Tag Archives: Things^*~^^~!
“You’re one of our most trusted contacts, Bella.”
“Sandy here, YUCK. Sandy *Squirrel*. I’m a squir-rel, HO.”
“Right, right. You’re a squirrel here. You’re name is Sandy. *Not* Bella.”
“That’s right. And I can’t breath, HUH HUH HUH (pants). See? I just removed my helmet and the atmosphere’s plain POISON. It’s like I took a red pill, a blue pill, and then turned into a COW, hehe.”
“I don’t get it. Anyway…”
“It’s that old saying,” she explained with another chuckle, still without helmet. “‘And on the FIFTH day… wait, And SO on the FIFTH day…”
“Right, right. I get it. You’re a cow.”
“I’m NOT a cow. Becauuuuse… I didn’t take the *pills*. I didn’t become Phyllis. I h’ain’t no channeler, see. I’ll leave that up to…”
“Phyllis?” I interrupted. I didn’t see the connection between pills and Phyllis yet. I could tell I upset Sandy/Bella by interrupting her. Me and my big mouth. I think of the calming blue pills in my pocket that could slow me down. Getting anxious. I reach; try to disguise to Bella/Sandy what I’m doing. Cartoon-like, she begins to imitate me; reaches into her own pocket on her astronaut suit or whatever the heck she’s wearing.
“I got some TOO, and I bet they h’ain’t the same color, HO.”
Synchronized now, I pull out two, she pulls out two. I figure out the Phyllis-pills connection. Together we could do each other in. She reaches over with one and I do too. We exchange. We swallow.
We’re in a different place altogether, staring at trash that also isn’t trash with TILE channeler Phyllis and revived lady of the night Sammie Parr. It was all a dream.
Tickie comes back from the bathroom. “Where’d they go?” On his own now, he became even slightly more blue but it would take a while.
“Well I at least have some refuge bins outside — for the whole neighborhood, really.” He turns. “But I’m in a *pickle* about what to do with the rest of this building, Gotham.”
“Couple more bong hits and we might get it,” suggests the psychedelic reggae monk to fellow pothead Stumpy, pointing in what he thinks is the direction of their apartment above Bob White’s Record Store. Such cheap rent! He can afford both.
“We’ll have to do something about this, Trash and Recycling. Can you, I don’t know, *combine* the two? At least get rid of one of ’em?”
“On it,” they both say in unison, already planning ahead.
“Umm, I’m confused.”
“Tonight, group, I want you to think of ghosts and things,” Phyllis requested through channeler Olive Oylstick. “Communication beyond the veil. But yet we *too* are dead, all of us around this table. I am TILE and I approve this manifesto. Let’s begin.”
Rabbit M4 later talked with Wendy Wilson about their respective secrets. “She almost had it; she *knows*.”
“You know what.”
“No I don’t,” Wendy Wilson responded.
“The… thing between us.”
“We are the *same*.”
“The… *thing* between us.” Wendy Wilson again thought of a name for it. “Thing” would have to do for now.
It opened up another whole new can of worms. Yoko Ona would be displeased.
(to be continued)
“Vandalism, child. Someone’s added that yellow boy to *both* parts of the collage.”
Calm Grammy calm, thinks Toddles the psychic toddler, sensing something higher going on here. She sees a revamp of the entire Red Umbrella gallery sometime soon built around this change. Canada: she knew it was always going to end with our cold neighbor to the North. Pictures; they’re starting to enter all the pictures.
The boy is somehow 102. She wonders what *that* means.
“I’m so disgusted with all this, Toddles, I think I’ll just go home and play with my belt. Become one with it.”
At the top of Slot Mountain, Phillip’s head becomes bigger, anticipating a screw.
Sorry, but that’s just what he was thinking. The important thing: the mastermind behind Our Second Lyfe is here on the island; the slit acted as an attractor.
“I remember you. That Jeogeot art thing.”
“Yeah,” I replied beside him. “We’re back.” I took a breath and looked down into the slot. It all started here, I remember. On this island.
“I died (!).”
His head got big again. He jumped into the slot, trying it out. Didn’t work. He jumped back up. “I so want to get this *over* with.”
“There’s only one way and you know it,” I spoke. “Begin again.”
He jumped back down. He couldn’t help himself. Longer this time. I realized what he was. Back he comes, head diminished. But the whole process is slowing down up here. “When *does* it start?” he asks at the lip. “I mean: life itself. I’m down there but I’m not down there. I’m up here as well.”
“Art,” I said. “Takes time. Building the proper receptacle.”
“A mountain, a castle,” he ritually pronounced.
He tries again, yet more successful.
Preceding the cone(s), there were big plans (again) for Stranger Creek, not known atall as that name back in the days. Instead [delete name]. Let’s try that again: [delete name]. Looks like the correct, past (pre cone(s)) name will have to wait. But you can see the difference. What went wrong (again)? It looks like we must find out in order to move this here photo-novel forward, 21 in a list of 20. Or at least make up something plausible and believable according the pre-setup parameters. Um. Categories and tags I mean here, which are the same as locations and characters. Things I have to leave alone. Locations and characters are complicated enough to keep up with! Things like pyramids, cones, bluebirds, the lot: no way. No Blue Jay way.