Zero was a figure of some importance so I decided to circle around him in a permitted pattern to indicate this. He marked my 5/4th time with his special watch.
Yoko 01 showed up and was mystified why she was already here in Heartsdale. And now the drama continues…
I was hot on a trail again. Zero also owned this Heartsdale horse, hitched in a small woods behind its central Blown-Apart store.
And there’s the *other* circling Yoko dummy.
the blue and the pink and the ??
“It really is a nice location, Baker Blinker. Sorry about the (missing) Mission.”
“‘Tis okay. Perhaps there’s another portal on this Isle of Heartsdale. Maybe Zero somehow? Connected to all the figures (numbers)?”
“Possibly. I plan to ride Teddy down to the bay soon. Maybe we’ll find more there. Remember, *laugh*, remember how you ran into Buurb down there with Precious Snowflake? Boy you had to amscray quick! Don’t want to confuse the young boy-girl any more than he/she already is/was/will be.”
“Yes, I am both Baker Blinker and Precious Snowflake at once,” speaks Baker Blinker, staring over at herself as the crows gather in the church spires once more. “But I’d like to add to my repertoire.”
“You had Tillie,” replied the male Baker quickly.
“Yeah, but a gaseous, dumpy clown doesn’t really count in the long run.”
“Karoz,” guessed Baker Bloch about the dismissal.
“I want to be — attractive.” No one brought up Wheeler but it was on their mind.
After a pause, Baker Bloch asked: “Will you be coming back to the *new* Collagesity over in Urqhart or thereabouts?” Baker didn’t ask if Karoz would be joining her; it was implied.
“I suppose the Temple of TILE remains an attractor (for Karoz primarily).”
“And the Julia House — still at the top of the waterfall. Might be a Julia*n* House now.” He smiles. He imagines Karoz smiling with him across the sea.
ice cream eyes
What happened in Room 03? she pondered while looking down at it. Did Jane kill hubby Ben Wolf just because he called her — *Plain*? Where’s Olive, I mean, June now? After the separation. The hills look lovely over there. I wish I could go hiking in them. My suit is too big for my torso.
She ends her reverie and turns in the old church with the high spires with the crows.
“Linda Halsey, yes,” Mid-Hazel spouts with her ancient, crackly voice while checking. “We lost track of you at Jim’s Bar. The bomb was dropped, true enough. How did you manage to get out? We know about the others. Please reveal.”
Heavily suited Linda Halsey stood her ground. She knew she was just a pawn in a bigger game that expanded across the galaxy, nay, the *universe*. And in the middle… well, a…
“Don’t say it again, Hucka Doobie.”
“*We* — just did.”
legs to stand on
The crows are still up there, thinks Venus down on the ground below the high spired church. Mid-Hazel is still here in Heartsdale — manipulating John.
And I am *certainly* unable to help now the Mission portal is gone. Right Snaily?
“Sometimes I don’t know where the blues begin and end, Esmerelda.”
Remaining silent, she stares out at the rocking and rolling boats as well. He’s obviously concerned about the waxing and waning Oesso logo on his chest, she thinks. Instability! The threat of re-absorption into the machinery. But she knows it also probably won’t happen. This was a test, after all. “Do that thing you do to the gas emblem,” requested the head honcho with her all white eyes spanning the universe itself but in a bad way. “See what happens; see if he has any weakness that we can exploit.” Nothing of significance spotted so far. He seems destined to leave again. “We can’t trap him,” she imagines saying to a displeased Mid-Hazel, dreading the rest of the day.
The Oesso logo remains stable now. He returns his attention to the table and the map upon it. “Any-way. Here it is, what you witches have been looking for. Mountainsburg to the west, Formosa — the LOST island — kind of to the north, Kate to the east. And a Little Rock in the middle, just enough to eventually get us out of New
York Orleans.” He then looks at the Cat-Witch’s colorful wafer cookies just beyond, wondering why the south pales in comparison. Further away than the rest from his angle? A symbol of Oesso itself? *Cat-Witch* is to the south, he reminds himself. The whole lot of ’em.
Esmerelda studies the map of Arkansas carefully, looking at the handwritten parts. Peter Oesso can’t cheat at this game because he doesn’t know how — yet. Best to strike a deal early before his presumptive ascent. “Sold,” she says. “You can have the girl.”
“Great.” He stares out again. “Now can you make at least *one* of these boats stop rocking so I can get the heck out of here??”
“If you get stuck at any one point, you can always go back to the Old Country to regroup,” the Man About Time softly spoke over to Newtonia Kashkow, who could barely hear what he says across the circle. Is this another time distortion? she thought. No, it’s just *him*. So mellow and meek for someone so important. Must be the effects of the travel.
“Collagesity,” he spoke more, “should become a focus again.”
Newtonia Kashkow took this in. “I know you are the same as Marcus Fox Smartville and so we are related.”
“True,” Man About Time admitted after a small pause.
“And you are *not* a sucker.”
“Only in the mind of the beholder. On this turf (Our Second Lyfe): no.” He sat confident in his tannish/goldeny brown, throne-like chair. This was his moment. He steps in to become the knight in tan armor. Or was that aroma. The smell of something hot. And unpleasant. No, that was just an anagram. He sits back up from a naturally slumping position, mind focused again away from the morass. That particular sometimes light brown substance will not play a role in this.
Oh, if she could only see what he felt. But the War between Mind and Senses wouldn’t allow it.
“I’m starting to really believe it would have worked either way, Hucka Doobie. Whether I stayed in Fordham on that high, arid Nautilus ridge or moved to Urqhart or thereabouts on the Corsica continent for a little more space and greener pastures — wouldn’t have mattered. *Both* choices are factored into the continuation of Our Second Lyfe, as especially chronicled through the photo-novels. Either way, we are still away from the sacred Rubi Woods and the heart that started it all. I had the perfect place, Hucka Doobie.”
“Not perfect,” responded the bee-friend who Baker Bloch befriended over 12 long years ago. A lifetime! “You didn’t have a regular 8192 bordering the woods. You *had* to move (to accommodate the 8192 Corsica Prime map). But I agree that either choice would have been okay. We’re more toward the end of these things than the beginning.” She stared at me with large, understanding eyes. I wondered who she was, deep down. And whether *we* would continue. “Good to think about this stuff now,” she reinforced across the way.
“Well,” he sighed and looked out across the landscape from their Perch perch. “Let’s take inventory.”
“Okay.” Hucka Doobie took another sip of tea laced with something a bit stronger in preparation.
“Mabel’s House. Is Mabel still around? I’ve been asking that for what seems like years now. And maybe they have.”
“She can be,” Hucka Doobie responded simply enough.
“What’s it doing up on that knoll, for example? That’s different (from Fordham).”
“Fork in the road,” Hucka Doobie said. “Choices made. A marker to mark the occasion by.”
“Hmm.” Baker Bloch scouted around for another object in the vicinity. “Barry X. Vampire’s house at the end of one of the two paths leading out of Collagesity in that direction. I suppose that’s an easy one. He’s kind of *writing* the current novels, Hucka. That’s his writing headquarters. Staring out at that rotating tire to
write compose ‘The Revolving Wheel’ or something.”
“We can *go* to these locations anytime you want to to get more of the story. And there *is* a story here.”
“All right let’s take Boos, then.”
(to be continued?)
“A new town has arisen beyond the revolving tire, Cathy Love Peace Hippie Child. We must attempt to match its energy!”
“Sounds *great*!” the chipper hippie girl said, eyeing the namesake tower from her vantage point while following Rhiannon to the table with the magic cards. But she said to call her Golden.
“Tsk tsk tsk. Oh dear. We better hurry.”
“Oh I feel *awful* again, Rhiannon.” Golden let the name slip go, given what just happened.
“Let’s start with a single.” She turned the just dealt card up.
She sat in the middle of 4 and realized this was matching the energy.
I must focus on the cottage that is and isn’t there, thought Golden/Rhiannon in her Goddess Garden. A one eyed deity also exists in the town over there with the tower. I know that the tower is both intact and fallen, and that the 2 town owners are both married and not married. Strange, she ruminated. Like one is absent as well.
I must speak to the deity. If I can.
“What – is – your – name?”
labyrinth at the Temple of TILE
It was an interesting color pattern and one she would end up studying for many years to come.
Now if I could only get the deity upstairs to speak something sensible. “I” just doesn’t cut it.
Southwest and Northwest (seed)
“Yeah I knew it was soda all along. I was just riffing you.” Phillip Linden was trying to act cool. Just because he *created* all this doesn’t mean he’s not still behind the times. Creators lose control of their creation. It’s a given once it’s let loose in the world. Real Life. No trademark on *that*.
“Soooo. Are you by chance part of the Yellow Group that’s, ahem, taken over? Through the peaks, I mean. I’m just asking because you’re…”
“Yellow?” the perpetually soda spilling man without a name so far finishes for the famed world creator. World of Lime that is. Lemon World is different. “I might be.” His cell phone rings — good timing. “I have to take this.”
“Is he there?” the ant being asked one of his loyal workers.
“Yeah. He’s here.” The yellow man stares over as Phillip’s head gets big again. Like a screwdriver.
“Put him on. I want to speak with him. About Rookwood,” the ant punctuates ominously.
“Everyone knows about the Ant Castle,” replies Golden Jim, glancing over at the structure perched on top of Yellowmoon Ridge, wearing it like an orange crown. “It’s where the ants emerge from the elephants trunk, turning it into, well, just Eleph. Peak, that is.
“And do you *know* the particular black ant that lives in the castle?” the mann next to him queries further about the mysterious object high in the sky. “Not Queen but King.”
“Boldon,” Golden Jim guesses, suddenly recalling the history of the place, the *smell*. The wax hardens and everything is recorded. It was a good work.
“He invented the telephone, you know,” The Mann spoke over. “That’s why he likes to use it so much. One could say he’s really *jazzed* about it.”
Upper West East Central Fenland (or thereabouts)
He decides to become Harrison Jett this morning, who seems to be the same as Young Harris the professor, perhaps a later incarnation. It was a logical choice, given the shirt he wore.
“Another Messed Up,” he observed about the art work before him, thinking back to the contract signed on that particular Weird-o Island. Not the one with the Upper New York virtual university. Not the one where that pseudo-God lives up in the aether somewhere — David something or ‘nother. Instead perhaps the *weirdest* one of the 3, but he can’t recall the name. He remembers… staying there. Perhaps he is still there.
Whose heart is left on the musical stand? He must think of Mozart and the critical error of Yoko Ona the witch. Hole in the center. But it wasn’t John’s. It was his! The walrus was… well, you know the story.
I think this has something to do directly with that Weird-o island I can’t recall the name of. Queer?
Better head back there for more clarification hopefully.
I recall now. This is where I met Messed Up.
I saved her from this place. Now she must save me.
“Come on. Pick up, pick *up*”
“Says here, Baker Bloch, that the Corona-V pirates have come back and are now focused in on Arkansas. New reports are coming in all the way from Mountainsburg to the west, Formosa a little to the north, Kate to the east, and, let’s see, I can’t read what’s south of Arkansas.”
“New Orleans,” spouts Baker Bloch, not in a good mood because of the news. He’d just posted a rant about it on Facef-ck.
The Arab squinted further. “New Something, that’s for sure.” As hard as he tried he couldn’t make out the second word of the printed name in the article, like something trying to fade from existence or hide itself somehow.
“They’re such *dummies* over there,” Baker Bloch further groused.
Amanda finally heard the ring in her purse.
Afterwards, The Arab took Baker Bloch on a walk through the local vineyards to try to cheer him up. He knew, because of the new outbreaks, that he’d most likely never make it out of Corsica alive. He was *stuck*.
Eventually he was able to steer the conversation back to Peakology and a positive outcome.
another linden wood
You look astonished. Is it possible you have never heard of the ominous Lime-Tree, and the Fatal Bough? Why, ’tis a common tale hereabouts, and has been for centuries. Any old crone would tell it you.
After passing through a Green Cypress Tree tree near the top of a grassy knoll, The Monk entered the southeast corner of Rookwood proper. None of the other sims mattered now. He could focused in on the task of finding Phillip’s grave…