“I *had* a girl, Missus Lemon,” proclaims the drunken Fisher, leaning against the bar counter. “And I let her go.” He takes another gulp of his golden beer and then looks down. “Yellow,” he explained. Natsu Lemon made a face and moved away. “No, no, no. *Cartoon* yellow.”
Note to self, he thought, watching her back from afar: Stop calling Lisa the Vegetarian by her true color ’round these parts, *orange* boy.
Natali Woodhull decided it was time to reveal herself.
“Well it’s working for me Wheeler Wilson. Or are you The Bill still here in this new work?”
“The Bill,” Wheeler Wilson answered. “Sorry again to call you over. The interwebs just wasn’t pulling up for me tonight.”
“No prob. Good we talk and keep up with each other every so often. We are the two chief avatars after all, with 90% of the stuff. Bracket Jupiter is running a distant third at, say, 5%?”
“I wouldn’t give him even that. But I miss him still. Where is he now, Baker Bloch? New Eden?”
“We can allow him to become part of the story again if you wish.”
“I’m having *loads* of fun, but…”
“We can do that,” Baker Bloch reinforced, turning over in his mind how that could work.
“Roger Pine Ridge,” spoke Wheeler Wilson, trying to similarly figure out a solution. “Could Bracket play…?”
“I don’t think so. Roger is a composite being. Composite avatar. He — let’s say he wishes to become one of the core avatars — one of us.”
“Let’s bring him in. I’ve got to change back to Pitch Darkly and fix Mary’s supper now. She doesn’t like leftovers.”
Baker Bloch paused, staring at the map again before them.
Or its right, Bill/Wheeler thought, looking as if from behind… inside. 1/2 and 1/2.
“Darn! It’s not working again.” She turned to her new guest.
“I almost forgot how to get a hold of you, Roger. Peter Soso,” she repeated his core avatar name for memory purposes. “Soso, Soso…”.
“Sooooooo,” Roger interrupted on beat. “Are you ready to hear my pitch?”
“Waitress, some fresh wine over here please.”
It’s like Sid has completely forgotten who I am, Martha Lamb ruminated. Might as well fall off the face of the Earth.
“Finished with your salad sir?”
Wait, she thought twistedly, eyeing cheese colored Golden Jim across two tables. I already did.
Well, Indy. Our Corsican contact was correct. Looks like Harry Potter’s Diagon Alley changes over to *Diagonal* Alley beyond this point. She’s in there all right.”
“Better change over now before going through the wall. Muggle,” Sid added playfully, making his older daughter giggle.
They were about to enter Gringotts, the famed goblin bank at the opposite end of Diagonal Alley where Harry Potter briefly kept the Philosopher’s Stone (among other adventures), when loitering Business Man, wannabe Wizard of Wall Street, indicated back in the direction they had come, and that they’d missed something.
“Oh no, daddy. You don’t think she’s strayed into Horizontal Lane by chance?”
Business Man taps his index finger several times against the tip of his nose.
“Oh *no* daddy.”
with sides of orange and violet
“Red green yellow blue, Indy. We better retreat back to whence we came. This goes beyond square into cube!”
“No saving her,” his daughter agreed, and changed back into Indigo. Mission aborted.
Returning to their Rubi trailer, Angus (Sid) and Indigo broke the sad news to Ragdoll, who then secretly smiled a little inside while thinking back to their heated confrontation in front of Max, etc. But Martha Lamb’s story within our new Collagesity novel is perhaps not done.
“Yellow. Yellow yellow yellow. I’ll say it til I die.”
“That – can – be – arranged.”
Alright, maybe it is now.
keeping it real
Fisher stared at the red and yellow condiment containers of the Deep Fried fast food stand, understanding that he had seen them before — alive. Obviously in a dream, he thought at the time.
But no. It was reality. The *stand* was a dream.
“Looks like Orange Boy is finally coming around.”
“Oh goody. More fun!”
“Molly, Fisher says he’s drunk again and needs a ride.”
“Missus Lemon, boss, sweetie. I’m on break right now. That side of the room — active. This side: zero; nothing going on. I’d say, talk to the hand, but I can’t even be bothered to lift one.”
“Catchup and Mustered are back on the counter and working, and you should be too. 15 minutes break time here at my bar and that’s all, I’ll remind you.”
Still grumbling Molly Lustrous mentally prepares to rise up from her violet latex sofa and give Orange Boy Fisher yet another ride, pheh.
“Yeah, you’re right Bendy. That *is* wrong. But what does it mean?”
“Something’s tampering with something, that’s what it means. I can feel it deep down in my metal bones.”
“2 realities combined into one?” Fisher offers. “Someone’s pissing on us?” he tries again, looking down at the red spill.
Bendy couldn’t help it. “What a mess,” he exclaims to the camera.
“If you asked me, it’s a witch that did this, Fisher. The Wall… everything.”
“Where did you park the car again Bendy?”
He was disguising himself as a chatty alien to this town. Lucytown it could be called. We’ll see. Maybe Walltown. Or just: Wall. Wallytown.
“How did this Wall come about, Peggy? I prefer Moon myself. Better music, maybe better lyrics even. Did you know there is a Moon on the opposite side of Wall in Allegheny County, Pennsylvania? And Pennington County, South Dakota for that matter. And now: here. This proves that our — *my* music will live on in time. Past the 21st Century. Past more, hopefully. Moon is permanent, and maybe it can drag the interior Wall along with it.” He shakes his head, playfully adjusts his mouth, laughing. “Inferior I meant there, although a Wall certainly does have an interior… and an exterior. Inner and Outer. Do you know why they hang green and red banners along the exterior of the Wall instead of, say, yellow and blue? I saw a blue car parked beside them today, in the middle of the road. Got towed — I called it in. Do you like chocolate, Peggy? How about lemonade? How about rustling me up a freshly squeezed glass of lemonade? Or do I have to go to Bar Lemon for that? I will, you know. Just down the Wall and through the tunnel and hang a right.”
It was only then that Roger Pine Ridge realized he was talking to a mannikin all along. The other Peggy at the bar — Peggy 02: same story. Only Natali was real here, and she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. A day off is me-time for her. Talk to the hand all day today. In costume, she was, of course, our Molly Lustrous, a dancer at Bar Lemon Roger just mentioned, and a constant ride provider for Fisher, another town newcomer. That crazy robot friend of his, she thinks with a slight grin. And that yellow colored girl he keeps yammering on about all the time and getting in trouble because of it. He doesn’t even know about the secret stash of ammunition in Drugstore Orange just below that could blow up a, well, a town about this size.
“You have to click the keg at the end of the bar,” she finally managed. The still drink-less Roger followed her point. Soon he had a cranberry martini in hand, complete with lemon slice.
“Ah yes. Thank you, stranger. My name is Albert. Albert Halsey. I’m from Oregan, Earth, USA. I’m on the run; out of breath. You know: Time. Constraints that drive one mad and induce Brain Damage, Money not the least of them. Do you know about Money? Time, Money, Brain Damage? It will all survive the test of time. Well beyond the 21st Century. Maybe even up to the *31st* Century.”
Natali was thinking: how to ease out of this bar scene as gracefully as possible. After all, there were about a dozen bars in
Wall Wallytown she could visit by her estimation, and that may still be selling the burg short. Around every single blasted turn there seemed to be another one. Bar Lemon does a fairly steady business but it use to be different back in the old days. The days before the coming of the blimey Lindens. For this use to be a Lemony town through and through, Bar Lemon a link to that lustrous past. And herself as well. She could open up to this alien man sitting next to her and blow his freak’n mind. Give him a ride all over town and show him the sights, tell him where this and that use to exist and how it was mainly replaced by *inferior* structures and objects. Mr. Yellow knew too. Both of ’em. The town has certainly been pissed on by the Lindens. Yes, she could give him a total ear-full of info.
But it was her day off.
Poor, pitiful creature, Dr. I C. Yourinsides thought, returned to life from the ice cream truck catastrophe like the others. Only *one* eye.
Didn’t she read about a town over in the Atoll Continent that was ruled by such a being, though? She’ll have to look it up later on at her personal console.
Ah yes, here ’tis. Collagesity. Class 2 population place, which is more like a village. The continent also contains a class 3 pp named Olde Lapara Towne — logically: a town, then. And, wow, even a class 4 city (!), just a notch below the Linden controlled class 5 superburgs of Bay, Nautilus, Kama. VHC City it’s called here in this Baker Blinker Blog. But it’s, hmm, bakerbloch.com. Two Bakers.
Wristband monitor alert warned that her energy was running low again. Only 3 hours since the last regeneration. Continuing effects of the New Island catastrophe radiation seem to be worsening lately for unknown reasons. Unable to go groundside until the situation stabilizes. Wouldn’t make it.
But it’s not New Island below us now, she considers. It’s Fishers Island. She needed to study up more on the differences between the two, and what the consequences are for the SHIFT from one to the other. Given the shituation, this could obviously be bad news, at least for her as a strangely organed alien.
Another class 4 pp immediately below. Multi-sim. Dr. I.C. is manipulating the space as best she can remotely. Red and green banners indicating the continued presence of New Island witch Mid Hazel there. Bar Lemon, a link between past and present. Mr. Yellows too. Wrongful combination. Different kind of pp. A Moon rising against a far Wall, full of caged creatures as well. IT IS FULL. All of that last part due to the last true wizard possessing the Rainbow Sphere now.
Roger Pine Ridge finally found a place in Wallytown where he felt safe to manifest the sphere. Cul-de-sac; no interior to the surrounding buildings. He burned a hole through the fabric of time-space with his cigarette and prepared to look inside again.
naming (it begins)
“You know, Bendy. I suppose it’s really time we talked about how we got here.”
“*Much* better than Mabel’s house, I’ll tell you that. Lots to do in this town. Bar around every corner if we ever tire of Bar Lemon. Which I haven’t.”
“I didn’t ask you how you liked it here… in comparison to New Island. I’m asking you about how we got here.”
“Dunno that part,” his robot companion returned. “Just woke up one day and here I was.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Fisher gruffed, shaking his head. “I personally think I remember something else — don’t think it was just a dream.”
“Well?” prompted Bendy. “Spill it.”
“It started that day we went over to the park to play and then spotted Mr. Yellow in the distance: looking different. We went up to him and saw that weird-y combo thing, looking like it was pissing on the ground. Red liquid instead of the usual yellow, but not blood I don’t think.”
“Soda,” offered Bendy. “I tested it when you turned your back to the camera.” Fisher winced toward him, making Bendy shrug. “Couldn’t resist.”
“Anyway, I went back to Bar Lemon down the wall — that’s when you decided to visit the beach scene — but as soon as I sat down at the bar and started watching Molly warm up, things started happening. Mustered and Catchup were on break…”
“When *aren’t* they,” groused Bendy. “At least when Natsu Lemon isn’t around — the boss.”
“Which is becoming more frequent; that could be part of it as well.” He put his hands behind his head. “But it was something about the dance that… awoken me. Part of me that was, er, dormant before.”
“Sex?” Bendy joked. “You’ve never had any problem there.”
“‘Course not,” Fisher reinforced to his sometimes erotic pal — just every once in a while. “Something else. The dance told a story. The *music* told a tale. I believe the song was called ‘OTR.'”
“‘On the Run’? responds Bendy quickly. “Over the Rainbow’? I have both of them in my database. If you wish, I could even sing both at once.”
“No. No more wacky combos for a while.” But then Fisher realized Bendy was totally on to something in his prescient manner. It *was* a combo of those songs. *Another* wacky combo, two in one day. And perhaps intimately connected. Yes, it had to be so. He blew out a large puff of air. A chill also passed through his body.
“So anyway,” he began again after the reflective pause, “I started remembering stuff about the spaceship. About the regeneration. Dr. I.C. Yourinsides.”
“She prefers Dr. Ice Cream lately,” corrects Bendy. “But: spaceship?”
“Yes. We were taken away from New Island and then placed here. This *new* New Island.”
“That’s a horrible name. Why don’t you just name it after yourself.”
“Why don’t *you*?”
“OK,” acquiesced Bendy. “Lord Bendington the Third’s Island it is.”
Fisher shakes his head again. “No, let’s just use your original suggestion. Name it Fishers Island. Or maybe just Fisher Island. Either one… 1/2 and 1/2. Like a fisherman or several fishermen live here, or were seen here. Fishing or something, I suppose.”
Bendy splashes around water in his pool. “Alright.”
“Now about the spaceship…”
(to be continued)
Full Moon rising over Full Moon.
Welcome to Part 2!
Policewoman Mary says: “No tree beings in the alleyway. Move along.” Gliph or Glyph complies.
Glyph wonders what Gliph is looking at here (and visa versa).
Time for Gliph or Glyph to go home.
Or is it?
“No trees allowed here!” cries the pointing manager to studying Glyph or Gliph. “Get back in The Wall with the others where you belong! NOW!”
F-ck, Roger Pine Ridge thought. It actually worked! But what to do now??
Sh-t. I’ve been spotted.
Wall, The 02
“What do you see outside the window?”
“Umm, a mound?”
“Good. That’s the mound where we lost Hector and Lewis. And two fine Russian Greys they were!”
“Yes. Sorry to hear about the loss of your alien friends, doctor,” Tronesisia responded.
“I.C., please. As in Ice Cream.”
“Now turn to your right.”
“What do you see now?”
“This is the night I’m going to do it,” Roger Pine Ridge mutters in the general direction of Natali/Molly. Another day off for the latter, but she was too interested this time not to care. Roger was going through the door, he said. She’d heard the story before — a choice between green and red. Which way to flip, etc. She only understood a portion of what’s been uttered by the sad former Floydian, but resonance was there. She too had made a similar decision. Her alter ego: Molly (Lustrous). Colors again; violet and orange in her case.
“The other wizard chose red,” she tried to help. “It turned out okay. Ultra successful film franchise and all. String of best seller books.”
“Yeah, but it may have turned out better if he’d been clad in green. Obscurity has its rewards. Hidden in the depths, the mud, the *muck*. A jewel in the rough. Not rough: just a jewel in hiding. Alexandrite, perhaps. Best of both worlds.” He sighed. “One way to find out.”
“So you’re going through with your trip to Corsica, huh.”
“Short stop on Jeogeot first, though — Dewey, weirdly enough. ‘Nother map synch.”
True, pure water bubbled and splashed just outside the door.
“You’ve made a wise decision, Roger Waters, um, Pine Ridge,” spoke the green doppleganger standing before him. “Obscurity here we come!”
2 fer 1
Green Squirrel sat patiently on his tiled roof, biding his time and waiting for another part time assignment at Diagonal Alley (etc.) just beyond the hills over there where his wife Huma was currently exploring. What more was there to do?
Greentop, she thought from afar, looking at the one their house was wedged into the side of. I’ll explore that peak next.
“Tronessissia,” the witch Mid Hazel hissed back in Jeogeot. “Should’ve known.”
Fisher was having one of those dreams where all he could do was sit in a particular spot and look around.
A man with a red cross on his chess beckoned him down off his perch to play chest, insisting he take white.
“Black goes first,” he said after Fisher is seated, promptly sliding a pawn to King 4. Fisher found he was frozen again, unable to protest the rules change. The pieces moved before him against his will. It was over in 13: black triumphs once more. “Boris Spaskey!” he cussed, then imagined a black crow perched on the tombstone of a freshly dug grave. He didn’t dig it. He didn’t!
Objects spread beneath the waters in all sorts of mad ways.
A captain and his trip.
Dorothy at the beginning of both the yellow and red bricked roads. Spinning.
Another dreamer floated nearby, a mermaid.
She was having a slightly different dream where Fisher sat at a red desk and watched several stationary red spots in front of him.
When he moved, they moved (slightly).
It was time to talk to the red brain-heart.
“What’re you checking out bud?” a concerned Bendy asked his best friend Fisher who was looking at his hands.
“I think I cut myself on that old ferris wheel car in my dream last night. Is that possible?”
“Anything’s possible in a Wonderland, I suppose,” responded the robot. “Was this the spaceship again? Dr. Ice Cream?”
Fisher considered the question. “I guess it *could* have been. A captain was there. And a captain always has a ship by default. Right?”
“I reckon. Want another morning brandy? You can also pour some on that cut — if it is a cut — for disinfectant. But it just looks like a regular ol’ hand line from my perspective. Let me see.” Bendy examines his hand. “Yeah, definitely just a deep, reddish hand line. Heart, or perhaps head. Have you ever had your palms read? And this time I don’t mean by blood, ha ha.”
Fisher thought back. “Maybe when I was drunk once in Bennington North. Lots of palm readers there, going along with all the (tree) palms.”
“Lindens?” Bendy asked about the trees.
“No. Just regular mesh products. Like what’s on the original Fisher’s Island. The tiny one we erupted up to in our pink car from Second Lyfe’s vast underground. Or was it blue?”
“We better figure out such things before advancing the book further. This is 10. Often times 10 is a construction sign on a path one can progress no further upon. Like in The Swamp. You know, with The Cube.”
“I *don’t* know that, Bendy. How could I, as a character in such a book, know about The Swamp and The Cube? But of course I guess there’s always The Dreams.”
“It’s where photography will be reborn. 10 is the limit, Fisher. We’ll have to live inside The Cube after that. In The Swamp.”
He started studying his hands again, seeing something in the patterns. “Can’t wait.”
“Oh I almost forgot to mention. I’ve been seeing *robots* around lately.”
“Mirrors?” Fisher joked.
“No. Actual real flesh and blood, er, nuts and bolts robots. A little one who motored up to me and introduced himself about a week back. Walldo he called himself, obviously after the town’s famous wall. But why? Then — I can’t believe I forgot to tell you this — I saw another one from more of a distance. And she looked like… Nah, it isn’t possible I know. But, get this, she looked like *Tronesisia*.”
“Get out of here. We know Tronesisia perished in the New Island catastrophe. Actually she perished before that, being frozen in the Artist Point Interactive display, apparently by this powerful witch named Hazel or Mid Hazel or something.”
“She’s old,” inserted Bendy. “But anyway, I called toward her — she was walking on the beach near that mound with the dead Russian Greys.”
“I know the place,” Fisher said, nodding his head.
“But then she just walked behind the mound from my perspective and never came out the opposite side. I hastened over to the beach — nothing inside. Just the Greys there, sprawled on the ground at the entrance, like usual. No Tronesisia. Maybe I imagined it?”
“Let’s go look at the scene of the crime — help take my mind off these crazy dreams.”
“Yeah, they’re getting crazier,” said Bendy. “Curiouser and curiouser, even.”
“Do you remember *this*, Bendy?”
(to be continued)
I’ve been sitting at this crazy console looking toward the entry teleporter for about 15 hours now, Bendy thought to himself. *No one* has shown up. I hope Fisher is enjoying his crazy dreamy time. Is this a deserted ship? Like a desert isle? he then thought. Dead Greys? (Hector, Lewis, Gerry) Did they represent the *entire* crew?
But of course there’s Fisher’s dreams of Dr. Ice Cream and being revived here. We *had* to come here to this new New Island in some way, Fisher told him, which was a logical deduction. Red and green together making a whole. Or perhaps a hole.
Spocari entered. Bendy had missed him teleporting up while daydreaming.
The space captain spotted the robot and drew his weapons. “Identify yourself, stranger. It is not logical that you sit there in Willard’s place. Where is Willard? Identify yourself.”
“Um, Willard had the, er, day off. Yeah. He’s sick as well. And he fell… down some stairs. He’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Lies!” Spocari declared in his deep, level voice. “Dratted robot lies. That’s why you should all be on the surface and not up here… lying all the time. Down there in the muck and grime is fine. Bar Lemon,” he then stated. “Did you come up from Bar Lemon?”
Bendy dropped the pretense which he wasn’t good at anyway. “Er, no. From the mound. With the Greys. Dead.”
“Hector, Lewis and Gerry?” Spocari offered. “Fine alien men all. They will be missed. And of course I can survive as well on the surface like you lot. But no other biological agents aboard. Just I. Do you know why robot? How smart and wise are you? Are you like Walldo and just a photo droid? Or, well I can’t say her name out loud because of orders.”
Tronesisia! Bendy thought to himself. She *is* alive! “No,” he then answered Spocari. “I do not know why you can survive on the surface and not other biological agents on this ship.”
“I’ll give you a hint.” He readjusted his phaser and then cut the palm of his left hand with a tiny beam to reveal blood. Green all right.
(to be continued?)
“Bring me out of it in 5 minutes Lt. Gunnhead.”
“You – are – so – amaaa – zing, caap – tain,” the 12 foot tall robot beside him, with a “gun head” indeed, clunked out from a larger, stubbier nozzle that acted as his official mouth. “Soon – you – will – not – need – regen – er – aaation – at – aall.”
“Hopefully. I don’t know how Dr. I. C. does it. 30 minutes every 3 hours now? *I* wouldn’t even make it, perhaps.”
“Paaain – ful?” sputtered the robot. “You – said – beefore — no – paaain.”
“I lied, Gunnhead. I’m learning from you lot.” Cpt. Spocari smiled steadily at Gunnhead as the brief regeneration began, emphasizing how successful he was at hiding a wince now.
“Quaal – i – ty – over – quaan – ti -ty – yes,” nodded the watching, awed robot. “Greeeen.” I think we have a bit of a ro-bro crush going on here.
“Captain Spocari,” requested Dr. I.C. from the deck immediately below.
“Not – NOW. Regen – er – aaation.”
“Yes. I now see that process is occurring from my monitor, Lt. Gunnhead. Thank you for the explanation — and the warning.” Dr. I.C. had learned to be kind to the towering robot at all times. To save from rages; don’t want any more rages. No indeed. “But we have another transfer coming aboard. The yellow fog is forming even now.”
Lt. Gunnhead quickly calculated that it had been 3 weeks, 2 days, 4 hours, 37 minutes, and 53 seconds since the last such transfer. And this after they came so fast immediately after the catastrophe. Fisher, Bendy, Hector, Lewis, Gerry, but then no one until now. “I – wiill – bring – hiim – out,” he acquiesced. The robot knew this could be a very important, new development. The numerous guns making up his head would remain unfired for now. Retractors: on.
“Yes. It’s phasing in now — a woman. I think.” Dr. I.C. looks over, then checks the vitals again on her monitor. “Yes. Definitely female.” Yay! she celebrates inwardly. Finally someone to talk to.
Picard’s voice sputtered over the staticy intercom. “Captain Nemoy?”
“Yes? What is it?” came the deep, level voice, doused with a good amount of irritation. Oh he truly *hoped* he didn’t have to go up into *space* again and deal with this or that. He so loved it here in his underwater lair. But Chief Communication Officer Justin Picard’s voice was almost always a harbinger of such things.
“Just a friendly reminder from Dr. I.C. Yourinsides that you have that debriefing with the new transfer in 15 minutes in the War Room. It’s on Deck 1 of 15…”
“Yes, yes, I *know* where the space station’s War Room is.” Dufus, he tacks on to himself. Spocari Nemoy had totally forgotten about the scheduled meeting. The fascinating topic of analyzing and then quantifying the possibility of sub-atomic sea horses will have to wait.
“Penn Mann??” questioned Spocari to Dr. I.C. after teleporting directly into the War Room 30 minutes later. It was a red flagged landmark in his inventory: red for trouble. “What’s our director doing in this meeting? Was there a problem with the production? Besides the fact that we’re still in August and we’re almost halfway through this Collagesity graphic novel called ‘2018 *Later*’. What’s the next one to be called: ‘2018 *Even* Later’?”
“We have another, different quandry now,” Penn Mann thought into both their brains with a thin voice. “Mrs. Blue Jay Wade is 4 months pregnant but is perfect for the part. However, ‘Collagesity 2018 Later’ is scheduled to run through the middle of October, when the baby will definitely start to show.”
“Then just use camera angle trickery,” groused Spocari Nemoy. “Like they did with Lucy Ricardo in ‘Bewitched’. Hide her behind some grocery bags, etcetera.”
A pause of about 30 seconds. Then: “She has an understudy, but it is a biker chick. I know you hate working with those kind after that remake of ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’, Captain.”
Captain Spocari Nemoy’s face screwed up until he recognized the error. “It was ‘The Wild One,’ Penn Mann.” Pen*head* he thought inwardly, then said: “For a director you often don’t seem to know a lot about movies.”
“Marlon Brando in both, yes,” came Penn Mann’s voice again in their heads. “My mistake. But I will also correct you: you’re thinking about Elizabeth Montgomery in the ‘Bewitched’ show. Lucy Ricardo starred in that more famous tv trope “I Love Lucifer”.
“Alright, enough of this,” Dr. I.C. Yourinsides spoke up. “We have to make a decision about Mrs. Blue Jay Wade. All she’s going to do is scream about her husband’s head being pulled off by Big Red. I’ve read the proposed script. Let’s go with the biker chick and save us a lot of trouble. This coming from a woman and a mother of 7.” Then she couldn’t help herself. “*Look* at me,” she offered, indicating her slim waist and overall figure. “Would you even know I had *one*?”
“Okay,” returned Penn Mann, not looking over at the many eyed alien beside him (since he himself didn’t have any eyes — no mouth, no eyes). “We’ll start Kelley DeForrest tomorrow. Sorry Captain Nemoy. Biker chick it is — the women have spoken.”
New Fisher Island
“I was able to pull the interwebs up this time, Baker — Pitch! I just had to set my group to Blue Feather. Wrong group before — too much shopping for clothes, I suppose.” She laughs a bit.
“Right. Getting right to it, this is Fisher Island, Alabama in front of us, Bill slash Wheeler. In an alphalist of islands named Fisher in our user’s US of A…”
“Soon to be destroyed,” interrupted
“Well, let’s not rush it.”
Baker Pitch continued. “Our Fisher Island in Wisconsin next to one of only 2 New Islands — and we’ve identified some oddities involving that *second* New Island, in Georgia…”
“Which we won’t get to tonight. Go on…”
“In an alphalist of islands named Fisher, this Fisher Island, Wisconsin comes last. But if we *rotate* back to the first of the list, Fisher Island, Alabama would be next.”
“Notice on this map, Fisher Island (Alabama) is quite bigger than the one in Wisconsin. We now think this could be an *evolution* of the energy of Fisher Island, even further beyond New Island now. Wisconsin was a base to talk about the transfer from one to the other. But here in Alabama we have what seems to be the true center of the energy.”
“Alright. When are we going to talk about the mounds?”
In a minute, Bill.”
“The first thing we need to do to prove this is to *expand* our idea of Fisher Island here. Below the actual Fisher Island, on the much larger island in the Mobile Bay delta containing the mounds you just mentioned, there is a Fisher Lake, and also a *Lower* Fisher Lake. Together they form a kind of loose diagonal running across the larger island — with the mounds again. The concept of Fisher seems to be expanded or inflated to cover the entirety of the larger island. And we can prove this by noting some anomalies between this larger island and the Fisher’s Island in Our Second Lyfe, namely the abrupt discoloration of the surrounding river on the western side, and also the matching curves of not only the western rivers in each case, but also that internal river running from Mifflin Lake on the Alabama side — quite obvious, really, if you study it. You can see that as we switch to satellite view of the island.”
“Let’s skip that, Pitch. I know what you’re talking about. To me — and I’m *still* the most important one to convince — Fisher Island has expanded to become the larger island with the mounds. Next topic please.”
“Well, just moving a bit southwest of this officially expanded Fisher’s Island, on the Mobile County side of Mobile Bay, we have a population place named Axis — only one in US — and then just below that, a Pennsylvania — again, only one in the US of A, besides the state of Pennsylvania. But that is a state and not a town.”
“I know the difference.”
“Now remember, Axis asked Eraserhead Man for the fire demon Gus in (Collagesity) novel 9 so that he could make his High Castle *mobile*. And, expanding again, we can see he became even more mobile and moved from New Island to Fisher Island, perhaps much to his surprise. He went groundside again, wasn’t harmed like the other biological agents in the spaceship (already there), and located Ruby in her democratic empire just east of Meat City, changing into Tin Tin for disguise. But I think that whole subplot has gone haywire, Bill. Interference by Gwin, who is the same as Jill MacGill in Eraserhead Man’s Urbane Blue production.”
“You’re making my head hurt again, Pitch. The proximity of this expanded Fisher Island in Alabama to Axis and Pennyslvania is beyond chance, yes. Axis becomes Mobile through Pennsylvania — which is Eraserhead Man because of all the Twin Peaks stuff in that state.”
“Pennsylvania. Not Alabama.”
“Plus — he’s a pencil. That’s his nickname too: Pencil. Like Pennsyl(vania).”
“So,” continues Bill. “Eraserhead Man — Pennsylvania — gives Axis Gus so that the latter can become Mobile — in his High Castle –”
“And this mobility eventually lands him beyond New Island onto Fisher Island.”
“We should end with a picture of the mounds — dominated by one large mound, just like *our* Fisher Island. These are in the northwest corner of the expanded Fisher Island, Alabama.”
(to be continued)
Bendy enjoyed his new job as receptionist for the spaceship that Dr. I.C. Yourinsides and Capt. Spocari Nemoy and others worked in. The latter passed through every morning on his way down to Wallytown and the surface, and also passed by around 6:00, 6:30 in the evening when he returned. Bendy had only seen Dr. I.C. once so far — no real need for her to descend to this lowest deck (with the highest number, though: 15) since she is still unable to go groundside because of the continuing effects of the New Island radiation, even though they are no longer that near New Island. Fisher or Fishers Island is their home now. Their New Home. As stated previously, Spocari’s saving grace in this respect is his not-red-but-green blood.
From his switchboard console, Bendy had access to *some* of the ship’s information and history. It was that Bottle Mound in Alabama which made all this possible — and necessary. The two dead Greys at *Wallytown’s* mound (of similar height — a doppleganger mound, in effect) are not really dead, nor Greys. Hector and Lewis, and also likewise deceased Gerry slumping against an interior wall, didn’t really exist. Something else was going on. That’s why they haven’t been buried. They are merely “signs”.
Former receptionist Willard Picard had just moved to Chicago in the Real World to work at a newspaper, father Justin’s dream of the young man eventually succeeding him as the ship’s Chief Communication Officer be damned. Thus the reason the post was vacated when Bendy teleported up and then met a surprised Cpt. Nemoy about a week back. “It is not logical that you sit there in Willard’s place,” you might recall him saying at the time while training several guns on his head.
The robot reports on Wallytown were blocked to Bendy. No possibility of getting the scoop on Tronesisia, then — for now. Just the info about the Alabama Bottle Mound and attached Nehi Indians, as well as histories of the ship’s crew such as Nemoy, Yourinsides, and Picard (both of ’em). The ship was called Cuthand (CU-than), after both a witch and a wizard who either were married or siblings; Bendy couldn’t conclusively conclude from the information at hand.
(to be continued)
any red-blooded man could succumb
“So this is supposed to be some kind of re-creation of the Nehi Indians’ Bottle Town,” grumbled Captain Spocari Nemoy, standing on the edge of the sim and staring across a shallow bay — perhaps another, larger borrow pit even — toward Wallytown’s main beach. “I doubt it, but I have to examine all angles before the Great Descent. Orange versus Purple.”
He checks his watch on his laser weaponed arm. “10:00am: better get over to Bar Lemon and talk to Natali or, ahem, Molly Lustrous again about all this,” he continued talking to himself. “I of course have to filter what she says through my radical logic, but the babe’s a total fount of information, lemony past and all. Plus I kind of like watching her dance; must appeal to my human side.” But he better watch that, else the green blood immunity might be negated.
“No dancing today?” queried the disappointed Spocari.
“Later on in the afternoon, yeah,” gruffed Natali, awkward in motion when out of character but silky smooth as Molly Lustrous, Queen of Dance. Queen of Lemony Past, she also became as that character. But Natali didn’t know so much. Natali only knew there were secret passages underneath Bar Lemon that needed to be explored today; needed to be shown to this deep, level voiced alien-man who was more attractive to Molly than herself. Molly felt he was in danger of tilting toward the wrong side (Orange?), thus gave control over to Natali this morning. “Just in here,” she beckoned at the web covered entrance of the sewer tunnel. “Follow me.”
“Errm, okay. Another dead Grey. So what?”
“No? Looks Grey to me.”
The large headed alien on the bed began to stir, sat up. He looked around nervously, then relaxed.
“Ahh, Natali. So I’m still not discovered, phew.” He wipes his substantial forehead of some developed perspiration. “Bring any of my special
beer brew down here from the bar by chance? Because I’m *out* of it.”
“I’d like to hire you for a job Detective Strevor. I’m looking for my brother. Billy.”
What a peculiar thing, thinks Philip Strevor before answering. *I’m* looking for a Billy.
“I’ll take the case.”
“Got a job today, Marion. Looking for *Billy*.”
Marion Harding stared at the tv screen a bit. Then: “*Our* Billy?”
“Dunno.” Philip Strevor shifted his weight on the couch. “Go ahead and hit unpause. Just wanted to tell you that before we got into the whole atomic bomb thing.”
“Have to think about that one.”
“Yep. Sure will. Find out soon enough, I suppose. If I can find him.”
“Her,” Marion Harding corrected. He picked up the remote.
The explosion continued.
“This is the human who is looking for me, Spocari. Yet he has changed now. Drastically. We have *both* changed.”
“And you say this is your *brother*? How does *that* work?”
“He *was* my brother. As I said, we have both changed — drastically. This place, this town, has changed us both. Made us into monsters. In lemony times we use to rule together at the top of the mound. That’s where I became addicted to my special brew, the stuff that saves me down here. As one of the top dogs, or at least sidekick to the head honcho, I was afforded my own drink. My brother backed me up, didn’t leave my side even though I embarrassed him again and again. I even *pissed* my special brew in public, Spocari. Mr. Yellow they called me after that incident. At least down here.”
Dr. Spocari Nemoy spoke into his head microphone which also acted as a recorder currently. “Are you getting all this up there, Picard?” A confession he was receiving, in essence.
“Sure. But who’s the brother?” spoke Chief Communication Officer Picard in his ear. “Get the brother’s name. We think it’s Jimmy but just want to check.”
“He’ll come after me,” continued Billy. “He’s changed,” he reinforced. “Nothing like he was. This place, this town changes you.” He then looks Spocari over real good, wondering what *he* was before.
“Ground Zero, my friend,” spoke Philip over the music. “Ground Zero.”
Staring at the Jack Daniels whiskey bottle in front of him, Marion nodded.
“Over the Rainbow” and “On the Run” combined.
That last track was simply beautiful, Tronesisia. It’s as if Judy Garland came back from the dead and took the mic again.”
“Thank you. My friends call me Sissy. Please. Call me Sissy.” She winked her robotic blue eye seductively at Philip Strevor. Then she did the same to Marion Harding seated beside him, except with the other eye. Two blue eyes.
“And your Pink Floyd rendition, Rocky. What can I say but wowzers. Wowzers! You both are so great.”
“We appreciate it,” chipped in bass voiced Rocky Rocco, who hasn’t been seen since way back in Collagesity novel 6. “I had an excellent teacher for that one.”
Tronesisa nodded in agreement. “Excellent indeed.”
Rocky leans over and pats Tronesisia’s silver knee. “And you too, dear.”
Tronesisia suddenly gets a sad, faraway look in her eyes. “It is so, it is so.”
“Sooo… let’s get down to business.” Unglueing his gaze from the bottle still in front of him, Marion Harding opens the briefcase full of money.
“L$50,000,” said Philip without looking. “It’s all we have right now.”
“That will do,” returned Tronesisia.
“Yeah, that’ll do,” agreed Rocky quickly. Tronesisia and Rocky steal a winning glance at each other.
“He’s in here.”
“God I hate spiders, Marion. You go first.”
“Yes, thank you Penn Mann. But we kind of already *knew* where the mound was on this sim map.” Waste of thin space he sometimes is, she thought to herself, but only huffed outwardly.
Embarrassed, Penn Mann moved away from the map and propped himself back up against the wall beside Dr. I.C. Yourinsides. After considering the next step, he thought into their heads again. “Give me your idea of how Tronesisia — Sissy — and this Rocky being I hadn’t met until yesterday’s rehearsals — fine fellow, though — tell me how they knew about Billy’s secret hideout. Any clues?”
“We don’t *need* clues, Penn Mann. Mr. Director.” Dr. I.C. blew out air again. “It *happened*. Tronesisia and Rocky noticed that there were 3 extra prims on the property the other day. They’re very meticulous about counting, since they leave full building permissions on that property for the various entertainers passing through. They used remote viewing to pretty quickly find the cube, the most solid and rounded of the 3, just under the floor of the nightclub. This led (them) to the other two objects linked to the cube — the copy of ‘I, Robot’ by another Carter person apparently [sic], and then the Jimmy Carter cutout that represents Billy’s *real* brother, or what he takes to be his real brother anyway. It’s all brainwashery, though: the alien disguise, everything. He’s really human through and through in this production. But he’s not really a he.”
Penn Mann considered this as well. “What about the public urination, then, the pissing with the [delete name]? And Mr. Yellow. Or Yellows, 2 of ’em. He drank the special brew, but is then discovered pissing it back out at that public landing spot for Wallytown, all out in the open and all. But it takes two Mr. Yellows, combined, to accomplish this. What does that mean?”
Dr. I.C. threw up her hands, then figuratively punted. “You take it Spocari Nemoy.”
“Captain,” admonished Nemoy. “Use the title when speaking to me in this war room. I outrank you.”
Dr. I.C. blew him a raspberry with this. “Go ahead then, *Captain*. Give our Director Mann a dose of some more truth. He wants fiction, we give him reality back.” She turned to Penn Mann again. “All this *happened* to us — get that through your thin, ink filled head.” She looked him over. “Which side is your head anyways?”
“Biker Chick,” went Penn Mann on a tangent again in their heads. He had this in common with his Urbane Blue director doppleganger: Eraserhead Man. Without eyes, without mouth, he turned his attention to the black and pink clad woman sitting beside Nemoy, who was markedly leaning in the opposite direction from her, obviously uncomfortable with her presence here. “We seem to need a fresh perspective on this,” Penn Mann thought. “Give us what you think?”
Dr. I.C. Yourinsides spoke up again. “Biker Chick doesn’t know anything; she has just arrived.”
“Nevertheless,” insisted Penn Mann inside their heads. “I am *still* the director of the production, despite what you may think, Good Doctor.”
“Oh Lord,” she exasperated. “Go ahead, then, Biker-Chick-not-even-with-a-name-yet. Tell us what you got.”
“Heidi,” she piped up in a thin voice after a pause. “My name is Heidi.” But Nemoy and Yourinsides both realized it was actually Penn Mann speaking *through* this person. She looks down at her hands, wiggles them around. She reaches up and touches her face, her eyes, her mouth.
And then she touches something else. “How do you like *these* apples?”
Spocari Nemoy started to feel red-blooded again. This is what he didn’t like about biker chicks, among many other things. But this above all else. What would Marlon Brando do? he thinks for not the first nor last time.
He makes a mental note to schedule another regeneration session with Lt. Gunnhead asap.
“New Island, Rocky; Mid Hazel’s place to the right. If you cross that bridge, go down that road, you may never come back.”
“I hear ya, sister. Let’s go back to the night club. *Our* night club now. No renting any more. Don’t dwell on all this bad stuff. Turn your back on it. Literally… turn around.”
So Tronesisia takes Rocky’s advice and pivots away from the bridge to face full on the island that is truly home now. Her new New Island. Or at least Fisher’s.
She has become mobile again and will not return.
“You admit you are the girl that goes by California.”
“Cal, yeah. That’s me.”
“You have an unregistered navel. You declared All Orange back in 1914, before such things even existed. Do you admit you are also a time traveler?”
“I can admit that. I am allowed. Now… give me something hard.”
Natali Woodhull did not respond immediately. Then: “I’ve lived here since the lemony days. I know a thing about citrus.”
“Good for you Natali. Can I let Rocky in now? We must practice for the big ball 2 weeks from Friday. End of story. Completio.”
Natali paused again. “Not quite yet,” she decided. “As California, you are created by a man named Wilson, true?”
“I *am* Wilson. I am the 28th president of the United States of America born in Staunton, Indiana.” She smiled.
“But… you are a woman,” points out Natali.
They sat there for a while. They could hear Rocky rapping on the door of the coffee shop, saying stuff like, “come on,” and, “let me in already.” Finally he seemed to go away. Tronesisia nodded her head a little with this. “It’s going to be difficult for him to come back. He’ll get lost in the city lights, he will.”
“I’m sorry. But this is important. There’s a wall in this town of course. In olden days it was called the Green Monster, not because of its color but because it ate green — trees to be specific.”
“General Grant allows glimpse into Navelencia at Orange Cove,” says Tronesisia cryptically, and then reaches down to lift her metal shirt a bit, exposing the orange in question. “Green Monster. It has a hole in it.” She circles the navel with a silver index finger, then lowers the shirt back and beams blue eyes at Natali. “I heard you used a recording of our signature song for a dance last week.”
“I did,” admitted Natali, hoping Tronesisia wasn’t mad about the borrowing (what was *that* about?). “But just for a particular customer. On a whim, if you will. I got it from Chris.”
“Did it have a certain effect?” Tronesisia’s pace was crisp and precise.
Natali didn’t know. She recalls she was really into it. Trance dance. “I’m not sure,” she offered. “Can you explain?”
Tronesisia got up out of her chair and danced the same exact dance, right there on the spot. Natali Woodhull’s mouth remained agape at the beginning. How? she thought. How?
And then she began to remember.
There was a ship.
“Tronesisia, in her sly way, has led us back to VHC City’s Realm of Orange, also known as Sphere of Influence. George is pictured here peering intently at it in Collagesity novel 4 — scrutinizing…
… and then also here in the current novel (playing Young Herbert Dune in EM’s ‘Urbane Blue’ production). He peers at the orange in each case. Circular perfection.”
“No, you don’t get it, Pitch. I should know. He *doesn’t* peer at the orange, but just outside. Around the outside but not within. That’s what Tronesisia is warning us about.”
“We’ll have to bring her back, Bill. To Collagesity, I mean.”
“Baker Blinker’s old house…”
“Of course. Just like before.”
“But there’s Bendy to consider.”
“Bendy and Tronesisia — or Tronesisia and Bendy — go the way of Fisher and Lisa.”
“Or Lisa and Fisher.”
122/122, thinks Baker Bloch playing Pitch Darkly. Accidental uncovery — The Diagonal has power still! As researcher Angus Nuffin, aka Sid, has recently stated. Fantastic. A way to take focus off of the Omega continent and back onto Heterocera. I *knew* there was more to find here. Energy still present. Let’s see how Sid fits on the bed (but mustn’t linger).
Ahh, yes. Perfect. This feels right.
Angus Nuffin/Sid. Back on the case again.
In the Sister sim of VHC City, Sid stands on The Diagonal at 148/148 and notices a diagonally placed stack of books.
149/149: He stares at a blocked grey wall full of white lettered names. “Songwriters and Musicians” they are collectively labelled.
Back to the book stack, which you can sit upon. Quite a few poses. Being a dad himself (and a swell one in our estimation!), he likes how the stack is made by DaD Designs. Sid picks up a book from the pile, opens it at random, and begins reading:
For over a year he had been beating his way along the south shore of Lake Superior as a clam digger and a salmon fisher or in any other capacity that brought him food and bed. His brown, hardening body lived naturally through the half fierce, half lazy work of the bracing days.
Fisher again, he thinks. Fisherman. Change of name. Just around the corner in the next room is an Apple Fall Sunbleached Sete — directly on The Diagonal this time. Can he take the book in there to read further?
Yes, but at 142/142 he quickly, almost instantly, falls asleep and has a dream about craftily editing fig leaves.
He wakes up, gets up, stares down at the couch. Midday already. Quite a nap, he thinks, and ponders on the dream he then remembers. 2 statues trying to make their way through a trapping waterfall into a brave new world. Bickering about which sex is stronger, and who will take on which role. Adam and Eve, he realizes. The couch did this. Fall from Perfection.
But he better teleport back to the trailer and feed the dogs (Newte and Jaspo); they won’t eat for anyone else in the family, not Ragdoll, not Indigo, and certainly not the rather seedy dimension skipper they took on as a boarder since Collagesity novel 9 ended who presently goes by the name of Golden Jim. Sid had unspoken plans for him, though.
“You have to pay attention to everything around you. But it all must reference back to The Diagonal somehow.” He stared at Golden Jim in front of him, standing on said line just like himself. “How does it feel?”
“No different than anywhere else,” confessed his current boarder, a fellow shapeshifter like Angus (Sid Viscous — present in the scene), and his daughters Indigo (Vanille Mills) and, now — as of the end of the last Collagesity novel — Ragdoll (Shirley Boot). Just passing through, he said. But Angus/Sid knew differently. “No different than back in the trailer, for example.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” encouraged Sid, knowing the strange yellow dude was lying. He turned to his right. “Now let’s go see what we have with Ms. Snowwhite Well.”
“See? This image has recently been seen in The Bakers’ blog as an element of Fisher’s dream nightmare over in Braynard’s Place.” Sid quotes the ending line here: “‘Whom Bee Thee?’ See how *well* this works, Golden?”
“I’ll have to check when we get back to Collagesity.” But Golden Jim knows how The Diagonal functions, and, indeed, it works very very well.
“Time to go on some tangents. Hope you brought your walking shoes.”
Golden Jim looks down. “I must confess that I did not.” But that was also a lie.
A mysterious object appears along The Diagonal at 193/195 Miata. Oscar the cat is *very* curious about what’s inside.
Once again, Golden Jim knows more than he’s letting on.
“Gonna be a cold one tonight, Bendy. But you make a great stove — quite toasty.”
“Thank you. I try.”
Fisher thinks this could be one of those nights he also employs Bendy for that other thing they don’t talk about much. Sure wish Lisa V. was here, he laments. I wonder how she is — way over there on the Corsica continent in her big ol’ houseboat. *Alone* hopefully.
Lisa the Vegetarian Smipson just found out about David Jaspers and her best friend Linda Halsey. That’s *it*, she steams. I’m leaving this stupid cartoon town and *never* coming back!
Madame Silver’s yellow figure is stuck no more, thanks to the fix by recently promoted Doll Pedlar Inc. employee Herbert Dune.
However, he appears to be in the doghouse with her tonight…
… but it’s actually just another, larger dollhouse they’re testing out.
She’s done with him for now. He knows this ensures another sale, though. Rich rich rich, up up up!
A mysterious stranger appears in Adgatetown knowing the whereabouts of Lisa’s missing brother Bartholomew.
It was always comforting looking out from the inside.
The Wall protects, the Wall hides. He could just stay here and talk to trees Lavender, Sprite and Poetry again, project his many photographs into their double souled brains (Poetry being the most receptive). But usually he just took the plunge and manifested on one side or the other. Too many photos yet to be taken! Shall it be California to the west or Nevada to the east tonight? he ponders, continuing to pivot back and forth between the two directions. Once out, there was no easy way back in. And it was risky moving between “states” through heavily trafficked holes in the wall.
Nevada it is tonight.
Sometimes earlier shots with less windlight work best.
That yellow lady having a fit again, maybe brought on by greasy snacks. But my code is record, not interact. I hope she will be all right.
Lavender’s friend Glyph or Gliph somewhat down the Wall likes to sneak into this place and watch shows. But I do not like cages. I do not like entrapments. I like to be free to roam. Still… it is part of my Wallytown experience and I will record.
The lady is gone, and these balls are exposed. Ah yes, I see. Just animations. The yellow lady will be all right.
Too close to opening in Wall. Must hide under pallet for 15 minutes and 23 seconds. 15:23 seems to work best for hiding. Then I can explore the alley. Trees are not allowed in the alley behind Drugstore Orange. Trees are not allowed in a lot of Wallytown places.
Sissy and Natali are here in the alley. I will talk to Sissy and Natali.
So Spocari’s plan worked, Dr. I.C. Yourinsides thought. I can breathe freely down here! No tiredness after 3 hours. But I better get back for another regeneration session with Lt. Gunnhead. No use risking everything at this point.
1/2 and 1/2
Like Tronesisia, Leeman or Leemon has also become mobile enough to make his way over from New Island to Fishers Island and its Wallytown.
But he’s only seeing half the story so far about Bottle Mound, etc. He’s stubborn like that.
“But as you can see, Molly and Tronesisia…”
“Natali,” interrupted Natali/Molly Lustrous. “When I’m out of costume, mind you. It’s more a contractual thing than a personal preference. The name Molly Lustrous© is copyrighted.”
“So I see. I will begin the last paragraph again, then.” Walldo the photo droid started once more. “I witnessed that transformation. Mr. Roger’s head became one and the same with the swirly, multicolored sphere he held in his cracked brown hands. I have pictures of the wall behind him, white or white-grey in hue. But as you can see, *Natali* and Tronesisia…”
He indicates the open space to his left where the wall in question formerly was.
“Catchup and Mustered! Stop pestering poor, drunk little Orange Boy and get back on the counter. Break time’s over!”
“I *had* a girl,” proclaims a still wobbly Fisher, leaning against the bar counter 15 minutes later.
Here we go again, thought Missus Lemon.
“And I let her get away.” Fisher takes a gulp of his fresh golden beer and looks down. “Yellow,” he explained.
“Like me?” Lisa the Vegetarian Smipson stood like a dream in the doorway to Bar Lemon.
Presidents’ Ball 01
“Now that Lisa has arrived on the scene, we’ll have to hide you down here,” proclaims Missus Lemon, happy about the reunion but concerned.
“A drugstore?” asks Fisher.
“Drugstore Orange?” elaborates Lisa, noticing the name on a sign.
“Ahh, you speak Japanese. Even more reason for concern.”
“I learned it while staying in Adgatetown over on the Corsica continent.”
“I know the place,” said Natsu Lemon, nodding. She touches the wall behind her. “Here is the secret door. Quickly — inside. Before someone sees us. I’m sorry it’s a little cramped. And — that other thing.”
“I can’t quite reach it, Lisa.”
“That blue book may hold the key to everything,” Lisa says, trying not to stare into his eyes. “Here. I’ll help. Maybe we can use one of those flasks over there to knock it down. But careful — we can’t *damage* it.”
“History of Wallytown,” says Fisher, watching Lisa get up and move to the table, also trying not to stare. “What *is* this place?”
“Here, let me see.” Fisher grabs the book, rereads the passage Lisa just summarized.
“Soon as we get out of here, Fisher, lover. I mean, as *soon* as we get out. I want you to ditch those bar layabouts Catchup and Mustered and dye your hair a different color. Blue would be nice. Green… anything.”
Fisher finishes up the section, looks forward with Lisa. “So it *is* a demon.”
Presidents’ Ball 02
“Hey Tronesisia, I think this little yellow girl in our user baker b.’s newest collage also happens to be Lisa Smipson of Corsica, coinkidinkally enough, last seen by these metallic peepers on New Island. Fisher had a massive crush on her there. It’s fantastic they get together now — just like *we* are now together.”
Tronesisia pries herself away from the featured picture of the foyer exhibit to rejoin Bendy, who has reverted to the name Lord Bendington the Third for the purposes of this royal gala. As a Baroness herself now, she kisses the Lord on the cheek, then, hand propped under chin, studies the work before her. She’s good with these kinds of analyses, just like a certain bee-person we all know and love.
“Ice Cream,” she then exclaims. “Dr. Ice Cream. This is about the recent (sexual) union between Captain Spocari Nemoy and the Good Doctor. Heidi, aka Biker Chick, turned out to be just a warm up. Same with Natali Woodhull, at least when she dons the role of exotic dancer Molly Lustrous.”
She turns back to the featured work.
“And ‘Fractured Violin’ is the same, a mixture of red and green blood. Human and Vulcan. Exchange of bodily fluids. That’s how Dr. Ice Cream Yourinsides will survive and thrive on this island, this Fishers Island. That’s how all red blooded humans and aliens alike will survive. Turn to different colors.”
“Funny how all these unions are taking place now in this Collagesity novel 10,” spoke Bendy. “You and I; Spocari and Dr. I.C.; Lisa and Fisher. We must be nearing the end.”
“I predicted 2 weeks ago to the day to Natali that the ball in all its guises would represent the endpoint: Completio. But we should go inside. Rocky is warming up without me. Then after our gig and signature song of ‘OTR’ we’ll have the introduction of the Presidents, all Democrats, all urbane blue Socialists discarding rough hewed, reddish exteriors. And then at the end we’ll meet the most liberal of all. For from now on it will always be Christmas in Wallytown and on Fishers Island as a whole.”
Bendy whistles in admiration of Tronesisia’s prescient
prowess powers. “I’m with you all the way, babe.” They hold hands and proceed within…
(to be continued)
Presidents’ Ball 03
“Still pissing in public, Billy? Where was it last time? Airport, I believe?”
Billy Bloodsworth turned to his sister-in-law. “Listen, we’re both here to support Jimmy C. and cheer him on for The Discarding. Let’s just get along together tonight, Lavender. We’ve all changed down here. Let’s accept that and move on.” He changed the subject. “Do you have your poem ready?”
“Poem?” queries Lavender.
Sprite on the other side of her takes another drink. Billy studies his pained face.
“Umm, how about you, Sprite? Poetry?”
“Sure. You know this special brew of yours is just shite, Billy. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I only drink it for medicinal purposes myself. About that poem…”
(to be continued)
Presidents’ Ball 04
“Money, get back / I’m all right, Jack / Keep your hands off my stack / New car / Caviar / Four-star daydream / Think I’ll buy me a football team.”
The gala crowd erupts, to which Sprite adds on top: “Tear down this wall, Mr. Orange!”. The crowd continues to clap. A “Tear Down The Wall” chant begins slowly, then builds, until Alo Bama takes the mic and motions everyone to calm down.
“*Freedom*. (pause) It’s what everyone wants, everyone cherishes.” Alo Bama indicates Sprite sitting back in the crowd. “Like our tree friend Mr. Sprite, waiting to be unencumbered by the shackles of The Wall, ready to join Wallytown as a *full* *fledged* *citizen*.”
The crowd claps enthusiastically again. “With inalienable rights,” he says over them, calming them down once more. “And established levels of treatment honoring decency, character (pause), respect.” “You go Alo!” someone shouts in the rear, prompting him to reply, “I’m going, I’m going. ” Scattered laughter is heard. “I’m telling it like it is.”
“I thought you were going to dramatically change into Green Squirrel or Roger Pine Ridge or something to show who you really are,” spoke Natali seated beside Sprite now, his date for the night.
“Ahh, it just didn’t seem to fit the bill. Didn’t feel right. It was *my* poem and that’s what counts.”
“I suppose… oh he’s starting to talk about the Bottle Mound indians now.”
“On the one hand,” Alo Bama extends his left arm and opens his hand. “Orange. On the other…” Alo Bama extends his other arm with the mic. “Purple… Violet, some say, although they prefer the former and we should respect (pause) their rights. And they’ve fought with each other, fought, fought, fought, down through the years, the centuries (pause). And what’s come of it, hmm?” A “free the trees” protest comes from the same person as before in the back. Alo Bama ignores it this time.
“Death is what came of it. And *disappearance* (pause) in time.”
“You know he really is quite the orator,” opined Dr. I.C. Yourinsides to Captain Spocari. But when he didn’t respond she found that he’d fallen asleep.
“*Really* Captain. But I guess you’re all knackered out from this afternoon, hehe. Twice a day keeps the doctor okay.”
“And now. (pause) The Mound. (pause) Comes here. Leemon or Leeman standing on the beach just beyond 1/2 refuses to even admit it is there. He can’t fully *see* (pause) this *new* New Island. The Greys *descend*…
… and fall backwards, face down (pause) in the sand.”
“When’s he going to get to Jimmy?” whispers Billy Bloodsworth on a back couch to Lavender. “I can tell he’s nervous up there, ready to come out of his shell like Alo Bama and Bill C. did before him.”
“Be patient,” replies his sister-in-law. “He has to get to the point in his own, circular way. That’s what makes him such a great speaker.”
“Jimmy was better.”
“Nice of you to say.”
(to be continued)
“And *then* what happened, Young Ruby?” asked Indigo on the left.
“Yes, please tell us more!” implored Indigo’s sister Ragdoll to her right.
“Well,” stated Ruby. “There’s a picture here, and then the text, let’s see, continues on the next page: ‘But just as the shell representing Mr. Peanuts’ rough hewed, reddish exterior started to crack, Madame Silver’s boos arrived and began attacking the city. Wallytown and its infamous wall were destroyed, freeing the tree beings living inside — those who survived. But like the legendary phoenix bird, the city rebuilt itself from the ashes. Trees and humans — all different colored beings with their different colored blood — began to live together in peace and mutual understanding. With no wall this time around, Fishertown, not Wallytown, became its name moving forward, after the island it continued to thrived upon. The boos were ultimately beneficial, although at first they seemed to spell The End.'”
Seeing empty space below this, Ruby turned the page to reveal a blank one, then checked the back cover before closing the book. “And that seems to be it, my friends.”
“Hmph. Good story,” offers Indigo.
“Yes. Good,” said Ragdoll, nodding. “Let’s start another one tomorrow.”
Ruby puts the book back onto the shelf with the other volumes.
“Well Ragdoll, I hate to disappoint you but it looks like the end of Mabel’s run of journals.” She counts them off: “Starts at one, yes, and ends… 4, 5, 6, 7… at 10.”
“Oh no,” exclaims Ragdoll, truly distressed. “What will we do now during our afternoon gatherings?”
“Yes,” adds Indigo. “We’ve gotten so use to reading and talking about them.”
Ruby’s wooden foot then kicks against something hard on the floor. “Oh wait, gals. Looks like there’s one more after all — must have fallen off the shelf.”
“Oh goody!” yelps Ragdoll.
“Happy days indeed,” purrs Indigo.
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2018 LATER”!