Tag Archives: Wendy/Breeze^^++++++$

May 11, 2024 · 9:29 am

00420617 (ART)

She didn’t go with him to the heart of the park on the edge of Castle Town as he had planned, hidden in back behind its many walls and terraces. Instead she said she’d done what she’d come to do, gave him another quick tweak on the nose (a sign of things *not* to come), and exited back through the tunnel, leaving Barry to ascend the stairs running alongside the beautiful cascade to the place alone, “going steady” ring of amethyst inlaid in silver still in pocket, not burning a hole in it any longer.

Slapped in the worst way possible — call it a gut punch — he briefly contemplated jumping from a high rock on its far edge but quickly put this dark dark thought out of his mind. He had too much to do with his life moving forward, he understood, staring out at the steep green slopes of Castle Gorge below, beautifully lit in the late morning sky. Too much to do indeed. But for the first time a long long while, he was at a loss for words over events that happened.

One step at a time, he knew, thinking back to that oh so painful first step up to the top here and away from Wendy. Attaching the needed objects, he puts down the figurative pen and picks up the literal brush to begin.

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2024 EARLY”! (finally!)

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May 11, 2024 · 3:50 am

00420616

“It’s simply beautiful here, Barry. But –”

“Why did I wait so long to show you this?”

“Well… *yes*.” It could have help swayed my judgement, she thinks. She could still change her mind, but… a contract was signed. Wendy’s Hot Dog Restaurant is a go! Except switch hot dogs with hamburgers and meat byproducts to just pure beef. Okama talked her into it, just as he talked himself into giving up the dream of taking over the Dream Emulator band and kicking everyone else out except maybe classically trained guitarist No Lag V, which they usually just shorten to No Lag. He’d assume the mayor’s position of Kangarootown instead, recently vacated by disgraced Golden Jim, fired because he’d called the wrong person the wrong name, it seems. Anyway, Okama = Mayor, Okama invites Wendy to open her restaurant in his former K-Town store (basically just a store for mouse traps, he said, waiving off the inconvenience), and then giving her a 25 year month lease on the place for 500 lindens a month. That’s the contract signed; too good of a deal to pass on; had to act fast, she felt, lest he or she changed his or her mind. And her affections returned to Bastard — wherever he is up there on the Red Dead planet. St. Dennis, she’d heard for a possible location. She hadn’t given up hope that he not only lives but thrives, and is just waiting for the right time to invite her up too. Hmm, but she’s locked into a lease now. She better think about a second in command just in case.

“I was waiting for the right time,” Barry finally answered, allowing Wendy’s internal monologue to unfurl in a proper manner. “I thought–”

“We could go steady?”

“Well…”

“Barry. I still have Bastard — you know, Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate.”

“But… he’s dead,” answers Barry to this.

“No, I refuse to believe that.”

“But… they found his *skeleton*, the Red Dead crew did. They *buried* him… out to sea.”

“No. Not true. I *sense* he exists still. I’m just not sure how.”

“All those rumors about him surviving and living in St. Dennis are just that. Fiction — fable. The skeleton in the boat was *his*. There was even his trusty sword to go along with it. Wendy — face it.” He makes her face him. “He’s gone.”

She was tempted to slap him for the stubbornness. But after all, as Okama Majo also pointed out, *he* has Hucka Doobie now. She substituted the slap with that harsh declaration.

Barry quickly looked away, almost as if he’d been slapped anyway. “She’s with someone else, I’ve heard. A Marion Star Harding. Never met the guy. But he predates me, even. Last I heard he’s in Gaston. Do you know of Gaston? I had to learn about it. I learned it from–” He stops. He realizes the irony, the *synchronicity* of the matter.

He recalls piecing together a document about the place. From wadded up papers strewn about his shed near the Pink Motel. Home.

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May 10, 2024 · 7:06 am

00420615 (Endlessly Antipoison)

He’d been having dreams of Pansy Mouse again and going in a classical direction instead of rocking the day away like he had been. Wendy was showing him the way. He was less scared now of the ghostly spectre.

In one dream, Pansy handed him a list procured from behind the counter. On it: 52 single column words, including Asylum. Featuring Asylum, perhaps. Headliner. He must not run away from it. He needs to put it back in the file in Filetown.

—–

She came back in the wrong dress. He knew their time was limited, wanted to spend it in the best manner possible. “Walk with me,” he said. Reaching the balcony outside the bar and grill, he suddenly took her hand and flung them both over the rail…

… but they were okay — only 12 feet down. “Warn me the next time you do that!” complained winded Wendy, even though she landed rather gently as did he. Much harder to hurt yourself in Our Second Lyfe than up in reality. Barry learned that the hard way.

Onward through the construction warning signs. Barry knew this tunnel starting below the balcony would be safe as well; would take them to where it all ended. Heaven of sorts.

Midge looked on, unseen by Barry behind the dumpster. But not Wendy. Just by her look she knew they had found the file.

(to be continued)

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May 6, 2024 · 2:05 am

00420612

It took a supreme effort for him to break away from the Big E or, alternately Big Schwa always sitting in the middle of his Aisle of Palms’ Kidd Tower dining table, ready for further examination and scrutiny. But he did it; returned to his hometown and his Bach/Reger/Kajiura played on a silver cello purchased in the Isle of Love. He played to his loving doll Mob (pronounced: Mobe), who listened with rapt attention as usual.

Good ol’ Mob. He misses her when he’s away… plus the cats big and small of course. And he just f-ing needed to get away from the band for a while. No Lag was pushing them in a classical direction, Shelley was pushing them in a rock direction, Don just wanted everyone to call hogs like him, like the kid he is. Be like me! he indicated all the time with his actions and speech. But bar manager Martha Lamb wanted him there as a kind of front man and bar owner Bull Dragon (or Dragon Bull; *not* Ball Dragon or Dragon Ball, though) went along with it, seeing the appreciative crowds. Maybe they’re getting *too* big, too popular, thought Okama not once but a considerable number of times in the last week as they did nightly gigs to growing audiences. Poor opening act Marsha “Pink” Krakow who wanted to be a Ball herself wasn’t hacking it, though. He felt sorry for her, was *envious* of her even. Furniture comedy, he speculated at the time, watching her perform only for the ogling Thompson Twins if anyone at all. Like Satie had his furniture music. “Pay no attention to us musicians,” the eclectic Frenchman spoke to audiences of his day, over 100 years ago, so far ahead of his time. He said to just enjoy the pieces of the art gallery they were playing at, and so on. And so it is with Marsha but in a kind of reverse way. “Just enjoy the musicians on the stage over there; pay no attention to me,” she seems to broadcast lately. A conceptual art comedy piece in the style of Kaufman or maybe Hicks. But certainly not like iconic 50s star Lucille Ball as she originally desired, one of the greatest of all female performers period. This was undesired art but maybe she’s seeing the irony of it. He’ll have another word with her about the whole, er, *concept* when he gets back. But he needs to stay here for at least a week to calm his nerves. He needs to stay away from the Kidd (Tower) and he needs to stay away from the kid (Don).

Knocks downstairs. Wendy has arrived at her destination. Confrontation time; brace yourself Okama!

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May 2, 2024 · 10:40 pm

00420609

He caught up with some reading while she was gone, the cafe having a nice selection of books in back of the bar — 3 tall bookcases full. He was interested in travel books, since he was stuck in Castle Town for a while, unable to leave because of several physical conditions plaguing him at once. Mr. Goldilocks, Wendy liked to call him, because up top he was susceptible to cold while down below: the heat. The waist, she pointed out, represents the equator, the only place things are right. Too bad you can’t live there perpetually, she says. Between the Tropic of Cancer (points to chest) and the Tropic of Capricorn (points to private parts) where it’s not too hot not too cold. Great Belt she also called it for reasons unknown presently.

So because of this Barry stayed behind; didn’t venture with Wendy to Kangarootown to confront Okama Majo once more about his seemingly dirty tricks at the time. Cats’ litter boxes unclean, he knew. Ran out of “burny sticks” as she said he called them, so the place was cold when she and mayor Golden Jim arrived — stank like urine too. But this was her beef, her karma, he said to make another excuse besides the bodily conditions. “You’re the one who has to make two wrongs a right,” he said to her before she left, tickets in hand. “Last chance,” she said back. “The sky ferry is only half full last time I checked. You can sit by my side. I’ll help you with your issues, pass you an ice pack when you need it, a hot water bottle when you need that instead or in addition.” “In addition, yeah,” he said, knowing he’d often need both at once. But he’d already made up his mind: he wasn’t going. He had books to catch up on, videos to watch as well back in his topside apt. graciously provided by the town council. For he was something of a cult hero in these here parts, having famously saved the city of NWES City over on the Jeogeot continent from, let’s call it, abstraction. Drew it back into the real by drawing the real. One work of genius popped out after another. Soon everyone remembered why their town — nay, their *city* — was so great in the first place. The buildings, the people, the food, the arts, the crafts, the beaches, the sand, the sun, the *fun*. He must go back there too.

If only he could get rid of these bodily issues once and for all, pheh.

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May 2, 2024 · 11:50 am

00420608 (kenbaiki (ticket to ride))

She’d seen enough of Castle Town for now. She was buying a sky ferry ticket back to Kangerootown from whence she came. She’d heard through the grapevine that keyboardist/DJ Okama Majo had returned to his cat house there, taking his own break from Aisle of Palms and the Dream Emulator band he’s part of with classically trained guitarist No Lag V, hog calling kid Don without a last name, and animated singer Shelly Johnston Struthers who has 3 to make up for it and who specializes in Lennon songs like “Strawberry Fields” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and the like. But despite that, Okama named the band, not her. All because of his artistic hero Osamu Sato, so close to his own. Too close. Shelley’s found that out too. “You’re *him*,” she said recently during an acid drop sponsored by LSD, tripping the light fantastic and drawing truth from every corner of the universe, only to forget the vast vast majority of it later, of course. Gray Man works in all dimensions when you’re on that stuff; perpetual darkness. Must – stay – away, she thought to herself afterwards. No more sheets.


on her way!

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April 30, 2024 · 7:49 pm

00420607 (05 and 06)

Perhaps the last major building has been manifested in Aisle of Palms: the original version of the Edwardston Station Gallery, holding the entire “Art 10×10” of 100 collages I created in 6 series from 2004 to 2009. Not the prettiest of structures with its plain cubic form, admittedly, but effective in its role. 6 floors, 6 series, with all but 2 and 5, or Rose Hill and Hidalgo respectively, holding 20 collages apiece. Those 2 floors/series contain 10 in contrast. I’ll get to what occupies the other 1/2 of the 2nd and 5th floors in a bit.

The immediate prompt for me rezzing this structure is that I wanted to show Newt (or whoever) that the fox-to-dog conversion of Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate in St. Dennis recently was seemingly preordained. The Yale-*Newt*on series of the “Art 10×10,”  its 3rd, dates from 2006, going on 20 years ago at this point. Gosh, where have the years gone (!). Anyway, when we reach the 4th collage of that series we come to this dualism again: fox vs. dog or, more precisely, fox against dingo, for the orange dog of the work, titled “Outfoxed?”, is suppose to represent such, as the orange-ish dog in St. Dennis is in kind.

Then in the next two collages of Yale-Newton, making a type of animation with each other, we see the fox and dingo again, the in-taking of water if you will (“Diamond Dog”)…

… and then the release of same back into the atmosphere (“Coasts is Clear”), as the original Diamonds sign on the roof of the depicted restaurant bearing the same name is multiplied 16-fold and becomes a country unto itself, let’s say — our country, built up from the middle, this Diamonds Restaurant in a central state of Missouri, until it extends ocean to ocean. A seed becomes a tree.

And then in the next collage, the 7th of the series (“Here’s Lucy”), we come to another depiction of the word “diamonds”, now in connection with the initials LSD like in the famous John Lennon song we saw Shelley Struthers singing earlier in her band audition at Bull’s Bar in this here blog and attached photo-novel, 42 in number now of course. So I have a feeling this could reference Osamu Sato’s LSD Dream Emulator game on top of the drug and Lennon song — additional foreshadowing. More on this aspect soon, I’m predicting.

That bubble topped mound in the middle of the 7th collage being threatened by bulldozers is actually where it all starts to kick in, the whole “Art 10×10” and my journey into the world of digital collaging. Looks like fellow collage artist Barry De Boy will be our observer here instead of Newt, perhaps gaining inspiration for a jump start of his own art. Wendy is a muse!

He follows The Beatles’ yellow submarine between Greenup 05 and 06 as it floats downstream, into the tunnel of night lights, illumination in darkness.

What will he find there, a fox or a dingo? I’m guessing both. In fact, make that a certainty.

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April 26, 2024 · 4:23 pm

00420601 (Castle Town)

He often came here to rock and think about the battle of rock vs. paper vs. scissors, which for him was won by putting paper (1) before scissors (2) before rock (0). 102 if read left to right, with rock always in the center like the ground zero it is.

He hears a noise outside. It’s 3:25 in the morning — no one else up, he imagined. Except ghosts.

He stops rocking, gets up, leaving the maple leaf throw pillow behind and thoughts of Canadian Picturetown along with it. “Who goes there?”

The right Wendy walks through the door of the establishment…

… with her first words inside being: “This entrance has changed.”

It certainly has, thinks Barry De Boy, very happy at the sight. It certainly has. No demo over her head now; he was seemingly dealing with a real flesh and blood girl again. They can… well, you know. This is what boys think. Boys like De Boy.

“The gatekeeper said I’d find you down here. Said it was his last night to work, the last hour, the last minute. Said he was here for me and then he could go. He put a Help Wanted sign on the door as he locked up behind me. I turned around just in time to see him leave. Go figure. Guess I’ve found my work in town after all.”

“Wendy!” he exclaimed, not knowing how to follow it up. Shock!

“In the flesh.” She twirled around, showing him the different dress. “And blood I suppose, ha.” She approached him. Dare she kiss him this early? It’s been years after all. Instead: “Share a cup of coffee with me?” She tweaked him on the nose, a sign of things to come.

“Of course! Over there,” he pointed to a nearby table. “I’ll find the brew.” He started rummaging around the back of the counter. “As you can see, we’ve also turned the tables to the side.”

“We?”

“Yeah, Me and Grumpy. We run the place now. Or manage it — Stew’s still the owner. Technically I suppose.”

“So no jobs I suppose,” Wendy spouted as she took a seat. She so so didn’t want to be the new gatekeeper of the town. Boor-ing, she knew. She’d heard Devil Dave complain enough about it back in the day.

“No… sorry. Can’t can Grumpy, you see. He has a wife and two children now (!).”

“Who could have imagined.”

“I know.” He’d found the coffee. Now to make the concoctions. “Espresso alright? All I can find.”

“Yeah. Perfect, actually. Make mine a double. No… triple. What the heck, let’s go with 4.” Could be a long night, she knew. Lots of restaurant talk to get through, potentially. Lots of talk about success and then failure. Utter failure. All tests show 5% human DNA, PHEH. I’ll get that Okama Majo, she thought. If it’s the last thing I do.

(to be continued)

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April 26, 2024 · 3:47 pm

00420516

“Yes can I help you?” she vocalized, not turning toward the visitor, not bringing any energy into her words.

“Wendy??”

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March 7, 2024 · 4:37 pm

cyan dress, black hair: seems oh so familiar

“I’m afraid this is still 1961 guys. The little lady is going to have to sit elsewhere, hmm?”

“There. That’s better. What can I do you for today? Burgers?”

“No, nothing right now. We’ll order later when you have vegetables in salads,” commanded Wendy, appearing as if behind a shadow of a person instead of a real one.

“Suit yourself. My shift is over,” spoke Sarah. “Wanda will be over shortly to check on you. But I wouldn’t hold my breath on the vegetables. Have a nice day.” As she left with her tray of little burgers still untouched, Sarah glanced over at the space that would be a salad bar, currently occupied by a soda fountain and an ice cream counter. Sugar and especially meat would rule the day for a while, she knew. She’d worked in this here city long enough to understand that.

An Everly Brothers hit blared from the jukebox on the far side on the diner, perhaps “Cathy’s Clown”, their latest, as Wendy got down to business. “Soo… you said you know the whereabouts of the black man called Francis. Last seen here in Meat City.”

“The *negro* known as Francis,” rudely corrects Mathew, of a different color skin himself from the “norm”; obviously should have been more understanding of the situation. And why was he here with Susan in the first place?

Susan. Yes, that was her name.

(to be continued)

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