Tag Archives: Robert Matthew/Matthew Robert^*++

00410214

They continued their imaginary conversation at the purple shack over at Bill’s swamp. The chest was still there with the photos, errand notes, love letters, etc. stashed safely within. She had to take Mouse’s word for it because she still couldn’t get inside the thing, couldn’t find the key anywhere on the premises. She kept thinking about the huge Arabic number back on the pinball machine in Cass City as if it was pinned to his chest. Deception, she knew. Lies.

“Swamp Shack Purple here use to be Swamp Shack Brown,” she said while she was eating provided soup and he was drinking the house wine. “Explain.”

“You’ll have to ask Robert.”

“O-kay. Then where’s the key? To the chest I mean, obviously.”

“Did you check the sink? Sometimes things get caught in the drain. Doris Drain.”

Why did he say that? she asked herself, but got up to check anyway. “Wait here,” she requested with more seriousness in her tone. “Don’t *move*.”

“Why there’s not even a drain to this sink!” she exclaimed through the wall at him. “What gives?”

“She must have had it removed!” he answered from the living room. Then was gone.

“She had it *what*?” No answer. She rounded the corner. The imaginary visit, so vivid in the moment, was over. She sat back down, finished her soup. No Mouse no wine no cane opposite her, no nothing. But the numbers remained.

Combination! she realized. Eureka appeared as if from the blue but actually it was red. Eureka could shift her form into any shape. And she chose Robert, the lead mystery man.

“You!”

(to be continued)

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00410213

“Why didn’t you tell me about the chest, father?” she imagined asking him later at the same motel, mother with a new client by now. Father Pritchard, a different kind of father, one with a holy vest chained to a cross he never asked for; was just in the family business, his father a father, *his* father a father, so on. This is a way to exact his flesh, pound-for-pound.

He made googly eyes with this, which gave her the answer. He was thinking about the past even now.

“Ahh, so… mmm…”

“Boyys,” he issued. “I worshiped the boyys. They just made me… blow up (!).”

“Combustible. Like oxygen.”

“I suppose.” He was clear for one minute, now muddied again. The whites of his eyes had narrowed into slits like snakes.

“So you *couldn’t* be my father.”

“No,” he admitted. “No, I couldn’t be.”

Must have been *Robert*, she realized. She said this to her father who was now not her father, at least biologically. Psychically perhaps “yes” still. She hadn’t given up on him just because of the Big Reveal — opening up the chest. He was with her mother just not in a strict biblical sense. Not like Father Pritchard now. More on-the-spot irony.

“Swamp Fox, right.” We better end there.

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additional River scenes

“Are you going to light a candle for him, Archie?”

“Nah I’m just checking out his junk.”

“Awesome. Soo. Do you not like Freddie Mercury or something?”

“Of course, dude. The guy that wrote ‘Stairway to Heaven’!”

“Ummm.”

—–

“I’ve let you down, Robert. I’ve become a big fat blueberry again.”

Robert looked over, didn’t see a blueberry girl. He saw himself. In another for a change. “I… forgive?”

“No this can’t be forgiven what I’ve done,” she insisted. “I want you to just go ahead and puncture me. Stab me with your stabby thing. Just get it over with. I need to be dejuiced.”

Again, Robert didn’t see anything to “dejuice”. Just a woman, lonely, bad self image, needing a change, trapped in a job with, overall, negative energy pervading. Kind of like…

“I’ll remember your smile,” he said, again surprising himself with his empathy. “You were, an ordinary person to me at the time. No crazy. I was tired of crazy, see. The looks in the eyes.”

“I read from your collection,” she said, wiping her eyes of tears, wiping her nose a bit, shoving back the black hair from the blue-purple face. She was tired of her hair. She was going to get it cut, maybe dyed again. She wanted to be someone different. “I read about… me.”

—–

“I know who you are. Just go ahead and do it. Change. Admit the similarity.”

“Cold in here,” she tries to deflect, then gives up. “Oh, o-*kay*.”

—–

“Where did *this* come from??”

“Relax Bulby,” assured calm Tronesisia to the left. “We’re waterproof.”

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FD hair:permed loose ringlets

“Comes in every day about this time and does a little dance. Says he feels like he’s sprouted wings he’s so free. I think it has something to do with what goes on in that church about every day this time. I’ve heard rumors. And, well, I’ve plain out heard — rag breaks at the dumpster, you know. Something’s going on, and not quite religious, not even for those Tilers over there.”

“It’s this town,” offers Gloria to Wanda, working on their 3rd beach of the novel. Or quickly getting there, beach about a 100 meters away from here still. Hurricane season once more, though. Water will come to them. “I haven’t quite figured out how to word it…”

“Novel; unique,” says bartender Wanda to this. Robert finishes his dance, dramatically opens the front doors of the place, waves to the winged statue outside, and strides away in his powerful manner, like a king from a throne. Left not right; toward the ocean. Because he’s through with religion for now. Until Monday’s Wednesday, which is tomorrow. Happy days all 6 or 7, whether you count renegade Munday or not. He has that option.

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before and after

Hi me!

Minutes later, being the narcissist he was, Robert was still staring at himself as two strangers in town came up, asking for directions to a local bar. Laura and Clemenesta were already there.

(to be continued)

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FILE and TILE apparently have a close close relationship

In the TILE Church of Neptune, she read from the good book of Matthew, by memory of course, since she was married to the lout.

“And yea, some say he came from the North to fabled Constantynople, like a slut on a horse in the water. Some say from the South, like a pole cat, slithering along inside the night sky like a dove or train. To those who say East or West we abhor you, ignore you, blank you in the streets, hold you contemptible in court. There is only FILE… not rank. I do not even capitalize a single letter of the latter, yet the former is shouted from the streets, the towns, the continents, the whole world. Even if, yea, it is only 31 sims of length in an up and down manner. The 32 was lopped off, like an early retirement. We pray to gods for the time to make up for it and, yea, the gods deliver.”

“She’s in good form tonight,” said Sally Spear to Sarah Shake one row down from the front to make it an even 6, counting the 4 filled on the other side of the aisle. It was bad luck to sit in the 7th, which represented the missing sim. “Keep a gap between you and the gods,” Suzanna Oh 2345 said another time (paraphrasing). Like the good and great and wonderful letters of our TILE have gaps between them to protect the singular entity, some 1 and some 2. To those who say 3 or any other number we abhor you.” (etc.)

Like Laura and Clemenesta behind them, they were staying at the Foxy so-as to be close to church and emergency worship sessions, etc. Because definitely their soul needed to be saved, they felt. Jesus let them down — was cut off — because he and his clan were missing the 4th, the yellow some say, others: green. The 4th is the shadow, the thing not wanted to be dealt with. Yet all 4 embraced it; began having private TILE meetings in the old Video Days Rental building where it all started, over in the Black Diamond part of town. Never mind that the place now sells tattoos. Definitely part of the magic! 100 lindens per week rent well spent, especially split between the lot of ’em. A secret door connected the 2 parts.

Then one day the door went away and Laura and Clemenesta were alone, no robots around. It was just them all along; they had awoken as if from a dream. Newton.

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0100111-011-1000

“You already have *7*. And you want to buy more??”

“Just one, Sweetie Pie. A slither of a craft. Minnow it’s called.”

“It won’t fit. It won’t fit! Especially since you bought that jetski last month. Close the blinds, hmph. I don’t want to see them any more for a while; I want to be *blinded* to them for a while.”

“As you wish.”

And so begins the solo journey of Robert Matthew or Matthew Robert in the 8th, purchased the next day despite the wife’s protests. Intending only to take a 3 hour or so “spite” cruise, it ended up being for the rest of his natural life, which was practically infinite in scope and length. This, early on actually, really really early, brought him to Constantynople in his new “fishing vessel”.

“Where am I?” he exclaimed after landing softly on the sandy shore of the place. “I’ve got to find the person in charge!”

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the coming of the robots

1st: Robert Matthew. Or Matthew Robert, whichever. Like Shelley and her horse before him, came down from Beatrice, via a rowboat in his case but, later, some say a duck to match his yellow. Or a yellow horse, whatever. Anyway, here he is, arriving from the north. Invited by Constantynople Prime Minister Baker Bloch himself to solve some obvious town issues. Too much human stuff going on; it’s becoming a weakness, maybe even part of a curse. Like Robert’s old Soap swampland he fortunately sold to a gullible man from Mark Twain, Florida.

“Town hall, please.”

“Right, then left through the tree, hehe, huhu, hooo.”

He watched him walk away, then: “Did — did I do well, Tom?”

Reply in head.

“A white aggie, eh? Best one yet!”

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She’d lost her landmark so she just teleported into the center of the sim. She knew her mother would be nearby.

“Lost again?” she said upon seeing Alice materialize about 15 feet away: 128/128 she knew; wasn’t uncommon for someone to beam in there. “Well come over and sit beside me and be found again, saved even. I want to tell you about–”

“Don’t start Mother. I’m not here for religion.”

Pause. “Then what are you here for? You know I’m working. Joe Smo due any moment. There.” She nods toward the horizon, pretending to see someone. “Office Johnston coming this way, along with Preacher Ben and Farmer Louis. All out for a good time, all sinners underneath holy cloth and whatnot — I don’t know, maybe the caffeine talking, child. So what gives? Money?”

“*No*. It’s not always about money.”

Maw takes a drag off her cigarette, still staring into the distance. “Where you staying now, girl? You haven’t been home–”

“6 weeks, I know.”

Maw takes a final drag, drops the half smoked cig to the leaf strewn cement and steps on it. “Don’t guess you’re going to tell me where you’ve been, hmm. Ashamed of your Maw, huh. Ashamed of what she’s become. Well, I have *dreams*.”

“I know, Maw. Lavern and Shirley. Just thinking about that this morning.” Alice tries to look where her mother is looking. Still nothing — no one there.”

“Rumors of a beer factory (being built) up in Barrow County, I’ve heard. Could be moving again soon, child. But what do you care? You don’t have any friends here. Not any more. Who did they lock up last week, the psychic children and all. Wanda? Gloria? Wait — they’ve been gone a while from me. Beach combers. Well — at least *you* stayed.” She thought about Alice’s recent absence from her side again. “Kind of I suppose. Soo…”

“I’m glad of the factory, if it’s true.” Alice really was. She wanted her mother to fulfill her dream. And business had been slow here lately, she knew, what with the law enforcement crack down. Crack came first, along with the rest of the hard drugs. Then it moved to prostitution and liquor, perhaps in that order. The officers were still loosey-goosey on the whoring but it had already scared most of the men away, her regular clientele and such. Bob the Baker — hadn’t been by in a week. Joe the Smo — wait, I made him up. Dennis the, not Menace — no, a farmer. Wait…

“I came here because of Robert,” Alice uttered while I was still spacing out about nonsense, making up names, making up games the made up names play. Tennis for Dennis, golf for Rolph, archery for Yvette Archer (Archer, Y.). “Robert, huh?” Maw finally responded, thinking about lighting another one. “Robert Johnston I suppose.”

“*No*. Not *him*. Robert Leferber.”

“Is that how you spell that? I mean…” her Maw quickly backtracked, “… pronounce that?”

“Robert Lefarber,” Alice tested. “Robert Lafoger, Lafager, Lafageux. Damn those French names.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, honey.” Another cig from the carton, quick in the mouth, quick for a light.

“*Anyway*, the guy who owned the swamp.”

Maw almost swallowed her just lit cig. “*Matthew*??”

(to be continued)

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Swamp Shack Purple

It was still there, the chest that had caused so much trouble. A drifter had drifted in, seeing no one home, no one around (green dots). “Get a role in Our Second Lyfe!” her Maw implored. She: a ho. Well defined, worked 9-5 — PM to AM instead of the normal visa versa — came home and slept till 12, made lunch, watched some soaps in the afternoon (Soap!), then some game shows after that, then the news, then supper, another game show and 2 reruns of classic sitcoms, “Happy Days” and “Lavern and Shirley” I believe. She really identified with the character of Shirley, if so. Working gal with a *slight* drinking problem. She wanted to work in a beer factory like these 2 lower middle class Milwaukee gals; that was her goal. Ho-ing in Soap was just leading to that, like her soaps were just a lead in to the nighttime shows featuring, at the end, Shirley. Then it was off to work, usually after toasting her on-screen hero with her own favorite beer, Duff being the current fad, the famous Springfeld product of course. But, ironically, her Maw didn’t know anything about the Smipsons, reality getting mixed up and confused with fantasy, dreams with physical. Then one day, on her way to work at her most common post at the downtown motel, she found a book, marble on the front…

Her Maw always trailed off when telling that story. “I found you in a hole in the wall,” she always said about her 2nd child, 3rd by Mouse if you count Wanda. And where were all her sisters and brothers and half siblings? Some had perished in the Great War — who didn’t lose family members to that awful awful conflict? Last she heard Gloria was working at some beach. Maybe Wanda is there too, she pondered. Maybe *I* should be there too, then. The great threesome together again, the Trinity we called each other back in the day. Marsha and Bill and John and Peter and Isabella and Jason Foxchild the Third were always outsiders staring into this holy triad of siblings. They protected and consoled each other during the war. And, Alice felt, another type of war was coming. She needed to settle down.

So back to the chest. Borneo, she knew. One of the 4 sacred corners of… something. A hypercube, she’d heard, maybe from her Maw who learned about it through a client, a well positioned Soap resident with the money to uncover such secrets in whatever God forsaken land they hide, Iowa and its vast, empty cornfields necessarily included.

Borneo, she thought, trying to get a grasp on the thing, the planes, the edges, the corners. Yes, she’d heard about it through her Maw who learned about it through Robert (well positioned Soap resident) when she showed him the book. A photo lies within — one of her Maw. Robert kept it there. And now it’s here. And so is she. Soo sleepy…

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