Tag Archives: WHEEL

drowning (out)

He left her with her two orange eyes and matching orange legs, dancing up a stoorm in Trinidad at a place she’d been hanging out for years now, she said. He had succeeded in part 1 of his 2 part quest as well. The price? Reversion to Nauty, extraction of the possessee, pins revealed. He was Nauty. He was Nautilus.

Let’s see where we are on the big board…

I’m going to artificially light up Darkfold, the nearest gallery to Collagesity since we just featured a couple of his pieces at Wheeler’s Miss Ouri’s Trinidad dance spot, synchily enough. But I didn’t place them there — already present, like a present to be opened. Returning to the map, and understanding highlighted locations are the ones featured in the current photo-novel, now lumbering toward the end of its 5th section like a wheel running out of air (admittedly), we more clearly see the weight toward the south of the Nautilus continent, centered around Collagesity perhaps. Yes: Collagesity, even featured by itself in section 4, which hadn’t happened in a while. And now the struggle with encompassing Lower Austra, how to define borders between the east, the west, the north and south. How to define *center*.

Later a folk-punk band showed up to help with the cause as seagulls all around continued to squawk their mournful tunes.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0515, Collagesity Fordham, Nautilus, Trinidad

Old and White

The wheels in his mind kept spinning. I’m in Dex, he thought rapidly. But in olden days this island, this *town*, was named Avalon according to that map over there on the wall, not too far from (the Isle of) Babylon but also: not too close. A gap between, but Smaller Water instead of Bigger Water. He had to prepare. The past meets the future and it’s not pretty. Pink (or red) does not bode well for a man. He’d been tested. Red it was. The lipstick remained. He could not remove it now, however hard he tried.

“Try again,” W. urged from the side, still just out of sight, of reach. He could only talk to her as if via phone.

She remained black and white as she twirled and whirled, like a rotisserie chicken in the Wild West of Nautilus, he believed, beyond the reach of phone. Hurry up, he thought, rid of the lipstick for now but not for long. This was a battle of Madam and I’m Adam. He turns.

At least Marilyn is here. Sing us that national anthem again, dearest.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0411, Nautilus, Rim Isles, Yd Island^

root of the problem

He found her in a town full of bigots and zombies on the other side of the wall, a mere apple’s toss from where he was before. Annaball or Annabell, the pretty, white, raspberry beret wearing woman of the night who was dating that [black guy] who just broke into town one day, stole all its dignity. She had ambitions, she did. The hooker aspect was just to tide her over until her *real* dreams kicked in. Plus she really wasn’t a hooker; they just hung that tag on her back because of the incident in the alley and it stuck. A lot of things get stuck in this town of 9 that can’t quite reach 10, however hard it might try at times (try 3.16 instead of 3). “And to think she use to teach our children!” exclaimed one when learning about the alley. “Abhorrent,” hissed the other sitting across from the first, still below the TILE colored lights where green mysteriously switches with yellow at times, another round and round situation. If only the carousel could stop. We have to get off.

“‘Nautilus,’ she said to me (he relayed later on to the proper authorities). ‘I have to get back to Nautilus.'”

“And you just let her *go*?”

“I didn’t… have any choice.”

“Dot dot dot,” the authority figure chided. “It’s always dot dot dot for you lot. You’re as bad as her,” he finalized, spiked helmet secured on zombie head with a dead leather strap. Or so they say.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0213, Jeogeot, Newtown, Sunklands^

reversed 02

She was trying to close up and then he marches in here. The new guy in town, she’s heard. No one knows his name yet. He sits down. She keeps mopping, keeps to her closing tasks. He waits for her to speak. She waits for him to talk. No… one… knows… her name.

“Wagner?” he finally guesses. “I heard there was a family of Wagners in town, one who runs the bar by the big bell. He indicates the sign to his right on the counter. “Bell’s Kulturcafe… I assume that’s  you?”

“Marilyn,” she decides, thinking about the first name of another ditzy blonde. Two of ’em in fact, one also a Munster. But not that type of monster. Reversed.

“Marilyn… Wagner, then?” he keeps pursuing.

—–

He finally got that lower alcohol Bell’s beer that he wanted but not much more. He knew she was Marilyn and that’s about all. Maybe that was enough for tonight — wine wasn’t doing him right these days; downing it like it was water and he was a new Jesus but not in a good way. Beer would slow him down and Bell’s was just right: still very tasty. *Must* be a connection with that bell just outside. Or just over there. Or just around the corner. *Downtown* anyway. He tries to get his bearings so he can wheel around it in his mind more. He *could* ask for directions — surely she would give him directions.

“And CUT!” shouted the director behind the camera. “Let’s film that scene again, and this time let’s go with black and white. More noir.”

—–

Turns out Bell’s bar was kind of on the opposite side of downtown from that church bell Chef-Inspector Petty was contemplating about in that last post here, so maybe no connection.


downtown [insert name]

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0116, Jeogeot, Newtown, Sunklands^

Y and Z are 10 and 11

It was time for a longer post else we get off track. Wendy had her man, strapped to the Big Wheel, a prisoner in other words. In his own pirate ship: trapped by a woman of all things. But he suspected a man-woman because of the strength, the speed. He was wrong… kind of. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed as the tire iron came down on the knees and then the head. If she was truly a man he might be dead. As it was, he almost bled out, but was brought back by her powers of the mind. Hidalgo — but enough said of that (magic practice) which also gained her many more years than her immortal contemporaries. Only Mummy Suisan out in Swannanowhere had outlasted her. How many years now? She decided to count them out tonight (again) while — whatshisname listened in, helpless to turn off his ears by plugging them with his fingers or something. That was another point to this. She decided to use the base 12 way of counting just to prolong the agony a bit more for him. She stopped at 143Z to see if his head had started to bleed again (only a little). At 1Y876, she thought of the 765 Village and the hidden green grey alien there and how Brut or Burt or Brutus had turned all traitor on her and taken over the Fortress for himself in its two locations to bind the magic more tightly. She hit (whatshisname) on the noggin again simply because she was frustrated now. And, heck, she’d lost her count. She’d have to start over again. At 765 she spaced out and lost count a second time. “One,” she began once more, “twooooooo (*yawn*).” Finally getting sleeepy. She lets him hold her in his arms but just one trick and he’s back on the wheel. She uses the rest of her daily brain power to heal his head completely.

Out like a light now, but this was a test. She knew he could twist her head off if he desired — she had given him her superpowers as well. But if he still had the *mistletoe* somewhere upon his body — and she knew he did — then: no. That small sprig of evergreen would take them both a long long ways.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0311, Hana Lei^^

let them eat cake

“Wheeler will be my downfall, um…”

“*I’m* Wheeler,” spoke the person across from him, not wearing a red dress but we’ll assume she’ll be in one soon enough. At the Red Dress Diner. In New Eden. Probably.

“Right, right, I remember now. Like a wheel. 12:37.” He looks at his left shoulder. No spark. He was up too high.

“Man About Time,” spoke Wendy/Wheeler, saying the correct name the first time ’round. “Do you (even) know where you are?” She stared at him, red hair if not red dress. Very red.

“Downfall,” MAT muttered, noticing the same. “I’m MacDonald. I did something to the Ind– indigenous people of this great land.” Now: red on my hands, he realized. Blood on my face, yech.

“We’re not in Canada,” measured out Wendy/Wheeler. “That’s Toddles and Peet Archer, traveling across (its) frozen Heartland, waiting for a chance. And now they have it. The wife said, ‘pick a town, pick *one* town’. And so Picton it is. But after the Green Yard, er, Yarn in the middle of town…”

“Picturetown,” MAT recalled. “I remember that much.”

“Don’t forget it. Because it won’t change back.”

MAT then saw too much at the crossing. Twins — he had picked the wrong one to converse with today. Someone had warned him about the wrong dress. The one without blood. Without blame?

“End of Time,” Wendy/Wheeler said after the moment, about the place they were in. “We have crossed over.”

MAT looked past his left shoulder at the askew windows of the treehouse they sat in, remembering that too. A spark of memory. 12:37. Dinner time.

But Wendy/Wheeler couldn’t cook worth shite. Fast food hamburgers it was again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0024, 0215, End of Time^^

to prove you’re human

The continent is a wheel, The Man About Time thinks on the upstairs balcony of the 9th house he tried. Success finally? But 12:37: *time* for dinner.

—–

So I’ve marked that place with the filling recipe. You *still* want the apple pie, don’t you dear? ‘Cause I’m going to a lot of trouble with this.” She calls over while still washing her hands. “Dear? (pause) *Dear??*”

“Oh, sorry.” He looks down at the place setting and the contents. Apparently I’ll just do with the one apple right now, he thinks to himself, but says: “Sure. Er, since you’ve gone to all the trouble to find the recipe and all.” He again stares over at the lemon and lime on the far table.

The lemon and lime stared back at him.

“Um, *dear*?”

“Yes, husband of mine?” She was washing the last fingers.

“Do we still have that copy of ‘Floydada’ laying around somewhere?”

“Floy-*whata*?” She finally turns. It was then that Newtonia Kashkow realized the man sitting at the table with all the apples wasn’t her husband atall.

—-

“And *stay* out!” SLAM.

Oh well. On to the 10th!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0016, 0103, Bellisaria, Humansville