Toddles hated to drug up her grandma to explore The City at night unless absolutely necessary. But she had to go back to Boos without her interfering *negativism* to investigate the first floor collages more and the perhaps clues she saw in them when they both visited the other day. Poor Grammy, the prescient (and precious!) toddler lamented. So fixated on the collages over at the Red Umbrella that she can’t see the advancement of all that interesting energy into the Boos series (exhibited) here above the Temple of TILE now. Toddles ganders at the toy action figure she knows later turned into Casey One Hole, another a-hole of a man, although she’s not suppose to say that word aloud. “Grammy be *damned*,” she dares while staring and glaring. “He *is* an a-hole. And what does he look over at in the other hand? A seed. A license plate that is a seed. A tiny car of a thing held by someone named Olive. Olive something. Kimball something… Oliver.” She was tuning in better, eliminating the rest of the static. “Oliver Wendell Douglas,” she speaks clearly. “And ‘A Dirty Little Wet Seed’.” We know what that is.
She thinks back to the rest of the series just viewed and how it progresses to this *point*, this seed.
Another seed? (comedy)
Hi Mr. Baker Bloch!
I’m admitting it’s so scary to write you (insert wavery letters there!). I *adore* your Red Umbrella Gallery and all the ART within and am so glad it has returned to [NWES City] (!!). My psychic grandchild and I have already visited several times. You may have heard of the gallery’s relation to a murder last year in our fair weather city. That’s me (!!!). I was the one who saw the rabbit in the collage — let’s see, that was Sam Parr 08 I believe — and told the police about it. Ms. Tanner and her private dick friend Percy. You may know them by now. Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer I’m talking about here. His corpse was discovered in a sewer over in Apple’s Orchard. I don’t go over there much any more because of it. And to think at the time it was known as the “Mild East” of [NWES City].
*Anyway*, have to run. It’s *so* nice to write you, and a bit relieving as well. I’ve thought about your work *so* much since it’s come to [NWES City] and also visited your own village of Collagesity back in the fall while doing further research on the murder. The newest gallery of yours in NWES, Bogota, still, um — well, still exploring that one. But the Boos gallery beside it is prim-o! I love how the interpretations flow from one collage to another in [Sunklands].
Toddles is urging me we need to go to the store. I promise to write later (!!!!).
Your fan and secret friend,
Alice L. Farrowheart the 5th
Alice Farrowheart looks down on the letter she just typed on her old timey computer-typewriter and wonders if she overdid it with the exclamation marks. Perhaps so, but, after all, this is very exciting. She’s talking directly to a maker now (!!!!!). Now if she just has the courage to send it.
“And something about *this* one. That man at the top with the flowy hair.”
“All right, child. I’ll mark it down for later inspection. Here, let me take another snapshot with my phone.”
Alice Farrowheart again wonders briefly if pictures are allowed in the gallery but reinforces to herself that she doesn’t care. The study of *synchronicity* trumps all, since it is a bridge-maker. Important term, and one she’s been using a lot in her journal lately. The Little Book of Synchronicities. She’ll worked on it when she gets back to the apartment. Along with playing with the belt again, hehe. She’s been experimenting for days.
“We’re done, gramma. That’s the last.”
“Good job. Let’s go home.” Alice wishes they could take the subway back but knows that’s a way off. Walking is good for the soul, though. The belt can wait.
“Where are you again, Toddles? I can see the green (right) and the gray (left) but you’re nowhere to be found. I need you to be *somewhere* — and just not in my head.”
“Behind the UFO,” the small child spouted in her cute-as-a-button voice. So wise for someone so little, but that’s the psychic part working its way in. She can also see into the 4th dimension and bend her vision around things.
Alice Farrowheart finally understood that her grandchild, speaking directly into her mind at the time, was behind the saucer centered collage in the middle of the room on the easel. She decides to move around it to examine the bigger collage more, framed by the green and gray figures she mentioned earlier and spanning two of the 4 walls. But — right or left?
“Choose right,” uttered the magical child, sensing her thoughts and spacial placement again. “Then left till you get to the umbrella. She wanted to emphasize green over gray for a particular reason. She had already told Alice the Pooh (bear) holding a red parasol and pulling a blue cart with a honey pot was exactly halfway between (Phil!).
“*There* you are, child. And there’s the umbrella tucked snug in the corner, just like you said. Not surprising of course.”
“Right between the two,” Toddles reinforced, into her sight and out of her mind, to Alice Farrowheart’s relief. The prescient toddler pointed to the doubly displaced green “T” at the bottom of a Telephone pole and elaborated the connection with Colona, the twin city of Teepot in the Confederation. A graphic representation of what she said to her grandma for now; more later:
We end with a front pic of the Red Umbrella gallery itself, returned to NWES City as of yesterday:
They thought they were out of time but more was made of it.
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2019 EVEN LATER”!
She brought her psychic granddaughter Toddles along with her. Donning the magical belt, she walked straight toward the green man removing his own head within the Red Umbrella. Beckoning…
The next night, Golden Jim returns to Baumbeer’s not to investigate the decontaminated crime scene any more but to just sit in the old wooden chair downstairs and stare at tv static, part of the doctor’s therapy for most ailments of the mind. What was he looking for? he pondered as shapes began to form then quickly vanished in the snowy noise. Lu Ellen Hutchinson? Gone, they discovered, leaving her inept frog cousins behind who didn’t know anything. Gill Alex and Blue Berry Girl: also exited, back to MISTY MO we assume. We’re still checking on that whole connection. Another ghost manifests and dissolves, teasing him once more. He senses it is time to return to Gaston, to go back to breaking up prostitution rings and busting drug addicts, more in his line of expertise, ha ha (being a former male prostitute and drug addict himself). Murder’s over his head. He’s grasping to stay above water. The static, the noise threatens to pull him down into the abyss again. One more shape forms and disappears. It’s time to go home.
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the Far *West* as the East likes to call it, Senor Green Jeans shows up at the Neptune Pool on a mission.
“I’m looking for a rabbit,” he spoke in booming voice, looking down at the the 2 people there taking in the morning sunshine. “Small. Wears glasses.”
Alice Farrowheart and Toddles both gawked at him.
“Maybe hangs out with a kangaroo. Perhaps a moose?”
He throws up his huge, hulking arms. “Anything??”
Alice later wrote the whole thing down in her new-ish “Little Book of Synchronicities”, complete with sketches.
The Wild Wild West they called it in the Far East, but most of the wilds was hidden. You’d need a powerful telescope and also know exactly the right location to spot. And the Red Umbrella predicted it all. Again.
Far East was different, they proudly declared. No wilds, no crime much atall in comparison. But the murder of Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, child of grieving Rabbit 01 and Rabbit 02 over in Braynard’s Place, changed all that. Red, red rats were found to infest their incomplete sewers and subways (etc.) as well. Red from feasting on blood this time, red from the tainted water left behind.
Golden Jim from Gaston was here to investigate and, hopefully, put a stop sign to all that new redness over in the east. He knew exactly which one to choose.
“Where’s your chief?” asked Ms. Tanner to the staff psychiatrist the next day at the police station.
“Oh, he *claims* he’s on vacation over at NWES on the mainland, but my guess is he’s snooping around for a new case.
“NWES?” Nipsie Tanner declared in surprise. “That’s where *I’m* from.”
“Well I’ll be,” offered back Jack “Jiff” Danielsonlanderscroft, knowing more than he’s letting on.
“Look gramma. A bunny rabbit!”
“Nice, Toddles. Are you ready to go to the next museum? Grampa wants to buy him some guys at that record store next door.”
“Guys?” Toddles turns her head briefly to stare at her mother’s mother.
“Gunn(s) I meant there.” Alice Farrowheart wondered about the mistake, though. She had studied Sigmund Fraud in college and didn’t think all of his theories were bunk. Like tongue slips.
Toddles swings carefree toward Sam Parr Collage 09 again, arms restless. “Why is his *brains* leaking into that rabbit?”
Alice walks toward the collage to study more of what the child was talking about. Indeed, the “brains” of the green figure in the collage seemed to be leaking into the “rabbit”, and from not one but two directions: from the west and also from the south. And what was this landscape? The Heartland? Looked like The Heartland.
The next morning, Alice Farrowheart read about the death of young Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer in the NWES Gazette and wondered about the synchronicity with the likewise rabbit spied by her granddaughter in the Red Umbrella Gallery. She’d also studied Carl Young in collage in the same course. Did she think: collage?
She went back to the Red Umbrella in the afternoon. And the afternoon after that. And then a final time on the 3rd of November, when she decided to phone the local police department about the matter. Synchronicity can perhaps solve crimes!