Tag Archives: SMOKE

August 22, 2025 · 9:36 am

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“It just BLEW UP. I was staring right at it. And it just POOOOOPH.”

“We could have been on that boat, Marion,” says Hucka. “We could have been blown up too!”

“Blown up *real* good,” added Philip from the couch.

Nada and Lexi walk in from the back. “We heard the explosion!” says Nada. “What happened?”

“Newt’s sim skipping ship blew up that’s what happened,” uttered Marion, still reeling from the shock. How are they going to get, well, to wherever they were going *now*?

“Good,” says Philip, producing stares from all.

“Newton’s probably *dead*, Philip,” says Marion. “Now no brothers in the Orange family are left. What of poor Mama Mitchell?”

“Welll, how old is she? Is she, you know, too old to have kids now? What, you know, I’m saying is that they can be replaced. Maybe.”

“NOT the point, Philip. A man is dead. His hard work has been destroyed too. We’ll never get another one like that.”

“You know,” said Hucka. “Philip might be right. Oh, not about Newton being dispensable of course but us leaving. Maybe it’s good we’re not able to leave now. Philip… you have your opium plants. And Marion, you have your pot field.”

“It’s *both* our field,” says Philip. “But… go on… *I’m* at least listening.”

“And what about Phil?” she says, confusing all.

“I’m right here.”

“No not you Phil-IP. Phil. With no -ip at the end. Down at the Rhino. We’re suppose to talk to him. Maybe he can’t be communicated with at any other location.”

“Possibly,” allows Marion, also wondering about all the aspects of “we” she mentioned.

“Hey Marion,” asks Philip out of left field, suddenly remembering a glimmer of something else in all the excitement. “Whatever happened to that girl we were with? You know, the shape shifter. Helen I believe. Hermania.”

“Heidi,” spoke Marion from the window. “Heidi Hunt Ives.” Every Blue Moon Philip brings her up. And then promptly forgets again.

“Yeah… her.”

Marion didn’t answer because he knew she was at the bottom of a sea too, just like Newton’s sunken vessel out there. Our stolen “Little Bug.” Tears come to his eyes as he watches the still lingering smoke from the explosion drift around the bay. He tried to save her, he really did. He rationalizes he did the best he could… working by himself. If only Philip could have helped.


“I’m coming Little Bug!” **leap**

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January 6, 2023 · 3:09 am

1st NODAL

“Peakology, Hucka D. I’m becoming interested again.”

“Corsica,” Hucka D. uttered to this. “Corsica Corsica Corsica!” But it wasn’t Hucka D. Instead: someone else yellow, someone else who wasn’t who they seemed to be. Square. Wearing pants.

—–

“So when did you start smoking again, Petty? It’s disgusting. And stand back from me why don’t you? This is not your scene.”

“*All* mysteries are my scene,” the confident chef-inspector replied, puffing even more rapidly. Smoke gets in his eyes but he isn’t bothered. Point is: they’re in his as well. Petty wasn’t going to budge from this spot; he was as if pettrified. This might not be pretty; this might get ugly.

“Listen, *Pettry*.”

Officer Glammerpuss stopped. Did he just call the inspector pretty? Close enough. His face turned red. Love. But also smoke.

There were a lot of things going on here at once. Racism, social inequality, sexual issues, rise of the machine age, to mention just some I’ve spotted so far.

And kitty kats.

(to be continued)

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September 14, 2022 · 3:54 pm

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He takes another drag off his cigarette, stares over again. “Swamp Shack Purple,” he speaks aloud after exhaling, reviewing what he currently knows. “With the purple and raspberry furniture now; just shifted over wholesale from Swamp Shack Brown where it was before — on Halloween Day 2021, when Wheeler and I last visited together. She wore a raspberry beret for the 1st time, I believe. She was fascinated by that *box* — couldn’t stop staring at it, eyes darting all around. Then the purple photo with the, ahem, rump also happened sometime but (obviously?) not here. Futurist outfit.” He takes another drag, another exhale of smoke. It might get a bit in his eyes this time. He’s starting to have trouble seeing the truth, what actually occurred and the probable realities involved. A tub was there — he got that. He decides to bring Wheeler over, maybe his wife but maybe not his friend. Unless they could go back in time. To that night. So that is what he requested after the teleport invite was accepted. Wheeler was always online anymore. No problem contacting. Now to convince her .

“No go,” she said, complicit at least in the outfit. “We were in the Brown Shack before. Now we’re in the Purple Shack. Different perspective.” But then they found the key in the sink, right as Wheeler was literally washing her hands of the whole situation. The water ran right over it, but the thing, on its chain as it were, was a little too large to wash down the drain. Their story and perhaps marriage was saved by the chain. Now they can open that box.

“Dearest!” she called over before the red and violet cups. “You need to see this!”

(to be continued)

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August 13, 2022 · 8:17 am

X. Vampire

“Who the f– are you now?”

“I am the writer.”

(pause) “I thought Mistress and Venus were the writers of this tale. On-the-Mattress Mistress and her sister. Mistress’ sister.”

“No. I write them.” Smoke gets in his eyes but he doesn’t love himself. He loves the other. “And I have help. The artist. Just downstairs. You know him too. Another Barry. just like we now have 2 Lucys. He sleeps while I write. I write while he sleeps. It’s a win win situation.” He exhales more smoke, readies his hands on the keyboards. “2 hours till sunrise and the other Barry takes over. Better get back to it (type type type bell/carriage return).”

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April 1, 2022 · 6:48 am

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The lake is just silver shores now. Debbie is gone; the situation had changed. He had Joey now. Time to head back to the underground, check on Joey, check on *Bart*. If he starts to stir again he should be there. Too bad Debbie can’t help since she’s better at recording. But she has the library gig now, she explained a bit earlier, before the mist moved in and turned everything metallic. “I… love…” he confessed, and she just POOF: gone.

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April 1, 2022 · 5:36 am

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“Good evening, Debbie. How are you doing tonight?”

“Been here long?” she asked her brother originally husband Dickie. “I… couldn’t decide what to wear. I just ended up coming as your sister. *Simplify* is what I say.” She takes another sip of her espresso, looks out the window.

“That’s Lake Ontario,” says the brother formerly husband. “Halfway here, halfway there.”

“Isn’t everything these days.” They sip in unison, tacit agreement with each other.

They catch up. Dickie fills in Debbie about Joey Avatar and Black Bart and the man who’s perhaps responsible for most evil in this town of Ontario which seems to be Ontario itself, one James or Jim L. Brown. “Pusher if not a taker,” he elaborates. He instinctively feels for his wallet again.

“Drugs?” she responds, glancing about the place to make sure no one was around still.

“Implied,” he said. “Through the indicator (Dasher).”

“Hmm,” she said, thinking of nothing else to say. It *couldn’t* be that simple. Pan-Z or Pot-D surely had more complicated reasons for being here. But she’s simplifying; maybe they are too. Ditching the paranormal aspect.

“You?” he said to fill the gap. “How’s Lorsters Worst going?”

“Oh I’m not there any more. Elisa took my place there.”

“Elisa?” He sipped, recalling her from other assignments. She always requested to be a red clad lady of the night. He thought she secretly just wanted to be a hooker outright, forget the force or group or whatever they’re calling our collective these days. He says his thoughts aloud for his sister.

“Could be, (sip). My theory: they let me out of the gig because I couldn’t find what was behind the purple door.”

“Elaborate,” he requested. His coffee was done. Time to light a fag. Fags always got his organizational brain going after a prerequisite caffeine boost. The more smoke filled his eyes, the better he could see.

“Oh dear,” she said, seeing the tears and redness. “Let me get you a rag.”

“No no, it’s just the smoke. Helps me think.” He continues to organize his thoughts and tear up, redness increasing. But he’s about to come up with something. He bursts out crying, finally putting the cigarette down. He loves his sister, he realizes. He never got beyond being the husband.

(to be continued)

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November 7, 2021 · 8:51 am

seeing

I log out Wheeler to save memory. We can speak more freely now. “I was…” he began. “Born,” he said. “Naked.”

“Yes, we all are,” I said back, occupying the chair in front of him instead of Jennifer Lane. We would end this way, just the two of us. Man to man. “But you have a birthday hat instead of a birthday suit (now). You are acceptable.”

“Indian,” he then said. “Wells.”

“Yes, that’s your name. To some. I personally usually call you Tropp. You and me, we are different.”

“Yes.” Pause. “Studied… I am studied.” He looks down at his hands, noticing the flaws. Not on his face in this case but his hands. “Axis is here.”

“Yes, you are Axis, who is now Axis-Windmill. Should probably shorten that to something else. Any ideas?” I was tired of having to do all the thinking in this here blog and attached photo-novels, now almost 29 in number. So near the end… just around the corner…

“We’ll… see.” He takes a sip of tea. He adjusts the birthday cap on his head so it isn’t as askew to his face. Takes a minute, since he has to make it askew in the first place (see above). He realizes the scars on his hands were caused by heat. Scalding. He looks down at the smoke of the tea drifting up to his face. *And* his face. “I…. love…”

“Yes?”

He changes. We were back to square one.

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