *could* go to this Black Lake I’ve heard so much about now. Fish for demons.”

—–

Jennifer M. Friend woke up, went to the main room, looked around. “Hmph. Where’d everybody go?”

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April 9, 2019 · 5:51 am

golden yellow

I’m not going back to the MISTY MO lodge, Roger Pine Ridge realized while standing on the bridge looking east toward it. I’m going to go on the long walk and play with more forms. Like this little, yellow clad girl, perhaps Jennifer M. Friend herself when she was a child. Probably not, but…

Or how about Wanda the Minoan, fitting in with the yellow theme again? But maybe I’ve got enough wee ones already — Piper and Dollie.

Interesting. I forgot I had both a Cyberdoll and a Paperdoll form that I mashed together to create Cyberpaperdoll, one of my better creations, along with similarly mashed together Roger Pine Ridge.

A good couple they are. Too bad it didn’t work out. Thanks to Bandit Boy, hehe…

But I suppose I should just keep Allen Yellow as my primary avatar for now: Allen Y. He’s got a nifty backpack for storing tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches and lemon tea for the trip, along with extra shoes and a change of clothes. He’s got a helmet for when the atmosphere gets too hard to breathe again, along with an additional set of eyes for long distance viewing.

—–

“Does he not get the irony?” observing Baker Bloch spoke back in Collagesity. “Golden sphere… frog eyes… and that’s why Piper the *frog* was sent to MISTY MO in the first place, along with Tropp.”

“Golden sphere, yes,” echoed Wheeler, thinking back.

—–

Goodbye lodge. Goodbye mystic nut Norm or Bob. So long old and withered Johnny Appleseed tree. See ya Black Lake on the northeast corner, the one Jennifer saw Demo written all over. Under. Too much more to see.

He sets out for parts already partially known but with big hunks yet to be explored. 1/2 and 1/2.

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April 8, 2019 · 7:48 am

head gap

“Look Allen Y. Dolphins doing tricks (!). Marvelous.”

On a different part of the pier, Allen Y. remained disappointed.

“Why are we *here*? And not there or there?” He pointed southwest and northeast respectively here.

“I told you. We have to move to the center for perspective because we’re in the center of Part 4 of the new Collagesity novel, Allen Y. This is Grey Havens, and, as I checked, certainly a haven from the grey, corner sims we’ve been focused on so far: MISTY MO and Gulf of Loon. Look at your inworld map and you’ll see.”

“I’m tired of seeing,” he spoke plainly. “Everything is too clear to me now. I’ve seen the writing on the bottom.”

“Oh come on,” encouraged Jennifer M. Friend, still squinting at the receding dolphins while thinking of the 2 hearts as one dealie he reviewed earlier. Not going to happen here. But the Chee Chee…

He thought back. “I see one heart over here, and then another smaller heart over there.” He pointed to the gap. “Can this be filled?” But she was facing the other way and could not see. The Black Lake obscures. A little later he decided earrings at the Calas market would send a correct message. To add to the roses; he couldn’t help himself.

“I simply love the flowers… and the earrings, Allen Y.,” delivered Jennifer M. Friend in resonance with his thoughts.  “One over here and the other over there.” She thought of each ear respectively. “Just like I like them.”

“So you’ve said.” He sighs again.

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April 5, 2019 · 7:20 am

Continuing…

She knows she saw it. The sea had DEMO written all over it, like it was mocking her very existence.

But she can’t seem to recreate the vision.

—–

Wait: there it is.

—–

Is that woman nude over there? The owners said: no nudity. And… well, where is perpetual birthday boy Tropp? It’s not Allen Y. obviously. That’s Pine Ridge. The bastard. Going rogue on Baker and me and creating his own batch of lousy characters. Dollie — what the heck? And a *frog*? I’ve seen *him* before: Middletown, where he was called Brazilian Bill. I assume soon enough a puny, sickly apple tree will show up sprouting off some craggy rock or such. “Make it so,” Treelor Tropp might say, and it would be. Why… do I keep writing thinking Treelor instead of Tropp? Another 2-n-1? 2 Hearts in One. The glue? She better get back to the lodge. Of course she’s not going to report *these* 2. It’s going to happen here. The rule is more a suggestion, perhaps, as long as you do it in a harmless, non-graphic way.

Now back to looking for a nice car for when I get back.

—–

When she looked up again the couple were gone. In their place, Allen Y. and Archibald Duke sat around a nearby campfire. Dollie and Piper are probably luring somewhere nearby, Jennifer rationalized, hidden by the tall grass or something. Looks like the lodge came to me. Better go see what they’re up to. I suppose. Or… she could just walk the other way. She eyes the exit route. Nah, too easy to spot — can’t get away with it. So it’s be *friendly*, true to my name. A last name I might share with Allen Y. someday. If he’s so inclined. Could be an interesting story. Story within a story.

——

“S’up guys?” She spots Dollie hidden in the nearby grass. “And gal.”

—–

“Did you know Johnny Appleseed supposedly planted his *last* apple tree right here in these mountains.” Allen Y. pointed back in the direction they came. “Said so in the lodge brochure. Probably really old and shriveled by this point, wouldn’t you guess. Let’s go take a look.”

Jennifer looked west. *Knew* it, she thought.

The mists move in…

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November 9, 2017 · 9:09 am

downstairs 02

She was looking at the blog again. She always seemed to be doing this. Mr. Babyface wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“I see you’ve been dreaming about lava once more,” The Kidd began. “Do you know who I am yet? Northeast and southwest. Around the building. I’ll pull up another picture to show you. Give me a moment.”

While waiting for The Kidd to change the page, Mr. Babyface looked around the corner to check if his toilet was still gone. It was. “Have to use the sand again,” he complained softly.

“Done,” she then called. “Come in here and look and I’ll interpret. This Mr. Hucka Bumblebee did a good job before but he left some material out. Can you guess? You try first.”

Mr. Babyface stared at the picture which he knew to be a baker b. collage. He’d seen it in the small gallery above the Bodega Marketplace. Ointment, he thinks again. Must — remember.

“Go ahead,” she urged. “The title is ‘Duncanfollower.'”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said, slightly annoyed. He felt she could be condescending at times. I suppose she can’t help it, he then retracts. She’s not really all that human. Hu-man.

“Try,” she repeats.

Mr. Babyface plunged in. “Let’s see, there’s Woody Allen in the middle…”

“Oh for Pete’s sake. That’s not Woody Allen. Let me go ahead and do it. It’s *Woody*, then *Allen*. Raziel — Rael — is standing behind… purple robe. Purple rose. All this is positive, exposed — third eye stuff; fourth wall. Northwest. But *behind* the square building, and it’s a perfectly square building, is what The Bee called the Malefic. That’s me as well. Positive and negative. They’re in everybody that way. You included, Uncle Babyface.”

Why does she call me uncle? he ponders again. He sees a safe avenue. “I like the way that Duncan fellow is wearing the same black outfit as Woody… Woody *and* Allen.”

“Good,” The Kidd emboldens.

“Same reverse numbers,” he observes. “Well, not the same numbers but reversed nonetheless.”

“Nonetheless,” repeats The Kidd. “I would have used notwithstanding there.”

Whatever, Mr. Babyface thinks, getting slightly irritated again. He falls silent for a bit, hoping she’ll pick up the thread now. He knows she’d have trouble seeing the details of the collage. And she can’t get up from her chair, else all of this would cease to exist.

She leans forward. “This building is me and that’s all I can say about it today. Tomorrow may be different. You should explore the small city now. Leave me to my musings. Another visitor awaits this morning. And Greg Ogden is already down at the docks starting another painting of Treasure Hill. They found a diamond there, you know. Olden days. Largest diamond ever discovered on the continent. Peter knows.”

“Who’s Peter?” queries Mr. Babyface.

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October 17, 2017 · 8:27 am

pretty things

“Bucket of nails,” requests Wilson to Terry. “And make it bloody.”

“Ahem,” intercedes Baker Bloch. “Not open yet, Wilson. Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry,” echoes Terry. He tries to size up his new potential customer, but can’t quite make out what’s the deal-i-o. Baker helps.

“So you’re a man again,” he states to Wilson.

“Yeah. A pretty man. Let me show you. You haven’t seen yet.”

“Just a glimpse at the police station. How’s Burt the Cop doing?”

“Brutus?” replies Wilson. “Prostitute problems as usual. Gaston’s filled with them, even choking on them. Berries. Cherry, Raspberry, Blueberry. Lemon. Yes, Berry is fully intertwined with Gaston. You knew Lemon on Mars didn’t you?”

“I did,” states Baker, thinking back fondly to his stay in futuristic INSCO. “Have you seen her? She ran around with Sugar then, but wasn’t a prostitute (like her) at the time. Circumstances must have changed. Science is getting tough to swallow for many.”

“I’m not sure she’s really a whore there,” says Wilson. “She could be undercover. Brutus hinted at so much. Purple Gang. Burt Lake Band. Crooked.”

“Oden, then,” responds Baker.

“Yeah. Have you seen him?”

“Old Gregg?”

“Right.”

“Maybe a glimpse as well at Morrison. Rockabilly Cafe. But we’re done filming there.” He pauses. “And you haven’t shown me the new face yet.”

Wilson changes.

“That’s way too pretty, man,” Baker offers. “For a man. How about a scar? What do you think Terry?”

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