two Stars (murder) mystery
Alysha wears red shoes but she’s lost one recently. And the one that remains is too big for her foot, like she has a man’s feet. Good Guy… could be a reference to Texas County Oklahoma on the panhandle. Or perhaps Indiana Pennsylvania. A good guy was murdered. Always is.
A man moves into view as I try to take another shot of the taped off scene but turns out to be a woman herself. Two Stars now just in this one spot. Many stars, then! (since the neighbors are also Stars; will investigate that very soon) These appear to be twins of sorts, like 2 1/2s of one, maybe user? Hmm. I say this because the second’s profile is pretty barren, like he depends on the first, the female. A dependent. An alt.
And the woman is lined off herself as you can see. Enclosed. She becomes the central mystery.
A little red friend lives in her hair.
No use in hanging around here hiding behind palms. I have (her) picks to investigate! Heavy on one location.
I didn’t really know what I was looking at but I’d been here before. Chouchou — like the Ur-iginal parent, or maybe even both of them (!).
This is the White Palace (shiver).
revealed (glory holes redux)
Now back to Bellisseria to investigate the other Star family. This was the spot on the new diagonal where it would all start, I know that now. Project Endgame has begun.
“You know that’s (*yawn*), my castle up there, Hoppy (stretches arms). This place is soo relaxing.”
Windmill Man, named to be changed soon, realizes he has a lot of time to learn the ins and outs of this here Rooster’s Peninsula, since he plans to stay a while. Does this mean the end of Fordham’s Collagesity down in Lower Austra? Could be. He must confer with town leader Jeffrey Phillips and right hand man Man About Time soon. Couple of weeks. But first…
… the Prog Rock museum down at the neck of the peninsula, and where Sandy (daughter?) recently woke up Jacob I. and allowed him to return. The sleeper has awoken; Roost Never Sleeps.
“6 miles and 7 seconds” (track 2?)
I *just* missed a performance of the Rolling Joints at this here local music venue, but the owner, one Greg Ogden (*not* Oden, he insisted; and only the 1 “g” in the first name and not 2 as well) assured me they would return. In the meantime, he assuaged, we have their many records to enjoy, including the essential double album “Pricky Fingers/Let Them Bleed”, which he’s about to play here after removing the 2 discs of wax from their sleeves. “Gotta get in the right mood,” he says while standing pretty still, trying not to sway to the 1st track (“Hearts of Spades”) that he already hears in his head. He’s trying to clear it. The sound should be immediate and impactful with no echo.
Later I found out that Greg use to be called Rooster by the locals on account of his red hair and sometimes red outfit. It made me wonder.
no man is an island
I think I’m going to like this peninsula. A lot.
Boy my neck has sure been bothering me lately. Must be the lingering effects of Kolya and his trip to Anastasia, the damned place. Controller my big old ass. Papers piling up, pheh. Always sleepy, constantly nodding off. (Alysha) needs to come *here* and try what she does there. Wouldn’t make it.
But Windmill Man, actual name still being processed, knows that he loves her nevertheless, just like Kolya. Even moreso, since he can see the future clearer. He is the ONE. He is the whitehead in da woods. 1 year and 3 months. He can do it. The diagonal linking East and West will be fulfilled, reality connected to another reality inside it, with one blending into ANOTHER. Love, most likely. Death too, if not bodily. But what, exactly, *is* the body. The neck’s calmed down now. He recalls something about Jasper.
These ruins hold stories. And so close to his castle too. Just up the ridge.
I must get down the continent to confer with Jeffrey Phillips and partner Man About time concerning the future of Collagesity. But I already see the writing in the cards. It won’t last. Collagesity is a place laden with collages, of course, but isn’t a proper archive. It’s where Baker Bloch *made* the collages, or helped inspire them as he hung each one individually in its gallery upon creation. That way he could better see the evolution of the series. But (this kind of) buck stops with the newest series called Picturetown. This is a *different* Jasper, not Illinois but Iowa. And this leads us to (the) Nautilus (continent) as a whole. We have our centering. But this centering could occur *anywhere* on the continent now. It doesn’t have to be between the two roads 13 and 14. It could be here — at Rooster’s Peninsula. Certainly there’s more neighbors around to give me energy.
The dancer, he remembers. The fox on the run. Jasper itself. Must see if she’s still there. But that’s the siren’s call again. The dancer who is the world.
I suppose I should go see if those curtains are still there on the slopes of Roost Peak. Could it spell curtains for… me? It brings me back to confusion on what exactly is the body, the neck and the body and the head attached to it. Maybe Stumpy could help (again), since he was able to reattach his own some time back. But first: curtains.
Not there now.
He was back in Bellisaria tonight spying on the Stars. They were dancing with one another, and also dancing with one other. Checking profile now…
She has the same name as my wife(!). Baba. Or Babaa in the wife’s case. And me? I am Grandpapa.
Now where is my no good grandson?
He’s forgotten he’s been dead for well over a year. Killed by Axis, but not during the war.
Then they were gone. And he was too. We’ll catch up with him later.
He got a little lost trying to find the prog rock museum on Rooster’s Peninsula. I guess he’s been confused ever since Kowloon and its twisting maze of streets and alleys. Never got over it. As he liked to say about Grandmama and Grandpapa there: often visited but seldom seen, pheh. And now Grandpapa is dead. Killed by Axis (but not during the war). Guy will get his revenge. Through “Lamb.”
But first a little “Foxtrot”.
He ponders the doors in front of him and what they block inside. Although this isn’t the prog rock museum, it still seems relevant. “Chamber of 32 Doors.” He always seems to ultimately be thinking in terms of “Lamb”.
“Catch anything George?!” Burt shouted over, trying not to be jealous. 2 fish to one already. 3 to 1 may be too hard to overcome! What will the missus think? Emasculation!
He goes back to visit poor Grandmama often but sees her seldom. Like today. He stumbles and bumbles and finally recognizes the Pipe Alley, as he calls it, with Doctor Diper at the end, waiting for another patient. Not him this time! He voices this out loud to Goldie beside him, who sometimes turns into Lead(ay). Alchemy, bah. He’s *finished* with it. “Doctor doesn’t operate any more,” bubbles glistening Goldie back, good to go with gossip. “Broke — can’t be fixed most likely.” “How?” asked Guy Benjamin, a good guy for gossip as well. “Impotence?” “Hardly,” said back Goldie, gold scales showing a slight bit of gray now, transmutation beginning. Guy better get as much gossip as possible before the change. “So he still has his…” “Wiener? Yes.” Half gold half gray now. Time was ticking down, Gold(ie) cornered only a little longer. “Blackbird?” asks Guy. But it was too late. The gold had flown the coup, only dense Lead(ay) remaining who knew nothing about anything hardly. Guy would have to find answers himself. He approaches the good doctor from down the alley.
not (yet) blinded
“I’d like an identity, please.”
He manifested in an apartment formerly occupied by sisters named Feng Sui and Qi. Was he sufficiently hidden?
No. “Who are you?” asked the lady in red who had just entered the room. He’d been caught!
“It’s good you changed shirts and came here, Guy. She won’t look here: too far in the past.”
He wanted to say that he didn’t change his shirt he merely added another one on top of the first but just thanked his lucky stars it worked anyway. Now he could talk openly about the Heart Queen with his old friend Fish Head, the one who he could depend on to give him directions when he got lost. Which was a *lot* here.
“Who is she?” he asked, heart still thumping from all the excitement.
“Goes by Helen.”
Helen, Guy pondered. Like Troy. Destroyer of Men.
“What happened to Feng Sui and Qi?”
“Gave up the store. Left town.” Guy knew Fish Head was talking about Store Zero, where it all started and revolved around and shite. Murderous past. Which was, again, present. But he had no real choice. He had to escape (!). Gunshots outside. He’ll have to get use to it, he figured.
“And the uncles?” Two more shots, then a scream. Then quiet (for a while).
“One remains.” But Fish Head didn’t reveal which one. Could be Jack. Could be John. He didn’t have the guts to open that door and find out — the body could be slumping right against it; spill into the establishment and cause a bloody mess he’d have to clean up. And he’d lost his mop, dangit. Probably stolen (again!) by the Mopheads down in Ragtown, the bloody gang. Maybe them outside right now, causing all this commotion. The Heart Queen had hidden him but for how long? It was up to her to open the door — not him.
red all over
The door to the bar was a decoy — sent visitors upstairs to another bar devoid of animations and life in general. Except for constantly humming Hurley. Let’s shorten it to Hummy. The bird.
“Where IS HE????” demanded the Heart Queen after teleporting up. The future was still the present, which means Guy was still successfully hiding in the past immediately below, purchased identity holding. Too bad she’d never learned to play croquet or things could have worked out differently for her. It could have relaxed her, taken her down a different path. And indeed, that’s the queen Fish Head and Guy knew (in the past). A kinder gentler one, a sympathetic sort.
“Have a Bloody Mary, Queen,” trilled the humming bird. “Let’s talk.”
The queen was surprised she could sit down despite the lack of animations. It didn’t bother Hummy, since he was a flier not a sitter. He expertly blended a tomato with celery and spice. He mixed in the liquor. It was ready (*clink*).
One sip and she started to remember, heart of ice melting. She recalls Broken Heart. The spell was over.
She began to dance again.
the future is now
He sat underwater with Leaday afterwards and wondered what just happened? “Was any of it real?” he called over from his stool next to one of the circling opabinia, another impossibility since this queer 5 eyed, backwards headed fish has been extinct for millions of years. He remembers visiting the doctor. That’s it. But what happened inside was a blank.
He took his first shirt off, finally remembering there was actually a shirt beneath that. Shirt Zero if you will. He was home.
And all was not well.
from Genesis to Lamb
Now that I’m awake again I’m going to figure out who you guys are, he thought. Sorry: *gals*.
Other Other! (4:00)
Worlds come together. (3:45)
*original* Hana Lei
All of a sudden, just like that, he was back to where it all started. The I. that could not get high, this Melancholy place in BEHappy. All aspects of BEH he was examining tonight, remembering his old friend Cyberpaperdoll, for instance, in another Beh
sim place over on the Heterocera continent. And he was of course thinking of sheep, which go behhhhhh. Like Dolly the cloned one. Dolly had been *here*…
… but her name seems to have been spelled “ie” instead of “y”.
… leading to the Square of Jupiter, famous in Durer’s “Melancholia I”.
Randolph the Bastard Pirate.
Better go check out the locals while I’m here, Jacob I. decided.
“Yeah, they’re all gone,” explained Roger Pine Ridge a little later in the heart of Hana Lei. “50 years ago I guess by now — just missed them.” He kept toking, staring, his cracked alien skin no better for the smoke. But being alien and all it may not matter that much… lungs might be configured differently for example. Smoking may not hurt him like us humans. He continues. “Lamb, yeah. I know what’s in your head. You want to clarify what I’m talking about.” He coughs, he stares at the doobie almost shrunk to nothing, then tosses it away and shakes his hand vigorously like it’s on fire and he’s trying to put it out. “Where’s some pliers when you need them, heh.”
Jacob I. was currently taking a break from pot, trying to crack this whole Lamb conundrum with a clear head. So no cracks about Bogarting that whole joint thing to Roger, because Jacob I. asked him to. “No thanks,” he said at the time, then took a glance at all the pots and pseudo-pots strewn about the place and wondered how he ever survived with it. Lamb could save him. Dollie.
He didn’t get much information from that pothead Pine Ridge but he understood Lamb had flown the coup. Peter Paul and Mary I mean here, featured in photo-novel 05 and a bit of photo-novel 06 if memory serves. Mr. Babyface came here to try to persuade his nephew Paul (and the rest) to return to the Land of the Living, as he called it, get away from this Hana Lei and its huffing and puffing and boys bringing more rolled up paper all the time, just like clockwork. You pay them, they come and never stop, the jerks. “Vicious cycle,” he said. “You’ll end up like Syd,” he furthered, pointing out the famous downfall of one of Paul’s rock heroes. “Dead… or worse. Dead in your head, which goes beyond physical death because the mind goes beyond the body. You better think about that the next time you take a shower with that cat soap you like.” He decides to leave it at that. Paul stares at him, much like Roger stared at Jacob later on, all glazy eyed, like a glossy pot ready to go to market, ready to have another plant inside it. He didn’t need to ask the Time because he knew what it was, shortly followed by Money, shortly followed by death. And worse. Brain Damage.