Tag Archives: TELESCOPE+

July 12, 2022 · 9:41 am

telescope

“I need you to go somewhere I can’t go. Not quite yet. Another 2 or 3 months is all now.”

“Where?”

“Oh. Dear.”

“You’ll need to change into Miss Ouri (again). Disguise. (pause) I need you to tell someone they’re dead.”

“To you,” she attempted to clarify.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Okay.” She planned out the strategy. She knew who would approach her. She found herself becoming nervous. Okay okay, she calmed herself. You’re the head librarian of a mid sized University — (a library) trapped in a castle; that’s the twist. You were instrumental in bringing a special collections room there, red-orange mahogany in outer appearance. Inside: the Arkansaw monster book. Along with a lot of other books and manuscripts obviously. But the Arkansaw one is particularly attached to *you*, being Miss Ouri and all. One or the other had to go in your estimation. Wheeler, presently in the form of his 3rd cousin Tessa — or Tessie to him — said all this aloud.

“Good good,” he expressed after hearing. “I’m going to stay here and wait out the rest of my sentence. Chop wood at the cottage I’ve picked out, etc.”

Turns out chopping wood meant just that and not a euphemism. Good for Eddy (our Edward)!

“And stay away from that pot shop!” she said while walking away. But he didn’t.

—–

“Thanks for meeting with me, Jem.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“For the weed, you mean.” Because they’d been seeing each other lately, rendezvousing in clandestine places all over the grid. Like this.

“Yeah.” They’d only taken one hit apiece but they were out of it. Far corners of space kind of out. Jem could see Muff-Birmingham looming in front of her, the sphere that is also a cube. Light side and dark side; jungle and desert or at least plains. Plain to see, she couldn’t help add. “Where are you now?” she said, focusing on him instead of the inside. Trying, anyway. Best to communicate to the other when getting too deep. And where is there some wine around this place, the red to counterbalance the blue?

“Home,” he replied as simply as possible in order to communicate at all. 3D. 26 1/2 years it had been. He cried more when he gave it up than when he sold his childhood home, one replacing the other in a way, in a manner.

He looked over at Jem, held her hand, held it tighter. Because he realized she’d probably be dead before he went back. He’d make the most of these 2-3 months.

(to be continued)

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July 2, 2022 · 3:05 pm

Land o’ TILE (telescope)

“I rest my fingers lightly against the bird house while peering inside.

“A red appears, with blue and yellow in background.

“Earlier I had posed on green.

“And that’s my report for today, Baker Bloch. Can I go now? Borneo awaits.”

“Sure.”

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May 17, 2022 · 10:23 am

00330111

“It was the only place I felt really safe in all of Dodgey City: Charlotte’s dust filled attic with the telescope that she often pointed to the Moon, Mars and other heavenly bodies to also escape the stardust glitter all around.”

“Stardust,” said the doctor, now a therapist. “Interesting term. Can you elaborate further?”

—–

“They made… *cartoons* out of me. It was awful.” The sobbing began again. The doctor-therapist offered her another kleenex from the second box used today. “They thought it was *funny* (sob sob sob, blow nose, sob sob, sniff).”

“There there,” said the dr.-therapist. “Take your time.”

“I — (sniff sniff) don’t *want* to go back.”

“No one’s sending you back, Jem. Take your time,” she or he emphasized again. Probably a she… because of the nature of the events that took place there.

“Those cartoons you spoke about,” she started carefully once more. “Did you…”

“*NO*,” stated Jem firmly, guessing what the doctor-therapist was going to ask, an almost prescient moment. And perhaps it was.

The doctor-therapist decided not to bring John L. Brown of the Browns into the picture today. She looks up at the clock, pretends the session is over even though it is 12 till the hour. “That better be it for today. You can take that box home with you.”

“Thank you,” BLOOWWW.

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March 10, 2022 · 9:11 am

symbol man

Lower Austra over there for sure, thinks Dickie Doom, looking west through a telescope from his position on Stoogle, at a cafe and boat repair establishment. Nice landscaping too.

—–

“So who’s your friend?” asked Debbie Doom to — we better determine a relationship — let’s say brother and sister instead of husband and wife. So: brother Dickie.

“Picked him up on the marketplace,” answered higher Dickie to lower sister Debbie on the tail of the sea monster. “Freebie,” he further explained. “Brand new as well; seemed to fit (the looming mystery).”

“Um hm,” she said. “Er, where’s his clothes?”

“Dunno,” answered Dickie, daring to look over at the lowest-of-all spectacle. Frog head, frog feet and hands, human body. He tried reloading (the outfit) but same result.

“And the rain.”

“Yes,” answers Dickie. “Somehow, one way or another, the Frog must turn into Prince.”

“P,” she said. “Power. He’s trying to tell us something.”

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January 7, 2022 · 10:26 pm

Yes-i-am

A scientist that is, and the twins have fascinated me since their death and rebirth in 1874, when they were brought to my attention as Chief Medical Officer aboard the ever circling U.S.S. Ararat, also during a previous life mind you. Once I put such facts down on paper (or, these days, up on computer screens) it becomes real to me too, and as historically accurate as anything else produced from the annals of Our Second Lyfe. We’re working on it…

Above: Edith and Archina Bunker, fresh from a watery grave after their first lives as men Archie and Ed (photo by Telescope Ted).

From my orbital perspective I was able to directly study their 2 part brains — trace the duality back to a singular state, a Ylem Condition I called it, obsolete term now, and before it was used in Physics. I would even argue that the word was lifted from my studies in the late 40s during my second stint as a Chief Medical Officer, stationed over the Pacific instead of the Atlantic this time and assuming a new and different body with a different overall, attached name. Bodies, pheh. Can’t live with them (etc.). Now I am Rose but before I was Leela and, before that, Eyela. That should take us back far enough if memories serve. It’s all a long story.

The reason I can even talk about such things is that the attic of the house has just shifted over to the basement again, its proper position, since this is the third Sunday’s Monday of the year’s month’s day. Sorry to be so technical, but I’m trying to put this in perspective. I have employment of my lab and its microscope again and am not stuck with the attic’s telescope, useful in its day for long distance space experiments (see Telescope Monkey Trials of Xenon 10-C for another prime example of this) but limited when actually Earthbound, as I am now — in this house — in these icy woods on the edge of the world that is known as the Omega continent. My term again. Steal it if you must. 🙂

And, playing God to the hilt and influenced by my troubled water surroundings, I’ve managed to retro-engineer a man (!), an Adam to my Eve, except he came from *my* rib instead of visa versa, as popular Bibles around the Earth have preached. For now he’s just a Giant for a Day type of fellow but, maybe soon, Giant Forever as source material Genesis is further overridden and a return to anonymity is guaranteed after the erasure of a successful solo career (I get all this from Gabriel) — if I can merge 1st and 2nd so that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Here’s hoping!

Sorry for the broken sentences but I’m excitedly writing this in the middle of the night with weakened coffee drink due to a pre-blog kitchen spillage. Tragedy! But I can properly replenish my supplies in the morning. Starbucks, let’s see, opens in 1/2 an hour…

I call him my 1/2 brother since he has my rib, but he also contains the brain of an A.B. Normal I picked up on my travels to the Further East for more silk and other exotic fabrics that my tailors can use. They *are* really good at making clothes from scratch. Just not good bodyguards as stated before. Thus the reason for transforming or *enclosing* the house here with a hypercube, a psychic overlay. Big Red would understand, if he could move past the 9th and into a 10th and denounce the singularity as well, becoming double brained too. I have all the charts here. He could be the one. I call him my baby because he is always sans clothing, even though the tailors beg me to allow them enough cloth to fashion at least a diaper, hmph. There’s always the big litter box down in the basement, er, up in the attic for that I always counter. And he will be one with my half brother soon enough. Even now, he’s been caught wandering into my red bedroom in the heart of the night, picking up on future memories instead of the past. One day…

(to be continued?)

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October 12, 2021 · 6:48 am

Web Winder West

The horse spotted her from the saloon, even neighed at her, seeming to beckon her toward him. But maybe it’s just the attraction to the sim of Horsa in general, and what it means for the future of this continent, indeed Our Second Lyfe. We are trying out the whole “give peace a chance” angle, and “love love love.” Interesting. And Lena Horned is here too (!), gigs extended to perhaps the end of the month. She’s hinted around that she might record her comeback album here, if she can find a suitable barn or something to transform into a studio. That’s why *she’s* here. To make sure all this happens in the most correct patterns.

Better get back to the boy, she thinks. He seems a bit down today; probably that attempted contact with his father. She shakes her red head with this. 102 — the *boy* is *102*. Must be. Not Rael McCoy but the *real* McCoy plain and simple. And with a more well respected and rounded sister. She’s next…

And following the advice of her smaller self she can still meet in dreams, she’s decided to put a tattoo on her back and neck, although it’s covered up by her rose shirt from this angle. *Rose*. She’s forgotten about the renegade Wells over at the Blue Feather Sea. Wonder if she’s procured that telescope she needs to see beyond Uranus yet, further into the corners of Space. Because Space indeed has a limit. She knows all about that.

Oh: he’s also the Mouse as well.

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October 8, 2021 · 8:59 am

white on black

I just *love* this music, Swanky. She’s my brother, you know.”

“Indian?” he asked.

“But American. Not Asian,” she clarified. She didn’t think. Point is, she was home, listening to her old music on her old phonograph player. All the Wells: well well well. That was an old joke she shared with Patty Spearmint, her bestie since grade school going on high school. Schneider would enjoy it too. If he were alive to hear it. All the Wells were musical, geniuses even. Rosie decided to part ways with the rest and become a scientist. Now she worked on the Crabwoo Revitalization Project or whatever the heck they’re calling it these days. Blue Feather Redevelopment Initiative — something. And she had that single eye which was different too.

They tried burying it in the front yard that day, but it just popped right back up. They had to accept her as a sister, albeit different.


Rosie at work, realizing she should have bought a telescope instead of a microscope for future research.

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January 31, 2018 · 10:02 am

to make it all work

“Well this is a wonderful setup Philip.”

“Yeah. Dish pointed right to the Corsica east coast station. Linked to the computer inside. Ring research complete. Now — like you said — just to weave it all together.”

Now if I could just see Spica with this darn, loopy telescope copied from the annex, Philip thought to himself. Soon, though. If everything goes as planned.

Marion backtracked a bit on the property. “But what’s this over here? Looks like a demon, haha.”

“Well, um, it kinda is.”

“Hmm. What do you mean, Philip? Is this some type of joke?”

“All I mean is that it’s something I had to do to, you know, make all this *work*. For the kid.”

“Heidi again,” Marion gruffed. “Should have known.”

“It was just a simple sacrifice. An oo’d or something. Sometimes we have to do the sacrifices for the greater good. You told me that when we first formed the gang, Marion. We had to kill off Timmy, for instance.”

“That was a mistake,” Marion replied sharply. “He fell into a well by accident and that is that.”

—-

6 days earlier…

“Don’t kill me sir, whoever you are! I have so much to live for!”

“Shut up clown. Make your peace with The Lord.”

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January 15, 2018 · 8:20 am

heavenward

They met in the highest tower of Raven Central.

“I’m glad to see you are adjusting well to Capitol City, Musician,” Lou spoke to begin the serious part of their discussion.

“Musician?” Philip replied, taken aback. “Believe me, I’m no musician. I’m tone deaf!”

“Nevertheless,” continued the pale, tall alien in her level manner, “you are. And it’s time to repay the favor we bestowed upon you.” She then explained how Philip’s metallic stigmata suddenly vanished about 2 weeks back.

“Oh,” he then said, understanding quite a lot more. “Transference, huh?”

“Yes. You were sucked in. It really wasn’t your fault. It is the fault of the designers of telescopes, microscopes, other artificial extensions of the naked eye. We, as a planet, were never suppose to see beyond Uranus.”

“It’s a tricky planet with the naked eye,” Philip replied, unable to resist astronomical trivia in the moment. “You have to know exactly where to look.”

“Right,” Lou said, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “About the repayment…”

“I’ll do it,” he quickly followed. “Whatever it is — outside of signing away my soul to The Devil — I’ll be glad to comply. I’m just so happy to be free of all that metal shite after, what, *10* years. 10 years ago that demon Jimmy operated on me, or what he *calls* an operation.” He paused, shook his head, then looked up again. “Transference… just like you said. Whatever you do, don’t confuse a physician with a physicist.”

Lou emits a small, lilting laugh here. “It’s not Jimmy’s fault either, though.” She sits further back in her wicker armchair. “Here’s the deal.”

—–

Later that night, Philip returns to the home which Lou wants him to stay in after his “assignment” in Gaeta V has ended. But, good news, he can take Heidi and her shape shifting ways along for the ride.

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January 10, 2018 · 9:52 am

directions

Those weirdos again, Philip Strevor thinks in a dream. Southwest corner table.

A knock at the office door, then. Small but firm. “Daddy?”

Man, school’s out already?

—–

Well at least she was a quiet kid, Philip Strevor consoles himself. Always reading that darn blue book, though. When he asks what it’s about, she just says, “stars,” sometimes, “stars and space.” But never just “space”, oddly. “Stars… and space.”

“Honey, why don’t you play with your new friend Anorexia out back in the alley. Get away from that book for a while.”

“Spica,” she then uttered, still reading. “Did you know that Spica is such a close binary star that each component is egg shaped due to the gravity pull, and cannot be resolved even with the most powerful telescope?”

“No I didn’t know that.” No more oddball star facts from you, missy, he then thought. He had to get these accounting numbers to Casey One Hole by tomorrow morning. And Philip’s sure he’d bug him about them all the time they were playing golf later on today. He always had to let him win, especially on that prized par 3 hole on the back 9 — the origin of his nickname. He learned that the hard way.

The kid relented. “Oh all right,” she said, putting down the book and heading for the door. “I’ll go find my *new friend* Anorexia.”

Good kid, Philip Strevor thinks again. But the crazies are now sitting at a table in the opposite corner of the building. How’d *that* happen? What’s going on?”

Almost the instant the doors shut behind his kid, more knocks, larger but softer. “Dearest?”

Oh God, Philip thinks. My mother. What does *she* want?

—–

“What’s this trash you’re reading, Philip? ‘Celestial Handbook’? I bet it’s a celestial handbook.”

“That *trash* is what you gave your granddaughter 2 Christmas’ back. The one she still can’t put down even now.”

“Oh.” She scrutinized the cover more closely, then drew back. “Well it’s good for her to read. Keeps her out of the alleys. Where is she anyway? Wanisa said it’s your turn to keep her.” Philip feels the noose tightening around his neck. Might as well say “cut here”. Oh wait… it does.

“Mom, I’m *so* busy. Can we talk later?”

“Not until you tell me where Poodles is.” Poodles is (June’s) pet name for her granddaughter.”

“Okay, okay, just to get you off my back. Yes, she’s in the alleyway, but she’s supervised. Her new friend who just happens to be *13* is back there with her.”

“Have you checked? Did you follow her out to make sure her friend met up with her?”

“You should have run smack into Bug before you came in.” Bug was Philip Strevor’s pet name for his daughter. He then thought of the spooky trio that switched corners of the building. “*Did* you run into her?”

His mother disappeared. His wife took her place.

“Philip we need to talk. It’s about Casey One Hole. Yankton.”

—–

He wakes up in his ersatz observatory. “Yankton?”

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