Tag Archives: Venus Flytrap^^==

January 20, 2026 · 2:03 pm

00490210 (all encompassing toilet (Schrodinger’s Man too?))

That’s it, she thinks. I’m going in to check on him, single room bathroom or not, this so-called water closet of the Paperback Pixels Cafe of the town of Paperville alternately called Pageville. I’ve tried at the “door” once. Curtain… whatever. Said he’d be only a minute and that he only needed to do a number 1. 15 minutes to drink a 4 shot latte and then 20 minutes to pee it back out? Didn’t make sense. One more time with the call.

“Rodentius? You all right in there? I — I’m starting to get worried. I’m… coming in. On the count of three — get ready! One….. two…..” TBC?

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January 20, 2026 · 12:01 am

00490209 (“curse purse”)

Peter walks through the tunnel leading to the temple named Penn and changes into his 5 year older brother who is the same age as him in the process. Another queer dream!

Numerous pens scattered on the floor within, along with a couple of pencils inserted here and there to reinforce the theme. Just what Peter Tron needs so that his good egg good friend Bardie can properly express his feelings and not have to inadequately speak about them. Penn produces pen! Marvelous. Goal found.

He’s about to pick up a couple of ’em to bring back when he spots a phantom version of the painting he’s been working on so long and hard recently above a step ladder to his left colored the same as the cyan energy lines in his futuristic bodysuit and also “frisbee”. He knows this is leading him further and that his journey into the temple is not done with the writing utensils.

… down a side passage…

… brushing past narrowing walls…

… into Center.

He changes once more into an even older brother who’s the same age and gets back to work running the place he remembers he’s the black king of, this Paperville and attached Weird-o Islands. True endpoint for him.

Tron Axis checks his watch not on his arm. 10 years have passed, period. Close enough to make it stick. He inks up the antique blue jay feather pen in front of him to continue even further down this rabbit hole of a place.

Bathroom, he thinks while putting quill to parchment. Bathroom is next. Water closet.

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January 19, 2026 · 6:48 am

00490207 (ambiguous)

I could live with that, she thought while watching the man continue his yoga exercises from her 2d, painterly existence. Peter Oesso we can assume, although it’s hard to tell without the tell-tale t-shirt. It was only fair. As he paints them they should be able to paint him *back* and tell him what they feel as well.

We’re in another Bellisaria continent gallery, unregistered just like for the first we saw Peter in toward the beginning of this here section 02 of this here novel 49, painting away at his own interestingly textured/colored/lighted passion. Strange how these keep popping up for me. Not trying to find them — just do.

Now let’s get to the surprising menagerie lined up outside against its back wall. Perhaps a replacement for *my* menagerie coming over from nearby Newbank. Or just a way to move on from Bellisaria into something else after review. As usual, we’ll see soon enough as one post progresses to the next. (TBC)

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January 18, 2026 · 3:00 pm

00490204 (bottoms 02 (all cracked up))

She hadn’t tried in 100s of days, maybe 100s of weeks. She was tired of pussyfooting around. “Permission to come aboard!” she shouted over in as confident of a tone as she could muster given the circumstances. No answer for a while, maybe 100s of seconds, then: “Permission DENIED.” The old, crusty sea chaplain turned captain who didn’t know when to give up himself wanted to reply immediately but was fixing a hole on the starboard side (away from you, the reader or readers) and couldn’t be bothered at first. But: one hole fixed and two more appear, it seems, like apples for banana. He contemplating just ignoring the poor, foolish girl, standing over there probably in just flesh and bits of white, like she does (he imagined). The man: only red. But still he knew they were man and wife, as close as one could get without multiple marriage vows. He had to hold himself partly responsible. Given that he was the one who married them, way way back in the day. “Go AWAY. We’ve said our bits, our parts. It’s up to YOU to make it work.” Red and white red and white, he thought. Surely they can better coordinate all that, divide the hues up in a fairer, more democratic way. And *not* have to enter his unrepairable *republican* shipp, pheh. No, he would stand steadfast against change (what was he *thinking*).

“I KNOW who you are,” she tried again. “You will NOT get this shipp with its broken rigg and all to float, no way jose. Not without MY help.” (TBC)


dreams of repair

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January 17, 2026 · 8:08 am

00490203 (bottoms)

I was standing on the lip of a big hole, staring down, naked except for a single rose.

A woman, also naked but with a bit more protection, 2 bits more but white roses not red, was way way down at the bottom, sitting on what appeared to be a pier by a pool.

But that wasn’t the end of it. She was also peering down, into the waters of a 2nd hole. Deeper, deeper… a ship far below her even. Sunk 100s of years ago, maybe 1000s of years ago. The Sinking Ship it was called even *before* the accident.

She jumps, I jump. More passages to come (TBC).

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February 21, 2022 · 8:49 am

uninvited

We start again at the House on the Hill at the summit of one of those islands we just spoke about, the two stranger ones representing retirement itself. A figure both male and female, one locked inside the other. And behind him or her, in the kitchen. A ghost.

We can call it a rock.

We can call it a planet.

It is the same size as our Earth.

It is associated with the color blue (like our Earth).

But it is not Earth.

It is from somewhere else.

And we need to treat it with respect.

I’ll let the darker one sleep this time, she thinks from her couch of power as the awakened lighter one is released to the floor.

But an occident occurred as he dropped too far and spilled down the stairs instead. “Oh my God oh my GOD.”

We could say the neck was snapped but that wouldn’t be the half of it.

(to be continued?)

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February 2, 2022 · 7:22 am

00310411

“You can’t cage me up. I am like fireflies in the center of night, multitudinous yet coordinated, synchronized. Blink blink off. Blink off off. And so on.”

“Are you…”

“Don’t say it. You know who I am.”

“How about Flytrap (then)?” The blue-green gave it away.

—–

She walked backwards into the hole. All she knew tonight was that she had to find Monroe Ray and this was the place to do it.

She made sure her eyes were wide open as the oily thing took her in. (bleh!)

Then out (helb!) and backwards toward the Venus Flytrap statue — can’t look at it directly or else, she knew.

Then: white horse, good. She was there. And she didn’t have to look at its ass coming in; also good.

Tripping over a border between more dark and less dark, she tumbled backwards forwards right into his head. It was the only way to make things work, she realized afterwards — and also before. The Man known as Ray…

… was dead.

“I’ve been waiting on you,” he said mechanically, like a bull.

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February 2, 2022 · 5:38 am

00310410

Something is missing here, investigating Jeffrey Phillips speculates later. Better get back to Iowa, but maybe that’s it. The missing piece — letter — is in Iowa.

Just a statement of fact.

Find me, she thought, hiding behind one of those many white trees.

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June 7, 2020 · 10:49 am

legs to stand on

The crows are still up there, thinks Venus down on the ground below the high spired church. Mid-Hazel is still here in Heartsdale — manipulating John.

And I am *certainly* unable to help now the Mission portal is gone. Right Snaily?

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May 21, 2020 · 8:15 am

elephants once more

“I can’t emphasize this enough, Wheeler. We are *here*. Elephant continent. Until the end.”

“I’ll give it a year and a half,” spoke up the part owner of newly relocated Collagesity, just like before. “And you, Peter Oesso — like an opossum.  Are you: *Baker* yet? You don’t appear to be Axis any longer. Not at the core.”

“Hucka Doobie is going to be *soo* mad.”

—–

He stands up, alone in the office that could have been his given different circumstances. Santman was going to be born right over there, Peter Oesso, formerly TronAxis (etc.) lamented. And now he shall. I have escaped the machine. I will let another be absorbed, an alternate self.

I have made a decision which way the current flows.

The Storybrook garage will stay for now. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and new bestie Beige/Brown will return soon. I will tell them a joke about 2 elephants with conjoined trunks. Marsha will remember who I am, and also the aunt. Ant. She can leave, then.

—–

“I couldn’t stay away from you forever, dear, you knew that.”

“I did,” he spoke over to his unfaithful but still forgiven wife. “Dogg would miss you too much!”

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