Tag Archives: Saffie^^~~~~!

ears for hears

As soon as I found a correct location to teleport in and sat down at the first table I saw, I realized I had not only visited here but I *lived* here. I recall Burro Alley. I recall the policeman, perhaps named Brown or maybe just living in a brownstone apartment. He was *after* me. He was asking two hookers about my location in an alley across from the alley (*The* Alley), but the one who cooperated didn’t actually know anything. The other did, but she was from the country. *My* country.

I was part of the Black Lake Bunch, also known as the Black Lake Gang or Purple Bunch. There was one in it who didn’t like me, didn’t approve of me. She said: why don’t you appear as you really are in this Second Lyfe of ours. She also mentioned the plug. I said the plug covers an avatar defect. I said it monitors the surroundings, giving me indication of friend or foe. Right now it was hurting like a mother fo. Red. Indication of foe. I moved away from her, unfriended her, even though we were never friends. Blocked I think is the word, yes. But the other remained kind of a friend, like Thatch. She was helping protect me. Red turns to green. The Alley is just across the way. There we find PROBABILITIES, exactly what I was looking for. An ESCAPE.

“Helloo Wanda,” spoke the woman nearest me after she turned. She had a mocha cappuchino in her hand, made by Stenson the nice black lady that I also recall. The woman with the cappuchino was named… funny I couldn’t recall, although I’d seen her face a lot. Gertrude. I think. Jacksonia Andrews approached from the west, bringing me a pink drink that I realized I ordered all the time. It was a given. “Thank you Jacksonia,” I said as she handed it to me, cool as glacier. “Just what I needed for my aching feet.” “Haven’t you got a transplant yet?” she asked. “You’ve been talking about a transplant for forever, Wanda. Also: hadn’t seen you around in a while. We figured… we figured you were back at The Factory.”

“Feet,” I said back, trying to remember what she spoke of. I remembered her name at least. Now to the details. *This* was a factory as well, I remembered. But faces, not feet. Alice over there, sitting with new hands on old knees. I then knew, I then recalled. Not just face: feet, hands, any body part could be remodeled and redone and revitalized. I was here because of my feet. I stayed in a brownstone apartment, but not next to the officer who was looking for me. I was on a waiting list. Jenny said they could fix me up.

I poured the cool, glacial water on my feet. I had just added 5 more minutes to my stay, with a total at 7 minutes now. I had time for a couple more angles of investigation. I knew quite a bit more already. I decided to talk to Alice. She worked at the airport as some kind of receptionist. A lot of people around here worked at the various airports dotting the continent. Planes kept this landmass alive, vital. It was at the crossroads of everything.

Then I remembered *The* Crossroads, like this place had *The* Alley. 61 and 49, green and gray. Back there at the Airton airport on the mountain that is also a hill there was a gray grey laying next to me. My duplicate was being formed, but they couldn’t figure out how to move gray into green by gaining 12. They weren’t working in base 12 and remained in base 10. I had been saved so far by their more primitive mathematics. But still: time was running out.

—–

The doctor got out of his car. He had been there all along, observing and listening, taking notes, just like me.

“I heard something about numbers. Should we be working with different numbers? Would that solve the problem?”

I hate when people get in my head like that.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0314, Nautilus^^, Slaashsides

Alysha

“She’s always over there just staring at the fire, waiting for him to come home and tell her what to do. Robot, I say. Completely controlled. *I* was the rebel. He didn’t like that.” She paused in her soliloquy to take a drag off her cigarette, a Virginia Slim I believe, long and lean on smoke. She blew what little she had away from the child sitting next to her, then turned. An Asian, she thinks. Just like Sally over there at the Coast Guard building. Could it be? She packed those suspicions away and sent them down a baggage conveyor. Nah: impossible. She’s just a lackey, not smart enough to live a double life, much less shrink down to child size if needed. This was just an innocent youth before her, a *friend*. She hadn’t had one of those in a while. Not since Bettie. Or was it Ruth?

So she decides to unload more. Why not: it makes her feel good and that’s what matters in the moment. Another drag off the slim cigarette; another pleasure. Today was the day for enjoyment, since this was her day off from that other job that’s suppose to bring joy but almost always doesn’t in the end. Except for Pete.

“The Fortress, it is called by some. Maybe John.” She stops; another drag, another exhale away from the child.

“Who owns it?” the child dared to venture, picking her openings carefully. She had to keep up the ruse. No time to get cold feet now. That will be later when she ices them down from the hot sand. Azura Beach! She truly loved this little hidden spot with its cute dunes just away from the Airport grounds. But she must remember her real task: digging for information instead of clams, although that would be later as well.

“K.C. some call him. Others: L.A. I think he likes to use the initials of famous cities. Maybe ones he’s visited.” She stares directly over at it, knowing the new gal, if you could even call her that, the robot, would be sitting in there, staring at the flames that would certain consume her just like they did herself. A witch, they called her, and then she had to live in that ditch behind the airport for a couple of months until she was able to at least rent this cottage on the edge of his property. He had at least the dignity to do that. And he’s probably just keeping her around when he gets tired of the new one, with her more ample bosom and brown-not-blue eyes. He tired of blue, he tired of normal. And always with the golf club; might as well be a baseball bat the way he cracks it. Always plays the odd numbered holes and skips the even. Then in the evening he evens it out with the even holes. Complicated man. And she could still spy on him, but of course that’s what he wanted. He wanted her to see the new gal-robot and how he controlled her just as she was controlled. “Look,” he could hear him say with his smokey, deadpan voice in her head, “and learn.”

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0614, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

where’s the beef?

If we could just recreate the original crime scene. Pigeon roosting on ass; Amanda Stoorm placing an ultra important call to Buster Damm.

Call? Looks like we just did. Duncan Avocado brings it home.

—–

“I knew you’d be here, Ginger. Because of the face replacement clinic and all.”

“500 lindens for a whole new look. Worth every penny!”

“Yes, you look great, you look fantastic.” Could Duncan date a high class white chick like this and get away with it in this town, this place in the center of it all? It would be controversial. Maybe *he* should get an operation. He knows a certain Dr. of Mouse who might be able to help. He ponders the outcome, black to white. But is he running away from his heritage because of that? He’s *tired* of being discriminated upon, but he’s in the same boat with the rest of his color. He can’t date fair, red haired Wendy down at Mac’s Diner either for the same reason, that damn white racist rat Pansy watching over it all. If only he could get rid of the Pooping Pigeon franchise, maybe create a reality where Wendy branches out on her on, dumps the hot dog angle, and goes all in for burger. Pure Angus beef; not those ridiculous fillers for the dog like lips and genitalia, even if that isn’t quite true. People could be trained to *think* that.

And that’s what he decided that day in the late of May or early June or whatever. Kill the Hot Dog, stick a pigeon on its rump and call it done. Killer Andrea Stoorm, trained in the Death Star battalions, knew what to do, Buster guiding her and then Buster telling Duncan what actually happened. “We manipulated probabilities in that Middletown alley that day in early May.” “June,” I corrected, but understood it all now. There was only one actual killing, the other 5 being deflections or subterfuge. Although it still thrived in other realities, in this one the Pooping Pigeon was over almost before it started, with Pansy behind bars behind a bar instead.

“What’ll it be Duncan, my man?” Always the “man” for the black dude, he observed. But at least he still played his old music here.

And now: Hidi.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0516, Eveningwood, Nautilus^^, Slaashsides

Neogene. It’s Neogene.

Kolya didn’t usually meet people when he combed the realistic looking beach at… let’s say this is Fieldon again. But he did today. “This is a piece of ginger,” the stranger exclaimed to the man-boy while bending down to pick up something behind a tuff of beach grass. “The first thing I see when I come to the beach and it’s ginger. Imagine that.”

This made Kolya think about Ginger. Where was Ginger? Where was anybody in this land of 2? He needed to focus on the here and now. These realistic rocks might help. He’d seen them before. Fieldon? No, this is Fieldon.

Or was it?

I’ve got to get back to Canada, Kolya thought while kind of panicking in the moment as he realized the person in front of him was mere shadow-like hallucination. I’ve got to find Ginger!

—–

He asked to be centered. He stands on the very edge of the beach, its comber gone. *He* was the comber of course. And this definitely wasn’t Fieldon.

He watched himself walk away from himself in the distance.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0212, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

00260207

“I hear you got a new job over at the airport terminal, Ginger. Life must be treating you good.”

“Just shut the f-ck up while we wait for Snowmanster, Marty.”

“Oooo. Touched a nerve, did I? Life *isn’t* treating you that well.”

“If I had a gun…” she seethed, not daring to glance in his direction, because looks could kill at this point. Plus there was Lemon to deal with. Always in the background: funny foot Lemon, always with the guffaws. She couldn’t ask about him because she wasn’t sure he was alive or dead. Life (and death) is so confusing in this land of 2. Just ask holey headed Kolya, who Marty kind of invented after all, Marty kind of made him up. “Penny Lane,” Ginger realized at some crossroads while they were still living together. “Arnold Layne”! The great 2n1 that started it all. Takes 2 to know. It all fell completely together before it all collapsed utterly apart, with him over there on the couch and she in her bed, sometimes with another after that. Tom the milkman, Ben the paperboy, er, man. Man, she meant there in her thoughts. 18: old enough, or so he said. Then Jake the butcher; the candlestick maker — she even forgot his actual name and he had come over more than once. Unlike One Time Feldon. She remembered his name because of the Oracle. Feldon — Fieldon. He was 30 but didn’t look a day over 10. And the fun they had that one time! “Water’s on!” he called from the bathroom at 5 in the morning. She’ll never forget that line. Then Marty came home early at 6 from one of his blasted solo tours and put a stop to all that. All she had was the once. But it might have been enough, because she had memories. And a hi-fi tape, ha. Yeah, they got back together. Before Ringold came along and drummed him out of the picture again, maybe for good this time. They hadn’t spoken since, but they had to divide the house. Hence the visit here, to the Illuminati once more. Whom Marty vowed that one time back in Spring ’64 that he would never revisit, till death do them part.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0207, Corsica^^, Urqhart^

No Toronto

“What was that destination again, sir?”

“Picturetown,” Kolya answered for Cpt. Margret Coffee. “Thanks for the coffee, Margret, by the way.” (*sip*)

“Call me Captain,” requested Margret, ready to sail the ship, as they say, after her stint at baggage check-in was over.

“Yes ma’am,” Kolya dutifully replied, a Marine brat as a youth and thus use to accepting orders.

“Ginger, you got anything yet?” asked Cpt. Coffee to the receptionist by her side, just back from medical leave for a face replacement.

“No, I’m afraid not. How about Toronto?” she offers. “*Very* popular destination. I’m betting you’ll like it there.”

“It has to be Picturetown,” insisted Kolya, off on one of his tangent tasks. “Try Prince Edward Island.”

“Ahh,” jumped in Cpt. Margret Coffee again. “A beautiful province. Setting for ‘Anne of Green Gables’, you know. You’ll *love* it there.”

“No, not that one, the other one, the other Prince Edward.” Kolya scratches his holey head, at a loss for words beyond this.

“The other Prince Edward… oh you mean the *county*.” Margret had figured that part out. “And *Picton*.” Margret had figured the other part out.

“Picturetown, yes.” Kolya could not pronounce it any other way, no matter how hard he tried to conform. Picturetown it is.

—–

The plane went down somewhere between Otterville and Delhi. That’s how Kolya met the red complexioned Indian fellow named Sam. Sorry: Jerry. He was wearing a lime colored shirt while jogging past a collapsed garage. He also owned a lime hued X 1/9, and stated this route to Delhi was much too dangerous to attempt it by car — too many right angle turns, too much distracting graffiti, especially down at the Indian Lake Creek Bridge, he said. He preferred running it. But he was all up for a lift when spotting the collapsed garage and Kolya just happened to drive by, asking for directions. “Which way does a bird fly to get to Picturetown around here?” he called through the rolled down window, just in time for Jerry to catch it since he was quickly losing steam. He had reached the end of his jogging days. “I’ll show you,” and he sprinted one last time around the side of the car and got in beside Kolya. Soon he had taken the driver’s wheel. The train tracks on the other side of Delhi beckoned. They were going beyond the before.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0203, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

wedding 03

Weddings at St. Mary’s traditionally took place after the Munday sermon so Preacher Stephan had to sacrifice a Renaldo O’Donnell clown first to appease the Gods. Tradition as well.

“Oops, that was a real squirter Pitch, ha.” The Darklys excused themselves to go home and wash clothes.

Afterwards church officials found the sacrificial altar was too heavy to move, so they made do with a cheap wedding booth found buried in a pile of junk at the back of the annex. Toothpick and Elberta then said their “I do’s” to Preacher Ziegler, since Preacher Stephan, a Northerner, refused to acknowledge the Deep South tradition of marrying siblings as kosher.

At the reception, Marty sang one of his beautiful love ditties to Saffie sitting with Toothpick, Elberta and best man Zapppa, hoping to get a better rental unit out of it.

Time to cut the cake. Big Wanda becomes annoyed about the orange butterflies that keep flying off her head in the excitement and leaves the task solely to Toothpick.

As feared, Her Majesty the local bigfoot/yeti came up from the new hole behind St. Mary’s to pay her respects to the newlyweds but was surprisingly controlled by the Corona-V pirates and ended up not eating anyone.

Lastly: group picture. Everyone had a laugh about all the innuendos.

And that’s it! Log another Collagesity or Sunklands photo-novel in the books.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0705, Apple's Orchard, Black Ice, NWES Island^

Mad Anthony’s Nightfield

“What are we looking at, shipmateman?”

Reggie the shipmateman paused, then: “We’re looking for your husband Ms. Halsey.” She’d given the order not 15 minutes ago.

“Ms. Halsey, good,” replied Linda about her title. “Remember, don’t shoot till you see the whites of his eyes.”

“Yes, Ms. Halsey.”

“Yes, Ms. Halsey,” echoes the other shipmateman on the wall opposite them, listening in. Johnny I think was his name. Or Karl.

“In all likelihood he won’t show up but keep looking. He’s probably on to me knowing I’m on to him.”

“Yes Ms. Halsey,” they said in unison while peering out but now not expecting anything to appear.

—–

“I’m glad you came to meet me Saffie. I want to know *all* about what Marty said to you, what hollow promises he made. Because I’m here to warn you away from him. He’s bad news. He’s involved with those nasty Illuminati fellows!”

“Girls,” Saffie said softly across from her.

“What’s that?”

Saffie took another sip of beer. “We also… have girls.”

“*We*??”

—–

Linda rushes back to the entrance gate, drunk on malt (again). “Shoot him dead,” she commanded to the shipmatemen. “Don’t even wait for the whites.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0309, Jeogeot^^, West End

seeing

The next night found him walking again, still looking for that perfect house. Saffie had snatched the only decent one rental baron Snowmanster had available at the time. Marty felt he was snubbed; that Snowmanster didn’t like the looks of him for some reason. He’d given her a nice painting of her husband, all for nothing it appeared. The short meeting was adjourned. At least he got a date with Saffie out of it. Maybe the whole problem could be solved with…

No, he couldn’t go in that direction quite yet. After all, he was still technically married to Linda. The lush. And he was still sort of dating Cathy Love Peace Hippie Child, if she’s still alive. And then there’s Audrey — on and on it goes, actually. Hucka Doobie: another one. He needs to phone her up. Marty makes a mental note to look up the number again; he thinks he added it to his long contact list but wasn’t sure. What was that bar they went to way up in the air above Urqhart? The place of perpetual rain: Fireman’s? Wasn’t sure.

He reached the center of the 4096 Illuminati property. He stopped walking. The elevation was 2000 meters. He looked up and noticed red had replaced green in the most central banner. But not another apple this time despite the still appropriate color. Another skull instead. This place was a land of the dead. He’d literally reached a dead end.

Sipping green-ish lemonade still — probably a limeade, then, wouldn’t you think? — he decided to head back to the green apple banner marking the beginning point when the voices started. A murmur at first, then clearing. He picked out the repeating sentence amongst the babble. “You have something that we want.” Over and over and over it went until the voices unified in a deafening crescendo.

—–

He woke with a start. “Godchild” Lisa the Vegetarian was still onstage, talking about the limitations of the capitalist system through something called debt paradox. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. But Saffie beside him seemed enthralled — she was literally on the edge of her seat listening in. She could teach him like Linda taught him about vegetarianism. And Lisa of course could aid in his understanding about the economic end times to come as well. If we, as a world, only stopped eating at least *red* meat then part of the problem would just go away. Just like that (he imagines snapping his fingers). Stupid Earth, pheh. He sits up and becomes one with Saffie again in the viewing.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0204, Neptune, NWES Island^, Sansara^^

lighten up, er, 04?

“I was hoping the picture would help me get a new house.”

“Not if *I* can help it.” Saffie was a rival renter. She wanted the best for her and her family of 5 children, 3 dogs, 2 ferrets, and 1 husband. For now.

Marty checked his watch. “Where *is* he?”

“*She*,” Saffie helped for the moment at least. “Snowmanster is a  *she*, jees. Do you want to get a better house or not, blimey?”

“Blimey?” He stared over. “You’re British?”

“No.” But Saffie turned red here. She knew she’d slipped up. She also looked at her watch, hoping that Snowmanster would show up asap. Before too much was revealed.

“Do you know Liverpool by chance?”

“I don’t eat meat,” she returned dumbly.

“Ahh. A Vegetarian. Then you must know *Linda*.”

“Lisa?” Didn’t work.

“*Yes*. Her too.”

Where was this going? At least we escaped the pitchfork guy, blimey.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0203, Corsica^^, Urqhart^