We begin where the last one ended. On a map of Nautilus continent in my Collagesity skybox, the full view this time. Because this go ’round we’re going to tackle the whole thing. We’re not at one of of those nodal photo-novels yet but we’re closing in. Preparations must be made. Alysha jumps off the pin representing NO Tor and proceeds northward, intending to find Ruby the tall, green alien, perhaps Martian but also perhaps not. The qualified doctors would know, but Dr. Mouse the unqualified as it turned out, doesn’t have access to that information, that file. Ruby Alien remains, thus, a…
Tag Archives: SEAN^*~~~~%
And so we end where we began: on No Tor hill in Leemington seen in the distance in that last photo, following young Alysha around again searching for that ship of hers.
The hill is like an ant to her, in that she is her ant. She crawls forward, scrambling to the top, eager to have a better perspective on which to build further, view farther. Let’s zoom in.
Just gotta get up over this rock, *ugh*, and smooth sailing.
Good. She’s at the peak. Now to ratchet out the draw distance to the max and see what we have. MAX
She’s happy she can peer beyond the Green Between from Lower Austra into Upper Austra, most likely where Ruby Alien will be released day after Wednesday’s yesterday. I believe it will be the 5th. Doctor Paul Mouse will cave into local pressure and bring her to the proper authorities, meaning the actual, qualified doctors who are able to deal with such things. Check her out, let her go. Maybe she’ll make her way into the great, empty city of Perch-Mistletoe, she thinks it is called, a doorway between dimensions where one kisses another and won’t let go. She knows this is the two sides of herself, 13 to 13, evened out now; Nautilus (continent) complete. But it won’t be in this photo-novel.
The continent remains a conundrum, a mystery. 32×32 sims, 41 times the size of Collagesity’s localized 5×5 we just exited back there. And that 5×5 is hard enough to understand as it is (!).
Alysha and SEAN Green, Mr. Michigan, look to one of the far corners filled out in the past two novels, with more Nautilus fun to come. NW NE SE and, with this one, SW. Jeffrie Phillips in a Santa outfit floats on Little George Lake — or just Lake — waiting for 2 blue eyed pools to become one blue eyed pool so that he can proceed with the examination of the Arkansas book, which appears to be the same as the Oracle. He’s taken it back to Collagesity still in the middle of it all, or at least Lower Austra. He’s starting to study it intently, with help from sometimes wife, sometimes girlfriend, always lover Charlene the Punk Brown, currently rocking a hot pink babydoll for him. They’ll probably remain childless though; he has too many mistresses on the side, which Charlene allows now, or rather puts up with. *Barely*.
She takes off the babydoll, intent one more time to get Jeffrey to forget about all those others.
END OF “COLLAGESITY PHOTO-NOVEL 26”!
“We’ll call this Little Lake George. Or Big Lake George — just *Lake George*. I can’t tell if you’re big or small right now.”
“I’m *13*,” spoke the floating boy over to the famous and/or infamous British musician from the 60’s or thereabouts. Our Marty, currently with red hair instead of black.
“So: big. Just Lake George, then.”
“Let’s just go with… Lake,” he measured out intelligently from his reposed position, knowing more than he let on. Aunt Clare had taught him a lot about TILE.
They stayed in their positions for a while, he floating on Lake and Marty dipping his shoed feet in same, testing the water to see if he could safely take his loafers off. George, in fact, was doing the same with his clothes, with his feet already being bare and exposed. They were indeed one here on this OWL island in the Southwest of Nautilus continent, ready to begin their next adventure.
“One Blue Eye gone from OWL, W. We must be in Arkansas.”
“Or Missouri,” she offered.
“But probably Arkansas,” I returned.
“Because of the red.”
He’d run into Philip Strevor on the mean streets of Heartsdale, who told SEAN “Green” Penn to meet him here to receive more information about the Missouri “Most Foul” Murder Mystery he and Blue were now trying to solve together. “Hello there!” SEAN observed on the motel lobby’s window shortly after teleporting to the location. Optimistic!
SEAN sensed a trap, especially since Philip Strevor was nowhere to be found. Too late. The rats were upon him like tiny hounds of hell. Yeo the cat looked on at the carnage unbemused, seeing it all before.
“Whoooaa Nelly!!” *MUNCH*
*Down* goes SEAN. Only one original color left now. Blue was warned not to bring her into the story but — here goes anyway.
“Green is dead now, Olive. Brown too. Pink as well. It’s only — you and me.”
“Perfect,” she responded, and then split herself. Split in two that is, June remaining seated and Jane standing now. But call her Phyllis. Phyllis Phox. Still married to Ben Wolf last seen somewhere in the Southeast I believe, but heading toward Southwest. We better catch up with him. Or else…
“Do you think Yoko Ona will make it back to the motel, David A.B.?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he waved it off. “SEAN’s here now.”
“And Arkansas right in the middle of things,” a studying SEAN “Green” Penn utters within a secret room behind the motel desk. Clerk Sarah McDooglehan didn’t mind. Since she was a dummy through and through. She’ll come to life soon enough as Yoko’s Cindy A., designer of planes and then murderous rockets. Enough to get the job done. The shot hit both Pipersville and Sink X at once — right in the middle. Just like Arkansas. And Missouri: 1/2 and 1/2.
“Check this out, Green,” spoke Blue from a table also in the room. “Martin Allen. Just like in Floyd County, Kentucky.”
“And Bennett County, SD. And NE. And MS. But everyone knows that has to do with poles. Polar explorers. Like Richard Byrd, except different.”
Jack Blue looked over. She was glad she decided to bring SEAN “Green” Penn back into the picture. Needed tangents. Like Peppi outside. She knew this was a Diamond of a case.
(to be continued)
“Well, go ahead and read me my A B C’s or 1 2 3’s or whatever. We’ll head down to the station, then, and see who’s who and what’s not.”
“Break it off, Kevin,” spoke Jenny, out of her role as Heartsdale police officer Candy Candle Cane. Because she’s always on fire. “Big Black Smoke is out of room 03 again.”
“Uuhhh. I don’t care.”
You have to go back, Jack. Blue is Pink and Pink is Blue. They’re calling for you.”
“Then I will take your name with me to remember you by, um, Precious. Jack Blue I am from now on.”
“Ingratiate yourself with Green, Brown. They will guide you. Leave Olive alone,” she warned.
They switched places and he ate her cake too.
“Jack Blue, huh? You don’t *look* like a Jack. You’re certainly blue, though.”
“And you’re Green,” Jack Blue quickly followed.
“Pink is dead.” SEAN “Green” Penn’s head hung low, remembering the day he heard like it was yesterday even though it was 5 years ago. Now he was in Little Rock, Arkansas but certainly with a bit of the (New Orleans) blues left. And now a Blue itself shows up. Himself, herself. Something.
“I know,” Jack Blue tries to console, also thinking about Brown. Plans gone awry! “Let’s turn our attention back to the map and the next step.”
Green wipes his eyes and tries to focus. It all comes into place eventually. The Big Picture.
“I’m always having to hoooovverr in here for a proper sit,” Marty complains softly, still sorry that he had to absorb that poor girl Marsha “Pink” Krakow for the Greater Good by dying his hair black again. Almost half a meter higher than his median Second Lyfe position now, he returns his attention to the red doors.
“We want to make sure it’s someone believable that enters those doors, Baker Bloch.”
“Sure, Hucka Doobie.” She keeps staring at him. “Oh — me?”
“*No*. It’s not always about you. *Me*.” She points to herself in the teal boathouse still rented by Baker Bloch in town, having given up on the green one closer to the church just today. Former occupant SEAN is truly gone from Storybrook: back to New Orleans for him, sans Marsha to his great disappointment. He should have never tried the Big Reveal. “Marsha was just too young, too *brainwashed*,” he speaks aloud to The Mann (her father) 5 years later in the New Orleans Blues Little Rock bar in nearby Little Rock, Arkansas. A pity visit that turned into friendship and beyond: The Mann now truly loves this 28 year old black man with developing arthritis just as much as his little girl in ways. “I’m — sorry you had to leave, SEAN,” he spoke soon after arriving, looking out at the current of the stream sweeping another magic toy down to the bay.
“Come with *me*, fellow hoverer.”
SEAN “Green” Penn was the last person who lived on Arnold Lane, now covered in sand and almost forgotten in time. And now he was leaving as well, heritage perhaps lost to the town. Back to New Orleans where he came, back to The Man and perpetual plans to move to Little Rock in Arkansas and decrease the blues a bit. Just a little, just enough to put thoughts of ending it all out of the picture. The more limiting framework of a polaroid might help here again, so he took Pink’s with him, studied it until sometimes late at night when the moon was full and the stars were obscured by lighted sky. “We will be married one day and I can reveal to her my truth self, black behind white. 28 years old and developing rheumatoid arthritis in my back and neck and not a 15 year old with developing acne.” He’d learned that from Olive, *remembered* it because of her. Now the heritage was with him. He must return.
It was 5 years in the past 5 years in the past 5 years in the past. But it was also present. Marsha “Pink” Krakow had a choice to make.
“Welllll. I guess this is it, Marsha. Out with the Old, in with the New, as they say.”
“New *What*, though?” asked Marsha, piggybacking on something SEAN had revealed earlier in the evening. Marty had sent former top assassin Arthur Kill away — a possible way to cross the river into Staten Island and New York proper. She *knew* that. But she kept asking. *Was* she a star? *Could* she be? She stared over at SEAN, studied the lines on his concerned face, the pain of realization. No. She couldn’t go with him. Not now not ever. Storybrook remains Story*book* forever and ever. There were different currents, true, but only one unity under church and god, and that church had a red top. STAR, she must be.
She picked up the drumsticks she brought with her and went over and kissed SEAN full on the lips before departing. Back to the “Good Side” and loving parents who are, yes, split right now because of her, but also loving and caring still. And Dogg! Who could forget Dogg, both shades of him. A true Great Dane he is.
SEAN will be *fine*, she tried to reassure herself as she walked away from Arnold Lane that night, tears in her eyes. I will send him another polaroid when I become a true star to cheer him up again.
She carefully checked her inventory. She had only 1 even satisfactory picture of it, a polaroid taken almost 2 months back now. Nothing worthy of showing former photography (and calligraphy) teacher Tom Banks for artistic reasons. But still, very *meaningful* to her.
A solid lime green car, formerly in the very back of the backyard of her neighbors the Hendersons who had since moved to even greener pastures. She thought she might make a poem about the object; call it “Lemon”.
There was no feined variation of hue
Lime green it was through and through
A car of such utter solidity
That it brought into question the rest of the city
It was a start at least. Her inspiration for the title, a Warhol print pointed out to her by Brown (Beige):
And now Tom Banks is accused of killing Gene Kelley (aka Jake Trimmer aka Mr. Fix It) behind another lemon of a truck, as he called it that day of the killing, in front of Brown and herself no less at his gas station. Of course they didn’t understand the circumstances at the time — couldn’t grasp the gravity of the moment. Now it weighed on her mind constantly, and she turned back to the other lemon in town, that queerly solid hued car behind the Henderson’s house, almost hidden within a small grove of trees there. The two *had* to be connected. But how?
She remembered being disappointed that the car was suddenly gone, followed by the Hendersons themselves. She never got to ask Gerald or Geraldine or Gerald Jr. or Geraldette about it, so quickly they left shortly after the sighting. But she has the polariod, she didn’t dream it up. A solid lime green auto. And now she suddenly feels that the town is empty without it, a shell of what it was. Growing pains are difficult. She better get down to SEAN at the beach, help him continue to move…
“What are these, um, *eggs*?”
“Oh… just something I bought from some witch over in Egg Hill Sink,” Green replied to Pink, obviously thinking of Olive here.
There was only one egg, he understood now. And it was a nest version.
“I want to be a Bonham or a *Moon*, but not necessarily a *Star(r)*. What did Uncle Axis say, exactly?”
“You better ask your mother about all that. It was *her* brother.”
“Okay. I will.” Then she put down her fork only to pick it up again. “As soon as I finish eating this superbly delicious meal Ross C. prepared for us.”
“Thank you, child,” robot maid Ross C. cooed from just around the corner, humming with pleasure.
“I’m *sure* SEAN “Green” Penn won’t mind me borrowing his row row row boat while he’s gone to New Orleans again. Maybe I should have gone with him. Gotten away from thinking about the Big Inside — too much time on my hands without him, etc.” She looks straight ahead and aims the boat accordingly. “Sure hope mom and Charlie aren’t at it again, like the last time I dropped in. How embarrassing!”
“Yes, that sounds like Uncle Axis,” responded Marsha “Pink” Krakow’s mother Parasol (Krakow?). “By the way, I forgive you for telling your father about us.” She looked back at Charlie Banana, eating yet another of his kind. “Sure, sure,” he mumbles with mouth full of yellow. “Tell your (swallow), dad, that its the best thing that happened to us. The sex is truly *amazing* now with all the guilt going on.” He stared at Parasol again. “Not that it wasn’t *amazing* before, um.”
Now white Parasol turns to her daughter again. “Just go back and tell your father that you’re okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay. The Big Inside is just a dream. You were dreaming, dear. Dr. Baumbeer has been dead in his grave oh, about, 5 months now. 1/2 bat (and here Parasol laughs) — I don’t *believe* in monsters, sea *or* sky.”
“I saw one,” spoke over Charlie Banana again while peeling one more. “I’ve lived on the water, this houseboat, all my adult life. “I’ve seen ’em.” *bite*
“Oh stop it.”
And with this Marsha “Pink” Krakow returned to her “Good Side” of Storybrook mansion, convinced the session with the resurrected Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer was all in her head. Wrongly, of course.