Tag Archives: WEGEE

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An urban legend claims that the monolith used in 2001: A Space Odyssey can be seen in some scenes of Zappa’s film 200 Motels (The Film). While a monolith can indeed be seen [most prominently at the beginning of the song “Penis Dimension”], it’s actually not the same one used in Kubrick’s film, as Kubrick had most of his models destroyed after 2001 was finished. On the same token Zappa didn’t film in the same studio Kubrick filmed 2001 in either. [1]

But it was the same, at least in spirit. And Zappa must have noted the 200-2001 similarity for the films. Subtraction of the 1 must have been satisfying for him, like he emasculated The Beatles with “We’re Only in It for the Money”. The monolith, the slab, is a penis with dimensions of 1:4:9. Perfection. It can all be telescoped back to 1 (and then gotten rid of).

—–

Zappp had long thought he’d always keep the extra p in his name after adding it in school. “Play Ruben and the Jets,” the children chided in the playground, lovers of doo-wop at an early age. “Sing Yellow Snow,” most of the same requested in jr. high after progressive rock became all the rage. You want extra p, he thought vindictively when all this went down, I’ll give you an extra p. At 9 o’clock on Wednesday’s Thursday’s Friday, October 5-7, 1973 he announced his name change. Zappp. 3 p’s in a row, not 2. *Now* try to make Zappp A. into Zappa, ya’ll.

But what he found in that grave when he dug up old man Franklin had him doing a rethink. It was a dream, yes. No one in their right mind would try to raise that dick from the dead. Sorcerer, everyone has heard. Wizard say some. Zappp knows it is the latter. Because he’s been contacting him via wegee board for years. Robert Franklin; Roberts and Franklin. Wonder what happened to Roberts, because they were quite the team, measuring their careers against each other, like, well, like the type of people they were. Probably doing the same kind of stuff in the afterlife. Again he should know. Old Man Franklin gives him an update from The Beyond at least every other week. Or the WIZARD does — Zappp is not quite convinced the 2 are one and the same, a logical reduction, despite mounting evidence over time. They sleep in the same metaphorical bed is all he concedes.

And then *this* when he wakes up. What is someone trying to tell him? He feels like the disposing of the newly placed Monolith over there — just digging it up (as well) perhaps — is the same as getting rid of the extra p in his name. Strong conviction on this.

He and Ben could do it together; he’s plenty strong but he’d need help from the stronger animal. But Ben had run away, totally frightened of the thing standing so shiny and alien in the far corner of the yard, and with that weird humm emitting from it, like some kind of dynamo — Dinah… Moe, hmm. Zappp couldn’t blame him. He’d like to run away in the woods too. Big Woods. Big Run. Anything besides facing another decision tree. While he’s at it, he may just dig up that tree as well.

(to be continued)

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00340116

He knew if he stayed low like this he would not be seen. The little trees in this park on the northern edge of Ontario were just too thick for proper viewing above knee level. And that was the point of John and Jem being here: out of sight. John gave Jem the “medicine” that would produce the duck and give her the needed results. Probably only 1 day left; cutting it close. As it had to be. Too risky otherwise. “The duck will lead the way,” he says while handing over the zip lock bag with the blue powder (blue? powder?).

In quiet mode, Newt took a couple snapshots with his built in camera then watched John exit west and Jem south, out of the trees and into the world of man again. Martha’s board spelled it out in no uncertain terms last night. SAVE THE GIRL.

(to be… continued)

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He was up at 5 AM practicing skateboarding behind the dealership for the big meet with the truck salespeople uptown next week. Actually he was skateboarding mainly on *top* of the dealership, the roof having been designed as such by the owner, anticipating the coming of the duck according to prophecy. At least that’s how John remembered the story. He was certainly getting ideas for a proper plot now. The Wizard had indicated in no uncertain terms that the duck should be the star of the show, and that all dialog should revolve around it. THE DUCK SHOULD SHINE, it spelled out at 3 o’clock, a mere two hours before this. John needed more shut-eye. Maybe he could get away with some later in the morning instead of playing jigsaw games. Duck probably wouldn’t mind. As long as it didn’t distract potential customers from buying cars. Maybe put on some shades to hide the closed eyes, and be careful not to snore — too much.

At 10:00 he admitted he was going to sleep to his new duck friend, and that if he started to fall over just nudge him.

“Up last night, eh? Whatcha doing? Woman?” he asked in his very normal voice for a duck-man.

“No.” How to phrase? John was talking to a Wizard through a wegee board wouldn’t hack it. He had to hide the fact that he was getting his plot from a disembodied spirit and not directly from him. “Okay, yeah,” he decided to say.

“Great! Great, what’s her name?” John thought of Ruth down at the plaza, which he visited every day while she sold her coffee. At least until the duck came along and he had more responsibilities. So he went with Ruth.

“Ruth, huh? I know her. I know her well. I know her mother well, and her grandma and her uncles and aunts. Why I bet there’s not a relative alive she has that I’m not on speaking terms with, and you can probably pull all the ones that have died in the last 20 years or so into that. Uncle Taum — known him for years, worked for his step-dad polishing bats for the Varnishtown Vampires — how they got their name. And Aunt Mini sewed all our uniforms and clorinated the water for our drinks. Cousin Lester? Use to be on my paper route and would tip me if I managed to throw the paper directly through the open front door — he always had it open just for my visit. I almost always got tipped, heh heh. And her maw? Why we use to date! In fact, hmmm. No, couldn’t be, couldn’t be.” He studied Ruth’s figure in his mind. “Not enough duck.”

“Ruth?” John decided to deflect. “Did I say Ruth? I meant Mabel, you know over at the *ice cream* stand — got the wrong stand at the plaza.”

“Welll, then we’d *definitely* be in-laws if you two tied the knot. Check out the yellow in her complexion the next time you’re there. Congratulations!”

John gave up the lies; decided to tell his now constant duck companion the truth.

“Listen Herbert.”

“Paul, actually,” he corrected. “Paul Duck,” but he said the whole name unassuredly, like he was starting to wake from a dream, like it was turning into a question instead of being the answer.

“Paul, then. You know why you’re here… around me all the time?”

“Yeah, sure sure. I’m your character come to life. You just write down what I say and then your plot is, um, realized. Won’t take too long, bud.” He leans over at pats John on his large, tanned back. “5 years, 10 years. I won’t be in your way. I’m pulling my weight — selling cars and all. “Let’s say 5. Yeah, 5 it is.” He holds out his duck hand for John to shake for the deal. John doesn’t. He knew it wasn’t going to work as soon as he spotted the anthropomorphic being in that grocery cart outside Winnies.

Then suddenly he was gone, the effects of the designer drugs wearing off. John quickly called up Martha to make another appointment tonight for more clarification. *He* was the used car salesman. He only wished he could sleep on the job, pheh (although he still partially did).

He better get to work and sell some cars today lest his boss suspects.

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Turns out the duck had as many varied talents as his new master, including the ability to wheel and deal at a rapid pace. He quickly garnered the job of chief salesperson at the local car dealership. John, attached to him by the ankle and neck and some other places, had to tag along. He mainly played jigsaw puzzles on his phone while the other worked. A few hours each night, he was free to roam the streets of town and explore while the other slept. This is when he secretly rendezvoused with Martha and had a chat with the Wizard through that wegee board of hers. W-I-Z-A-R-D it began, announcing the spirit.

Meanwhile, over in Jeogeot Wheeler is surrounded by rainbow colored butterflies.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0113, Jeogeot, Midlands, Wendy-Ontario

Jem and… Jim?

“I’m only talking to you through this wall this time. *John*.”

“You know I’m not John. I’m Jim.”

“I bought that *before*. Not now. (longer pause) *John*.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented while still dancing up a storm. Hadn’t rained in Ontario since last Tuesday’s Wednesday. He’s trying to chip in, help out the town where he can. Week before last it was portraitures for the poor, however worthless that was. Then the week before that: free bungee jumps for babies down at the gorge. Rope and elastic was a speciality, but he had many of those. He could compose music too. This was his song he was dancing to. “Rat Infested Jim,” the first single from his critically panned but nevertheless cult hit psychedelic heavy metal album “Alice in Suds”. It’s about a man who turns into a rodent and eats insulation in the walls of houses, focusing on the hottest summer and coldest winter days. The title song and next released single from the album is about a woman who can’t find a towel because of all the bubbles produced from her bath, eventually going blind as a result.

“You know why I’m here.”

Dancing stays steady. “The duck. You think I know where the duck is.”

“Right. Welll?”

“Did you look high? Did you look *while* you’re high? Preferably high as a kite in the hands of an experienced Benjamin Franklin. Like *me*, hehe.”

“Stop the nonsense,” Jem plainly stated, taking a swig of her Stygian to mask another oral fixation. “You know I don’t do that stuff any more. Besides, I don’t have the energy now.” She pivots, peers at him through the opening in the chalkboard bar.

“Like I told you before, I don’t have much time. Not much (sniff), time at all (sniff sniff wipe-nose sniff). Help mee,” she squeaked, desperation in her voice and facial expressions. She wipes her face of tears with her arm, sniffs again, sniffs some more, wipes some more, looks off in the distance all moist eyed and mascara stained.

John took pity on her. He didn’t stop dancing but he was formulating a plan. He knew she met the duck the first time when she was high but that wouldn’t work any longer. They’d have to use the wegee board.

The rain starts. The dance stops. Now on to the next good deed.

(to be continued)

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a series of Daffy Duck films

He’d finished reading the paper (finally!). The phone rang. It was so old fashioned he didn’t know how to answer it. “Jem!?” he called. “A little help here, Jem!”

Afterwards, Jem returned to the computer. No progress on the Miss Ouri front yet, with Tessa failing to turn into the appropriate form outside the library according to her call. She forgot to bring the needed cactus doll! What an oversight, pheh. Back to square one almost. They’d have to erase her presence there from everyone’s mind and basically start over. Would take a couple of days, days she didn’t have much of, she knew, sand running out fast in her beautifully figured hourglass of life. If only… NO. She can’t go there. The cartoons were *lurid*… *nasty*. John L. Brown couldn’t save her and she knew it, despite the promises, despite the plotline of the comics.

And yet… she had Dafney, who may have been named after a duck. Ducks were her salvation according to John’s stoopid, lurid *junk*. Yellow, just like her friend. She decided she needs to phone her up, see what she’s up to after the wedding to George. George, ha. So funny. Always misplacing his clothes. Dafney never seemed to catch on that he was doing it on purpose, just biding his time until the end of the war when his uninjured comrades would come home to roost. They took out a knee but at least they were able to grow his finger back. Good ol’ Dr. Diper. Diapers, she then thought, free associating. *That’s* what the guardian needed.

The phone rang in her pocketbook. She pulled out the banana, put it to her mouth. “Hello? (pause) Hello??” She remembered to put the other end to her ear and then heard this:

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0606, Jeogeot, Towerboro

00310112 (left leaning)

“Good to see you again, Ruby.”

“Good to see you, Baker B.”

“I — didn’t expect to see you here. But, then again, I don’t expect to see anyone anywhere anytime.”

“Surprises, I know. All around.”

“Yes.”

“What do you wish to know tonight? To close.”

“Thank you. How about Nautilus to start. It seems super important still.”

YES… MAYBE… NO.

“Interesting, and how about Iowa?”

YES, YES, YES.

“How about that, Ruby. Iowa.”

“Yes.”

“And the transition from Nautilus to Iowa?”

YES.

“How will this take place?”

The planchette moves to the center of the board. Stops. Circles a bit. Stops. Circles a little. Stops.

“Center, then?”

Circles a bit. Stops.

“Is this Fife?”

“I’m picking up something about automatic writing,” interjects Ruby at this point. “Someone is drawing something.”

“Okay. I maybe see where this is going.”

“A *spirit*, yes. Summoned by a *witch*.”

“That’s you!” Baker Bloch exclaimed, then saw it manifest beside them.

“Inter-resting,” spoke Ruby to end.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0111, 0112, Iowa, Lands End, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Wild West

house on the hill

“Hi. I’m here to fix the toilet?”

“Oh stop it Dany. Dany without the extra N. Do you know who I even am? Do you know who you are?”

“I’m Danny,” answers Dany, not remembering the missing N for the moment. Tools of the trade in hand, he had his mind set on righting a bathroom today. Blood was mentioned in the phone call he received. Probably clotting. He was confident he could solve it all with his trusty plunger. He told this to Keith B., who we haven’t seen in this here blog and attached photo-novels in a while, at least several back.

“Listen,” Keith B. responded as a tangent. “Listen to the naked man play the piano so wonderfully, like a Little Steve.” Keith B. spoke directly to the naked man playing the piano, hidden in the above photo by Dany. “Do you know Little Steve Wonderful, Schumann? Schumann with an extra N?”

The playing stopped. It was the infamous Booger T. Hayes mention all over, minus the scream (I think). After a weighted pause, the music began again, fingers flying even more rapidly. But not a lilting piece this time. Something gross and confusing and inept; heavy handed. Aberrant if you will. A.B.

“The diamond lies outside the head,” spoke Dany, suddenly in a trance as the notes flew around the room like dark, radar-less bats. In fact they were bats; at the time.

“Good, good,” Keith B. spoke over the weird music and attached wing flapping. “So you know the problem now. The *real* issue. Not… some stupid toilet overflowing with blood thing… although we need that fixed too if you don’t mind.”

“Not atall!”

—–

“I’m finally done sir. It was a clot after all. I had to rinse the blood out of my mop 17 times to get it clean. I won’t charge you for that.”

“Good, Danny with an extra N,” spoke pleased Keith B., bats or bat-like notes having receeded and Schuman (without the extra N now) on the couch with him wrapped in blanket. “Do you play board games by chance?” he then ventured, staring more intensely at the blonde youth. “I think we should play a board game next. Wegee — just under the table there. If you don’t mind — back acting up and all,” he excused himself for not bending down to retrieve. He just wanted to see if Danny was still following orders, though. Because if the N returns to Schuman: he’s done for the day.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0510, Pickleland

a ouija name

“You’re not listed.”

Waka Wajaka turns to face me. “I know.”

(*poof*)

A nearby green dot seemed to indicate he remained around, but I couldn’t re-find the guy.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0020, 0404, Abbey^^

the ones

“The Fries with Cheese branch of the Main Cheese Church and the Church of the Cult of Oo’d over there have existed side by side in Collagesity for well over a year now. Clown sacrifices (Oodites) next door to a religion (Cheesies) headed by a clown. But they get along fairly well — it’s a small town and everyone knows everyone. No need for protracted bickering, with the proverbial hatchet buried quite long ago underneath a ceremonial rock straddling their shared property line.” Baker turns and then points. “I think you can see it right down there.”

Wheeler leans over and peers too. “Yes. I see it.”

“Knives are the weapon of choice now, but only within the church.”

“Okay, good.”

Baker returns his attention to the story. “Drawing back to look at the bigger picture, the hatchet remains more exposed, a lingering effect of the VHC City-Pond District War. VHC City is where the Cult of Oo’d started, an underground movement at first that has secretly returned to that location in the highest ranks, wegee boards and planchettes in hand. Summerhill Nova, owner of most of the underground in that town, is titular head of the Oodties now as well, although they disguise themselves as Christians (ELMERS) for broader appeal. And as we’ve learned, the Pond District is home of the Main Church of Cheese currently fronted by the Good Rev. Amos T. Sandman.”

“Who I have a date with tonight, lucky me.” The gown she chose for the occasion suited her well, Baker thought. She was trying to use her position of power to gain information. He continues…

“Summerhill has remained pure and white as glue to promote the above ground version of her religion. Amos T. Sandman’s appearance is like a bouquet of blossoming color.  Yet dig down just a little and it is clear these two leaders have much in common beneath opposing surfaces. Each is a *hatchet* themselves.”

“Explain,” requested Wheeler while holding up a pocket mirror and applying more lipstick.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0018, 0308, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus