Tag Archives: Spongeberg Resident^*+++++@%

00510511

It was the end of us, I knew. End of the band; start of an 8-5 or 9-5 job under a boss who cared not one lick about music or its benefits to society. Creativity *murdered*. 666. How to avoid?

—–

“That’s really beautiful, Frank. Spongeberg #5, you say?”

“Fresh off the printer and into our home. Middle C middle C middle C,” he chants, a thing that got him through the ultra-complex piece. He had to remember that the composer had a plan, an endpoint. Wasn’t writing down notes by the seat of his pants. I heard recently that creativity without outline is just noise. Planners not Panters, at least for the chromagraphs. Spongeberg had the process down.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying it! Wall to wall fun for the 12, 13, 14 people who attended (pheh).

—–

The manager shows up with his wad of empty Money, choice looming. Keep living day to day, meal to meal, bill to unpaid bill, or escape the threat of abject poverty and enjoy the benefits of health insurance, college ed for the kids, so on. He hands me his card (see top).

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00490106 (speed limit)

“Oh I hate removing all these beautiful decorations and then taking down the tree. Can’t we keep it up for a while longer, Frank Lynn? Please? Pretty please?”

“I told you, dawg,” he said while continuing to finger the difficult Spongeberg invention, #3 he was working on this particular day I believe. Full of Middle C’s in an attempt by the composer to make the path more clear, but still a very windy and twisty journey indeed. One he still can’t fully navigate to its end. “We don’t have to take the tree down until New Year arrives,” he continued his explanation.

“But… Nada is arriving at 7. For our dinner. Philip and Nada together. Two teams.”

“Frank stops playing, pivots in his bench to look over at his own (new-ish) girlfriend Daisy, realizes the mistake made.

“*No*, not *Nada* New Year. Just the New Year — dawg. The first of the year. It’s tradition that you don’t have to take down Christmas trees — for most people — until New Year’s Day the week after Christmas.”

Daisy stands back, gold ornament still in hand and not the collecting box. “Oh,” is all she could say, and proceeds to hang it on the same limb she retrieved it from not 30 seconds ago. “Good,” she said while putting more on formerly plucked. “Good good good.”

—–

“Where’s he now?” Daisy asks about Frank’s oft times visitor Dr. Mouse. Like House but different.

“Place called Linesville PA,” Frank answers from across the table. They’d finished eating (salmon and brown rice and mixed vegetables, yum!). Now time for leisurely chatting before cards (bridge? rook? Mille Bornes even?), catching up with all the latest local news and stuff. “He’s wondering why it’s so close to the PA-OH line,” Frank continued, “about 5 miles if I remember correctly, but not named for that. He’s also indicated Glenn Islands next to Ford Island in the same area and something about the possibility of watching a lot of Glenn Ford movies when he gets back, hogging my video feed again, pheh. Maybe time to think about that 2nd screen?”

“I’ll chip in,” chips in Philip to his right, partner Nada New Year across from him as Daisy is to Frank.

“Well thanks, Philip. Nice of you to offer. But as I recall, you didn’t bring any actual money over after your, er, *conversion* from Alamo to Nawt Vaya here.” Unlike me, was the unstated jab; Frank planned his metaverse jumping quite a bit more carefully. “That’s why you live with Lexi.”

“Oh,” says Philip to this, remembering that fact. “Right. Which reminds me. Nada you got a tener you can loan me for a while? Need to pay off Frank for my bets the last time we played. Right Frank?” And he hits Frank’s nearest shoulder with his fist — pretty hard. Because he’s pretty mad about it. “Good to, how you say, *square* up before we start, huh?”

“Keep it, dawg,” he says while glancing at Nada, who remained silent, maybe even looked a little sleepy. Was she up for this tonight? “I — again — appreciate the thought.”

“Okay, good. Great — that’s great. Even steven, then. Soo… what’ll it be tonight? Rook?” Philip was always up for a game of rook, his favorite. But Daisy preferred bridge and Nada and Frank preferred Mille Bornes, at least for tonight just to keep things fresh. So the majority wins and Mille Bornes it was. Philip mumbled something about preparing to lose again since it wasn’t *his* game, but then dealt the first hand and started to get quite into it before the end.

—–

“Nada, can you loan me a twenty?” he said as discussion of cards was brought up the next week after another delicious meal (poached eggs, steamed green beans, something bread related) and catching up with local news and such. Frank was just that good — naturally. Let’s call him a card savant although I know that term is usually reserved for precocious children(?). If only Spongeberg came so easily. TBC

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00480409

Philip hadn’t been playing pinball long when he remembered to tell Frank the big news. “Lexi said, get this, the bar’s opening back up next to her house this morning,” he said after finishing the first game, normally a low point of the day since he gets to the higher scores later. “The Hole in the Wall is back in business, baby,” he summarized, and then is about to insert the next quarter into the machine when piano and Spongeberg inventions weary Frank stops him. “Halt!” I believe he said, then: “Go!” And so they went.

—–

“Be with you in just a moment, gents,” she said after glancing at them over her shoulder. “We’re not actually open back up until 2, but that’s fine. Gotta take a break and clean sometime. Working alone right now, until I can get my mechanical man over there fixed up so he can pitch in. That’s a joke, btw.” But then Daisy Flathead thought: Is it?

“We’re fine, ma’am,” said Frank. “Just glad to see the bar up and running again. Place was pretty much wrecked when Lexi had to quickly raise it 100 feet in the air because of the alcoholic sea monster and all. I know she was trying to be careful but… that mouth, so big, so close! But…, erm…”

Daisy guessed what Frank was going to ask; she’s good about that with people. “How can I serve booze when that monster is still out there roaming the Nawt Vaya waters, biding his or her time? I can’t. Never mind all those taps. I only got one. Corona Non… until I can brew my own Non. Mind you, Corona Non’s pretty good. But I’m conjuring up something special. *Special* special. Our Second Lyfe residents won’t know what hit them because it won’t. They’ll — collectively — wait and wait for the kicker, thinking how tasty the drink is. Then they’ll go home perfectly sober but also, strangely, perfectly satisfied. The wives of the normally drunk-ish, boor-ish husbands will thank me and shower me with money so that I can advertise the brew even more, ha. The husbands of the wives might complain a bit about the lack of buzz but will keep thinking of the taste and come back anyway. Taste, my friends. It’s all about the hops. And I have a secret weapon. Flathead.” She points to her own flat hair topped noggin with this. “All in here. And… there. I’m done dusting. So, Non beers all around? That’ll be 5 dollars each.” (TBC)

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00480304

“Soo. I gotta ask this, Frank. Is Mouse your *boyfriend* now or something?”

“Noooo.” But he was thinking: Might as well be. We’re stuck together up here it seems. Until Mouse learns his lesson; could take a while, he knew. A looong while. “How’s your *girlfriend* doing, Philip?” Frank thinks to ask in turn, knowing Nada and he were still going through some difficulties.

“Oh, she’s okay.” Philip was concentrating on his pinball prowess, Frank doing the same with his piano. Spongeberg’s Invention #4… so difficult to get the fingering down! In other words, neither were paying much attention to what they were saying to each other. Typical. Not really feeling the other’s pain.

More dinging and clanging from Philip, more fingering from Frank. Philip was trying to beat Mouse’s high score for the month. Frank was also trying to beat a score in a way. Spongeberg’s Invention set down on paper. He feels the notes swirling before him like an angry mob, ready to leap out of the page and take over his mind, his castle, everything. 1000 points to go for Philip. 1000 notes to go for Frank. Or so.

“Listen, Frank. I wonder if you could ask the *Pooping Pigeon* up there to turn down the video feed. It’s as loud as my pinball machine and I’m standing right before it!”

“I’ll try.” Middle C, he thinks. It all revolves around Middle C.

After a couple of moments, Philip reiterates his request. But just then Mouse returns to “Earth” to test out a new resonant center he’d found in one of his many Youtube poop videos he’d saved to his various playlists. New Hampshire and Vermont, he ponders while heading down. I think I know where this is leading to!

(to be continued)

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00470612 (tip of the tongue)

—–

“Thanks for letting me come up here today and play pinball. Ironic thing, heh. I use to play this game while I was high on speed! ha ha.”

“That’s great Philip.” Now Frank Lynn wished he hadn’t invited his old friend up to his castle. With Lexi not around, less control over his manic behavior. She’s a good roommate for him, he realizes. Nothing more, but still… I guess there’s Nada for all the other stuff.

“Got any?” Philip utters while still dinging away.

“Um.. what?” Frank was trying to play Spongeberg’s Invention No. 4 and was having trouble with it, mainly thanks to Philip. It all revolves around middle C — must always keep that in mind, he reminded himself while continuing the careful fingering. Maybe I should paint the key red to emphasize its importance.

“You know, *speed*.”

“Um…” Frank then realizes what Philip was asking about. “Oh… *no* dawg. I haven’t done any of that (drugs) since moving here. I don’t need it here.” Back to the invention. Middle C, middle C.

“Well, gotta go then, I suppose.” Philip then lets go of the pinball machine and backs away from it, as if waking up from a dream. “W-what? Where *am* I?

“And who are *you*?”

“Cut it out, Philip. Yeah, maybe it’s time for you to go home.” Middle C middle C middle C…

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00470605 (Central Park/ Stuck like Fly)

Dark Peak. The Power.

Blue Boy knows.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0605, Back Rooms, Gaston+, HANA LEI

00470513

As soon as I flew over the place I knew I wanted to return. Several days later I was able to do just that. Last Thursday after Wednesday after Tuesday while eating a cheeseburger at Devil’s Den Food Shack down in base camp, owner and head cook and everything else Bret, who I had befriended in my week’s stay there, said that a blue rental car had kind of falling into his lap — he told me not to ask about details so I didn’t, ha. He knew about my fly over of Mammoth City, knew my burning desire to go back to that icy place way up on the ridge above the canyon. “Have it for the day,” he said, and threw me the keys while briefly turning away from the grill. “Just get it back before dark. And stick to the main roads. No side roads, especially snowy ones. Capisce?”

“Capisce.” What else could I say.

I reached the town about 2 that afternoon. A light snow was falling, but nothing sticking on the roads. But then I made the mistake of turning down a side road which I thought was still the main one. I shortly spotted a car parked alongside it that appeared to be the same as my own. Curious, I pulled in behind it and got out, deciding that this was as good a place as any to begin exploring the place on foot. I became grounded at that point. Just like my alter ego.

Yep, same exact make and model as I checked closer, same exact color, heck I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t have the same exact license plate #, although I stupidly forgot to check; might have even saved my life later on. Did the person who gave Bret the car also give this duplicate one to someone else? I thought at the time.

I started walking around the town but the subject kept niggling at my brain. Could it be possibly… me — or a variant version of me — a doppelganger I think they call them? Silly thoughts, I thought at the time. But then down at the lake toward the, ahem, end of my walk I ran into tracks that weren’t my own, and that I felt I *had* to follow. Which led me to my end. He left me in the water and walked away, saying thank you for my friendship, whatever that means.

Soon the car followed my body into the water. Groundy I later learned was his name. Posthumously obviously; my replacement. It took Bret a while to catch on, but eventually he did. There was a sadness about him after that which wasn’t present before. But he never said anything.

(to be continued?)

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00470507

*SPLAAAT* “Ahhhhh!”

—–

“Dear! Dear! What’s wrong dear!”

“Oh, ah. Nothing, dear. A dream.” I look around the bedroom, reorient myself. “Just one of those dreams again.”

“Superhero?” she guessed correctly, hand still on my shoulder.

“Yeah.”

—–

In another dream, his face appeared before me like a menacing red leaf… something.

“Island,” it hissed. “We have to go back to… the island.”

(to be continued)

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00470506 (The Fly 02)

At a lake in the center of the park, Joanna S. receives the illumination that someone is approaching…

… from a different dimension altogether.

Later: Creeping along in Times Square traffic, ha.

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00470505

It was so dark he couldn’t see his hands but it didn’t matter. Baker Bloch knew he couldn’t play a lick, much less Beethoven. Tickling the ivories was more (female half) Baker Blinker’s thing. And his vampire alter ego Pitch Darkly’s come to think of it. He could change over, actually. But he decides to instead recede into shadow again, letting Newt be his new self once more. Question, then: could *Newt* play the piano? Let’s give him a minute and then turn on the lights to see.

—–

*click*

Kind of! Certainly not Liszt but is that an ineptly played Spongeberg Invention, perhaps No. 3? It turns out to be No. 4 but, point made I suppose. He can play *some*. He has hands of sorts, a bit mangled but they’re what they are at this stage of his finely aged life. Good enough for what he needs. Besides, he has other talents to practice…. ineptly, ha. Writing I’m talking about here. We better get back to it…..

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