She found a half programmed “Victoria” — or what she knew back in Paper-Soap as a Claude (or Claudette) — in the old Big Dick’s Halfway Inn building next door to the diner, proof her father was up to something. Why bug a robot if you don’t have a purpose?
And then there’s the mutable wall glyph…
Based on what’s out the window, she thinks it has something to do with the movement of time. 50 years. What changes in such a span?
—–
“She’s here.”
“Damn cold,” *sniff*.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0041, 0209, Cass City^, Maebaleia/Satori
He was staring at me holding his tiny gun armed with a bad attitude but I wasn’t scared. I was a much bigger green alien after all, half Roswell half Mythos.
“Along with being a triangle,” I could hear the little, wretched creature say in my head, “I am a circle that is also a square. A 3-n-1.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of those,” I said back with my own mind. “About 5 minutes ago when you mentioned it last.” We often played these mind games with each other, both of us being stuck out in the sticks on the far north side of Heterocera, as far up as you can get if you don’t count Fillip and Brindle (which we don’t — more on that story later?). He wasn’t such a bad guy I suppose, except he tends to repeat himself over and over. And the whole tiny gun issue. Those itty bitty bullets can sting a bit. Plus I suppose they could put out an eye if you fired directly into one of them for, say, 5 minutes. About the time it takes to say 3-n-1 twice.
Someone entered the cafe — phew! Out loud talk for a while hopefully.
But when I turned to greet the visitor and saw the square cartoon figure on the shirt I knew it was just Horace again in another guise, trying to make a point. He did that sometimes. Oh well. Better than Fillip and Brindle showing up and bragging about being on top of it all, king of the hills.
I watched in amusement as the two tried to determine how to become one again, the spider web I put up just yesterday getting in the way, ha. Now he’ll have a human doppelganger roaming around in the world for a while until they can figure it out — serves him right.
“Drink?” I said to her, trying to take advantage of the situation. Might as well make a buck off of it.
(to be continued?)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0040, 0310, Heterocera
“Perfectly round,” spoke the first.
“Perfect triangle,” uttered the second.
“Perfectly… hold on,” said the third closer to the center of it all. “What’s this?”
“Nauty,” spoke the just appearing pincushion voodoo doll to Square and the rest, pins in place just there there and there. “I come from Jasper. Jasper Falls to be concise.” Knowing of their needs, he took them there.
—–
“This is where I live,” he said to Triangle who had absorbed the other two for the moment. Just to simplify things and reduce lag. “These are my roommates Jennifer Lane and Biff Carter. Keith B., the third, is out traveling again. 3 — just like you guys.” He takes a gander at Triangle’s singular face. “I mean — *normally*. But we here are like that too,” he explains. “There is really no one here but me. I live alone. And yet these are my mates. Playmates more than roommates. You’d get along with Biff especially. He’s an investigator. Like you.”
Triangle let Square have a turn to look over at Biff, study his figure. Then Circle did the same with Jennifer. “Perfect,” said the third for all, and leaned back and turned triangular once more, satisfied with the sights. He thought of the end.
He laid down to sleep as host Nauty comforted him the best he could. A lullaby about shapes I believe.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0608, Nascera^^, Nautilus, NORTH, Rank & File
Grant! she calls, jumping up and down on the grapes (?), pulverizing them. Grant!!!
They heard the yelps all the way over at the Annaberg central plaza. “Decatur Lively” reader Jimmy Dieselengine tried to ignore them so as not to alarm the youth with him, his charge for the day, or at least the morning. If only morning would be quiet around here like it use to be, he lamented in his older age, closing in on 64. Retired over a year back and loving it. More time with the grandkids. Like Pete here. Peter Pistle. But that girl, that *witch*, needs to *shut* the *f-* *up*. He rattles the paper to release his irritation, clears his throat. She’s done finally, he thinks, hearing the end of it, fruit kaput.
She produces purple stained feet to prove where she’d been, what she’d been doing. The same colored glass of wine sat at their tip, ready for consumption. Different dimension; didn’t work. He knew there hadn’t been a proper vineyard in town for a number of months, just some leftover, stray vines surviving here and there, not enough to mask the issue. Rose/Eyela/Leila was accomplishing something else. Like raspberry, something the townspeople wouldn’t swallow.
Mike requested she put the feet away and face the consequences, which had actually already happened. Banishment. Burial even. Like Paul and Ringo and especially John before her. Only the wine was left to prove she ever existed at all.
“Buh bye,” he whispered. “Buh bye now.” And threw it into the earth as well.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lynching_of_Bernice_Raspberry
Bernice Raspberry, also called Ed Lively, was a 23-year old African-American man who was murdered in Leakesville, Mississippi, on May 25, 1927.[1] Raspberry was arrested for an infraction in Leakesville, but then the sheriff was told he was wanted in nearby Bothwell for “alleged improper conduct with a white woman”. Raspberry was taken to Bothwell but then taken back to Leakesville, for safe keeping. A group of some 100 masked man took him from the jail, strung him to a tree, and shot him many times.[2]
https://bakerbloch.wordpress.com/2021/12/29/00300701/
“You!!??” they cried even louder, seeing before them now the white woman associated with raspberries who loves black. “What *is* this??!!” they demanded.
—-
Returning to the scene of the crime:
“Blue and yellow are overrated, Arthur. Red and green have redeeming qualities too, despite not being quite as perfect together.”
“Like us!” Arthur Kill emitted with this, and leaned over to take a drink.
“Which one is darker, which one is lighter?” said Shelley, also partaking of her own drink. “6 and 7. Very close indeed.”
“Soo… this is about TILE?”
“No, silly. It’s about a *kiss*.”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0402, Jeogeot, Mississippi, Newtown
“See? He likes you. He’s staring at you instead of me.”
“And…” said Lucas to the left of us, the reader or readers, “… you are?” He had to ask. The other seemed oblivious to the transformation that happened while they walked up the hill to here, not really a chance meeting since the town wasn’t that big.
“Baker. Baker Bloch. We just looked at the Falls Shack together the other day. You pay me rent. 15 bucks a month.”
“You are not Baker,” spoke Lucas. “Or at least the Baker I know.”
“Well of course–” Baker Bloch looked down at his non-gloved hands, his olive drab shirt, his black-gray shoes and pants. He was not the Baker he knew.
“Explain,” said Lucas. “Explain everything. Start with Carrcassonnee. How did you come up with such a krazy kooky name?”
—–
I Carr,
I sat today with blog owner and blog stranger or newcomber. They asked me questions about my source. I, Carr, came up with something. Rrrrr. RRRRrrrrr. Rrr Rrr RRRRrrrrrrr. I start (continual raspberry noise).
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0608, Jeogeot, Kentucky, Middleton^, Towerboro
Afterwards he was too despondent to even fish off the back porch, his favorite past-time here after Wanda and watching TV, which always seemed to feature reruns of that old 60’s sitcom “Green Acres”. “Since you’re so *interested*, would you like to see?” Franklin said, and he said, “*sure*. Why not.” He hadn’t seen one in a while, except Wanda’s. And she really didn’t count. “Sorry about that, Wanda,” he imagines himself saying into the shack to his companion in the moment, his companion for a while apparently, however rubber and fake she is. He didn’t realize it was a mixed up jumble of stuff down there for Franklin. How could he? And then to top it off, the yellow came. Right in the face! He didn’t think he’d ever get over it. They cackled like hyenas, they left, back on their boat to the hell in which they came. Just around the corner, they said. Come see us if you want more, sweetie. So now he was scared to move in any direction — even if he could right now, being without a boat himself as he was still — for fear of facing them again, fear of facing *it*. He felt them all around. “Aim free guidance,” she also said while the, er, *flow* was happening. “Right down the toilet, ha ha ha!” And then that song or whatever while they were gliding away, having done all the damage they wanted or needed — for the time being, they said. Eels. Just the word repeated over and over, in a certain pitch. He didn’t have the gift of perfect pitch, else he’d know it was D Flat, the most cursed key of all, directly resonant with The Abyss itself some say. A green woman — or *something* — a “song” or sea ditty about eels… what did it add up to?
Albert was never good at maths, so the next day, taking pity on him a bit, Claude came back to visit, finding him still in about the same position as that photo at the top of this post. Back porch. No fishing pole in hand.
“You knew something like this would happen?” he begin in earnest to the black man sitting beside him now, both staring out at the waterfall in the distance during the exchange.
“Yup.” Silence between them. Albert then realized that he never really, properly made an apology to the boy, because he called him [delete name] in the process, as in, “I apologize, [delete name].” Thus: here. The Abyss. He knew the term from his parents, devout Tilists both while he was growing up, having been drilled about the static filled hell ever since he was big enough to pick up a book as heavy as the TILE Bible, all 1036 pages of it (518 x 2). “You’re going to the *Abyss* if you don’t eat your cereal,” says Jasperia, the mother. “You’ll go to the *Abyss* if you don’t do your homework then say your prayers before bed,” she might start again after supper. Always the cereal at supper and not breakfast, all because a certain passage from the damn thing that said morning and evening are interchangeable (pgs. 518-519). What else did the cursed thing say? he tried to recall.
“Albert,” Claude said over, tired of my inner monologue apparently. “You don’t have to face them again, you don’t have to face *me* again. No dykes or [delete names]. All you have to do is go back to your family — Ohio is it?”
This [delete name] knows it’s Ohio, Albert thinks here.
“And apologize. Not to Darla directly, but to the parents, your sister and her husband. Tulipia and Pinky isn’t it?”
Albert turns toward Claude, tries to tone down the hate showing in his face. “She goes by *Apples*.”
“Apples, right right.” More silence. Albert realizes Claude is waiting for a response. Out of his control, he finds himself blowing a raspberry.
He’s going to be here a while longer.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0115, Nautilus, NORTH
“Your dog’s standing on my foot, right?”
“Hand it over!”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0034, 0608, Nautilus, NORTH, Slaashsides
Wheeler, now Raspberry Girl, took the opportunity of her mate and partner in crime Johnny Black being away to catch up with some synchs, specifically “Waits 4 No 1” tonight.
As “Constantinople” begins playing to the end of “6 Feet Under”, people on screen soon to start dropping like flies, she recalls that 12 of the 13 tracks from The Residents’ seminal “Duck Stab/Buster and Glen” album are used in the synch, including this one. She also recalls… stabbing the Duck. She feels the purple-ish beret on her head reflexively, as if it might be hair.
David falls backwards dead, the first to succumb. She forgets the vision.
At 1 hour and 43 minutes in, past all 12 “Duck Stab/Buster and Glen” tracks now, she sees this, dubbed by “The sleeper has awoken” uttered by Dune’s Paul.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0034, 0606, Carrcass+03, Paper Soap, Soap, West Virginia
“So it’s all settled. We know what the head in the center of the sink is.”
“We *do*?” spoke Wheeler, scratching her still beret topped head and trying to look innocent. At least she’d taken the key out of her mouth and dropped it in to be disposed of. *Tried* (damn chain).
“Where’s Baker?” Newt looked all around, as if the true owner of this blog and attached photo-novels, heading toward 34 in number, would manifest from a purple or raspberry tinted corner or wall.
“He needs to be in on this yarn, this story,” agreed Wheeler, also looking around the swamp shack but expecting less. The Prime Minister, the only one who can save the plot, the key. And it seems that he already did. Thanks to the levels, the nodal points. Now we can enter Pipersville unencumbered, he might utter if he were here. But is it really about Pipersville, a Maebaelia location famous for its sinkhole not thought about in a while? We have to think like we’re playing 3 dimensional chess. A bit like Spock. We have to get smarter, or at least more awake.
Pipersville obviously relates to pipes. The key should have passed through, Wheeler realizes, gone down. Yet it stayed at the top — caught. The key to the box that is a house, perhaps this shack itself, inner absorbing outer, passing through each other again and again ad infinitum. We should never have opened it, Wheeler understood for not the first time. Pictures. Occident separated from Orient. East over here, west over there, hemispheres apart.
Inner and outer, inner and outer…
Maybe only Nautilus can save us after all.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0034, 0516, Maebaleia/Satori, Nautilus, Paper Soap, Pipersville/Sink X^, Soap
Sunklands 