Sunklands 2022-2021 Winter 02


clean getaway (fleabug 02)

I was dancing with Hucka Doobie under the red car and next thing I know I wake up here. I’m beginning to think this world isn’t real, ha. Oh well. I’ll wait until I’m called again, pheh. Hopefully something out of the tall weeds.


Silver King revisit

“If we keep focusing on Nautilus I think we’ll be okay, W. The link with Iowa.”

“Successful,” concludes the other. She seemed happy for a change. Or at least happier. Maybe the change of scenery did her good.

—–

“Where to, Hucka? Post, Texas?”

“Next post for sure, ha. Have you peed yet?”

“Forgot, sorry.”

“Get on back in there, then.”


00310203

“Alright I’m ready.”

“Fire her up.”

rrrr RRRRRRRRRR r..r RRRRRRRR.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” doubled down Hucka.

“I’m trying!” rrr RR rrr RR…

“Did you leave the lights on while we were dancing?”

“*No*” rrr RRRRRRRRRRR.

“Ah jeez. I’m going back to the White Palace, Baker Bloch. I’ve had enough thrills anyway for a while.”

rr RRRRR rr RR. “Suit yourself. I’m going to explore the town.” rr RRRRRRR rr RR. “On foot, pheh, if necessary.”

“Goodbye.” She slams the door on the way out and hails a taxi at the road. So many here in John F. Kennedy City. The yellow line should do for a return.


00310204 (Boy Wonder)

I wanted to stay in Dennis but the (Tisbury) cat lured me down the sidewalk, down and away from where I was suppose to be. “Psst, over here,” he or she seemed to say (in retrospect).

“Here, come here. Come closer. There. You’re here.” Indeed, I seemed welcomed.

Hmm, left the outside faucet running but it didn’t set off any alarms in my head. I’m soo blind without Hucka (!).

“No thanks, I already have one,” I said to the greeter in the front hall, a nice enough bloak. Too bad about the facial wounds for the fellow; maybe holds him back in life and keeps him here. As a servant at the door. “A smoke, I mean. Here. In my hand.” He presents his spliff possessed appendage for the cigar offering greeter as an explanation.

He’s back to old habits. Front and center with his back to us. Ahh, the old Baker. Azure Island days. Let’s get him in a comfy place to think about what’s he’s done and where he’s heading.

Ahh, this is the life, he ruminates. Smoking a spliff while relaxing in a stranger’s home. What could go wrong?

He looks around remotely.

Oldbie, hmm. ‘Nother one. And a prisoner: 031302. So close! This is 00310204. But: point made (?).

Let’s look around some more…

I wonder what could be coming up in post 00310302?

And that was more cats. Holding green and yellow balls. I wonder what would happen if you switched them around?

I think that’s it, the primary message for tonight. I’m officially an Oldbie. I wonder if I’ve been initiated into some kind of club?

—–

Ahh, been there done that.

I feel like someone should be there. In that bed beside the books and drugs and under the stars. Someone just as high as me. Someone just as *old* as me. Hucka, I realized. She never left.

Stand.

But how does he get over there?


00310205

These SILHOUETTES, foreground leaves in retrospect, are *directly* west of dancing Hucka Doobie and Axis in 00310117. They also seem to be “dancing” on a corner of Monroe. Compare.

Despite the leafy origins, I’ve decided it is not coincidence and instead a channeling event, call me crazy (“You’re crazy!”).

Conclusion: we never left the red car. Let’s see what the two are up to currently.


00310206

“See this snack here, Tabitha? That’s the one that’s going to kill Mommy in about 10 years.”

Yeah I’m about ready to whack a noob. Hurry up there Next Door Boy. I need to make my money back from this machine!

If only I hadn’t hit that machine so hard with my fist, also thought Ted upstairs. Now I can’t have children.

“Sorry Iris!” he said to a passing, oblivious woman.

“What??”

Nearby Douglas was nailing a machine more successfully. He was in better shape. He’d successfully live into his 50s. Until a steady diet of cherry squirt soda did him in.

Machines, hmph.


the unhealthy living continues…

“I want *five* hot dogs and I won’t take no for an answer. I have 4 little children in the car who won’t shut up until I do.”

“I only have 4 left,” the vendor man begged, almost out of meat at the end of a loong hot day. But the woman couldn’t give up her own. Dead at 57.


ate

“There goes that red car again,” spoke Leslie to Darla. “Must be stuck in a time loop.”

“Um hm.”

Leslie hesitated but then couldn’t resist. “57?” she guessed.

Darla turned. “33. Corn chips,” she explained.

“My daddy died at 33. Avalanche.”

“Switzerland?” Darla ventured, unable to think of any other location for such a phenomenon in the moment.

“Flavor,” countered Leslie. “Octopi balls,” she furthered. “Straight from a witch’s kitchen if you asked me.”

Darla also hesitated but couldn’t resist. “62?”

“Psychic!” Leslie exclaimed back. And that’s what Darla did for a living after that fated encounter in a bus stop in fabled John F. Kennedy City that hot day in May’s July’s August. Until the living ended. She had a packet in her purse even then but of course couldn’t resist. That’s always the story. Path of least resistance. Psychics are often the most vulnerable even though they can see the finale more clearly. It’s like a giant game they know they can’t win but play anyway. Throwing money away. Machines again, hmph. Chips, creatures: it’s all the same. Crushing them down to size.


Fall looming ahead

The situation had subtly but importantly changed. Axis was in the old Chevrolet now, and its coat of red paint had faded to pink, perhaps over time but perhaps not. Just pink: one of a kind. He remembers being married to Alysha, who was formerly Wendy and so on and so on. Took a while to jar his memory. A t-shirt should do the trick, she thought earlier. Except she couldn’t buy one — she had absolutely no power in this *New Eden*, none at all. The rib belonged to Adam again. She had to just tell him. Up straight.

“Axis.”

“Axis?”

“Yes: Axis. Now listen.”

—–

“I wish I could say this is a good place I brought you to, like John F. Kennedy City, a decent burg, a city you’d want to raise your kids up in and send them to school, packing their lunch box with goodies like corn chips and cherry squirt soda. But it’s not. This is a sour place instead. I — don’t want you to even look around. This is like *Florida*.” Indeed Alaska had been left behind, exercise fanatic Douglas Fairbanks and the rest, although we may pick up his particular story later.

We next find them driving down Rib in search of answers, heading toward an intersection with Eve and the truth.


antomic

It’s time to tell the story of the Ant and the Elephant, both chics. CUE MUSIC

“First off, the elephant is a Trojan Horse, pardon the mixed metaphor of sorts.”

“Pardoned,” she said, because she had that power. She was queen over her own little land which wasn’t little atall to her. Like Rose Wells before her. Or after her. We continue…

“We know that because of the triangle that can be opened with stuff put inside. Like a *bomb*.”

Attagirl gasps, throwing her hands cartoonishly to her mouth. Because she was. Would her subjects do such a dastardly deed? And why in Dennis of all places? Or a TV shooting screen in Dennis?

He stared at red, the cover closed for now, the puzzle incomplete, the TV shooting screen: disabled. But luckily we can view remotely.

Grasshopper is dead.

Her bugs are responsible.

The proof is in the pudding… and the sandwiches, and the cake, and the sausages.

Boomb!


00310211

Mrs. Ordinary drank red wine at 3 PM in her kitchen, trying to numb her nerves and pondering how to get rid of her aunt who was suppose to stay through next Wednesday. She couldn’t take it any more. Tomorrow they would hike into the mountains of Yellowmoon and she would tell her. Get a room in town or leave. Sucking on teeth in the middle of the night, snoring, getting up early and staying up late watching cartoons on TV. Yosemite Sam, pheh. How did we come from the same gene pool? I need my 9 hours beauty rest and she needs like 5!

She awakes at 8:25, a bit before the 9 she usually does. Elvira of course was already in the living room watching the boob tube. The sound of an especially loud cartoon explosion stirred her. Seems like Bugs pulled out the atomics in a desperate attempt to win the mayoral race from Sam this morning. He planned to get rid of all insects when elected, and Bugs had no choice but to try to stop him. Atomic cigars — that should do the trick. But, no, here comes Sam again, all blackened and without hair or clothes but still quite alive, ready for yet another battle in the war that will only end at the ballot box.

“Elvira, could you please put on some clothes, hmph. And what’s that all over your face, dear? You look like a golden statue.”

“Avocado mask. For the man who is suppose to enter my life today. My horoscope predicted (!). Here.” She picks up the Daily Toilet and rustles it in front of her naked body, then offers it over to her, which Liza (Mrs. Ordinary) reluctantly takes as the TV explodes again. “There… take a look at Scorpio. You’re Taurus… you may not understand, being from the Earth and more grounded with your own life in general. Scorpios need relationships. Scorpios need…”

“Don’t say it, Aunt. Not after last Friday when you brought that town bum Otis back and kept him all night on the couch with you. I know what you need.” Doctored watermelon this time, but of course Sam emerged okay.

Hiking today. How could she possibly meet a man way up there in the grey nothingness where no one hardly lives? But she did. Another Ant, but not the human kind. It’s like they both fell into the TV set after putting on their walking shoes and came out in Looneytoonville with Bugs and Sam and the rest. And perhaps they did.

She took one last look at the TV before switching it off. The cartoon had changed. She hesitated, then sat back down on the couch with her aunt, the paper still opened up to the horoscope section between them. Expect a tall, spindly stranger to enter your life today, it said. She studied the small orange castle on the screen, noted the pixelated cartoon man pulling the cartoon woman toward him with an impossibly long and wavy lasso, then entering the castle gates with her, the assumption being they got “married.” Over and over this happened. It did not get boring.

“What’s the name of this one, Elvira?” The show predicted the future inside the past. Then they were *there*.

(to be continued)


The missing triangle piece.

Turns out Karl was his invention all along.

Different cartoon character, same results.

Survival beyond the watermelon.

“I’ll spill everything,” said Karl to Mrs. Ordinary in her not-so-ordinary hometown of Chapel Vile after the mountainous hike with her aunt to rendezvous with the Ant. “Whaddaya want to know?”

“Thanks for meeting with me. I wasn’t sure — you were my friend still — after last time.”

“Of course I am. Old old water under the bridge. Us *cores* gotta stick together, eh? he he.” He slapped his flabby side to reinforce the healing aspect.

“Yes,” sip. But she couldn’t get the bloodlust scene out of her head.

A broken rib to end, but, like them apparently, it cleaned up nicely. The observing 88’s helped a lot with their prompt calling of the ambulance and police, good custodians both.


Boo!

Not4Sale.

Crystal suddenly found herself confronted with an enigma, a puzzle, a riddle. Where had she just heard about this?


Pitt Stop

Her lawn looks like a meadow
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!

“The car wanted to live. The car wanted to *stay*.”

“Great, W. Can I call you W. still?”

“I am the two within the one, the complex within the simple. Look for me. Balance.”

“O-kay.”

“Continue, then.”

“*You* continue.”

—–

“We are in the car. We are the rib, the singular, heading to the complex, the duality. Eve. Adam from. 2 in 1. 2 brained.”

“And what does that mean?”

“We have to stick to the simple.”

“But we are heading to the double. Double heads.”

“No (!).”

“Yes.” Simpler. Smaller. No exclamation point; no capital letters. Just acceptance. 2n1.

“What about left leaning?” I grasped, trying not to Fall.

—–

Flipping to the Orient, I knew this was about me, then. The red green blue yellow “tiles” in the back were me. The colorless, X-ed out head openings (“hello!”) of the Zebra are me, ready to reveal themselves in the move away from occident. Me. Sozzy Bozo has a mask over his eyes — similar. It should be over his mouth. Point made.

—–

I had to incarnate again soon, before the dawn’s early light at least. Else the night would be “wasted.” I decide a variety of photos would do the trick. Presenting: Snapshots from the East.

This was a kind of creepy one. Glimpse into the Abyss, brr. So cold.

Then lightening up as the red green blue yellow return. Goal carts! (red starts)

Traveling further back, 2 toys mark the entrance to a passage, perhaps of life itself. Ur-state. One toy, the blue one, did not “evolve” past the second. Both remained simple. We are onto something. Not dodging an issue no more.

We are now even before the start of the race out back. Orange appears across from the green, from the blue. Out of place. King Bill. He is whole. He is *orange*. Here is where we should have started. And so I placed myself there, before the beginning. Let’s try again.

“I found something, W.”


simple walk

“What are you looking for, Crystal? A lemon? This is not a lemon. But: close! Over here. Behind the blue and green pillow thingies. Beyond the small forest of trees. Persimmons? Never mind that now. To the lemon (!).

“The boy is trying to tell us something. A magic mirror (!). I know, cut down on the parentheses. And the exclamation marks. And the capital letters, semi-colons and colons, parentheses within parentheses (etc.).

“It’s Ketty! Richard Ketty. Not Petty! He’s different. He’s from Randolph County. Wait!”

Crystal said she would take it from here, and: thanks (!).


Madison not Monroe

A car needing a trim.

Next up: the doctor of a home, I mean, the home of a doctor.

Across the road: a Beaut Salon run by Cthy and Selly, but everyone in town knew this was A lie, just like the doctor.

But further in the past, a different story? Caty and Shely if so. And it’s Beauty now.

Just look at that hair!


00310217

‘There’s that *duck* again. Lemon, pheh.”


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