Another circle of interest has been created in my ongoing hiking mythology about *Haze County* (left pink circle). Dimensions this time: 0.4 mile radius, 0.5 square mile area, 2.5 mile circumference. This is exactly 1/2 the area of my previous circle of interest centered on what I call Pink Peak (larger pink circle to right), which was one square mile. I believe I’ve pinpointed a center for the new one as well, a kind of island in a stream containing 4 trees. More info soon!
Nearby Blue Mountain with a snow tree on top.
We’ve already featured pics from the inclusive Throne House in the last photo-novel here, now 37 in number. We seemed to have started the 38th with this post. The Throne House may also be called the Tyrone House, with logical results coming up.
Every circle I create seems to have a standy outy rock, sometimes gleaming from a distance. Like this one from the newest, flat against another and purest white in color.
so important he said it thrice
Sandy Hook threw another party without her now estranged adopted sister Penny Mart, and one of the first time guests — Donald I believe — pointed out the 4th wall to all those that had eyes to see. Which was no one, since Shelley didn’t attend.
“Do you still not see it? How about you Jeeves?”
“No sir. But I’ll keep trying sir.”
“You do that,” spewed Sandy Hook beside him to one of her hired help for the night, irritated by the whole affair. Why can’t *she* see? I bet Shelley could if she were here, she thought jealously yet accurately.
“There it is again! Nothing yet, Sandy?”
“You have to understand that Mike’s Creek was manufactured, and not just at the road toward the bottom (above picture). All the way to the top in fact. Study: Middle Cascade.
“The (big piece of) mica (you found on Mike Island) is just an indicator to pay attention. See here! And so (then) you find Mike and Pat together in Missouri (the two greatest coaches, men’s and women’s respectively, in college basketball history).”
“I knew that Mica Island would devolve or atrophy to Mike Island in the future so I just sped up the process,” I defended my naming action, the start of it all. “Mike Island at the bottom of that cascade (you mentioned) is obvious match to 3 Tree Island at the top, which, in turn, is the center of the overarching circular area… which we still don’t have a name for, by the way.”
“Mike’s Creek,” he offered, perhaps the Red Devil himself. Ur Father. “The 2 islands,
left and right up and down, are one.”
“You’ve known about me for a long time,” he furthered.
“He showed up because you kept talking about and acting upon his Two Hills. He’s a protective father!”
“(In holding the Devil’s head) He’s just saying he’s inherited the mantel of fatherhood.”
“He was sold by ‘Billfork’. In the present Point of Power.”
“Yeah. Head to bed.”
She looks around the sauna, thinking: Jake’s a good guy, so’s John. Jim for that matter, although he does a bit too much coke for me. Will rot out his teeth one day soon down the line. But none of them are Edward. Where is my sweet, dear Edward now? Still with Shelley? Maybe even, dare I think it, *Penny*? How ironic that would be. He was toying with both of us.
Maybe I should go with John, Sandy thinks, leaning over and blowing on his hair, a possible sign of things to come (she hopes). She looks around again after retreating. Did anyone notice what I just did there, what it potentially means? Jake seems disinterested. Jim is busy with his coke. Sarah in the water is just bending down again and again trying to get the attention of the others in the room. Besides me of course. Or maybe me as well, who knows? I’ve heard rumors, but maybe that’s just more Penny foolery and trickery.
Yes, Jake definitely seems more interested in Sarah than me. I’ll mark him off. Down to Jim and John. But as she’s thinking this, Jim takes another deep draw off his coke, says “ahhh”, and smiles widely in her direction, teeth already showing a tiny bit of wear and tear. Looks like it’s down to John. She leans over once more, blows once more. His hair smells nice, like lemons. He’s also orange tinted like me, Sandy thinks. Good that the orange people stay together. She blows.
They hooked up, this Sandy Hook and John Helms fellow, but she found herself thinking of Edward all the time. Sweet cute adorable Edward. Where *is* he?
He was tired from all the talking so he laid down on the Rattan Lounge Chair to rest his mouth and brain. He pondered that he said too much. He *did* say too much. Must have been all the truth serum he was injected with day before yesterday at the dentist still working some of its wicked magic. No more soda! she warned. “I *don’t* do soda,” he exclaimed to this, and so the shot, the getting out the truth. Dentists in Lemon Free State are allowed to do that these days. Some blame the Sprite campaign back in ’95, but that was a more pristine and refreshing drink than others. So mouths one of the Hills, the bigger one, the one who Mike called his greatest player ever. He left himself open for foul play with that. Down the line it leads to the unethical dentists, the doctors who would rather perform surgery than reveal truth. We, as a society, are being *poisoned*. I’ll say it again. *Poisoned.* What say you to that, Mike, Grant?
Just as I thought.
So Zach Black defended himself afterwards to the dentist, remolding his words and saying that it was a combo of both lemon *and* lime. Together they make one fantastic *clean* drink. It was a fruitless argument and both knew it at the time.
“So tell me more about this Oracle. *Mark*.”
(to be continued)
She caught some of the discussion from her rocking chair while perusing the paper (“Decatur Herald”), words like Oklahoma, Geronimo, Olive, Slick. She gathered an oil spill in the Panhandle which was not all wrong while being, at the same time, not at all right. Not 1/2 and 1/2. How to put it?
Blah blah blah Canada. Blah blah blah Ossemotos. They really need to turn down the blasters over there, Gloria thought about the music booming one dock over, the party getting more raucous as nighttime approached. Penny was preparing for her surprise entrance up in downtown Nightsity, applying hot pink lipstick while yawning for no good, real reason, effects of that dratted, psychic mountainair again. *Not* Ossemotos, she realized as the lyrics “Dam dam Amsterdam” blocked the next passage of discussion, followed just as loud by “Dam dam Rotterdam” and “Dam dam Beaverdam”. Osse-motors. As in ancient Nigerian oil port . *Motor*. She’d heard about it before through some military people she use to, ahem, date up in Dodgey City. And Zach Black was spilling his guts about it. Nigeria to Canada, Nigeria to Canada. Marines. But, most importantly, black gold. Texas tea. Texas Pete? “Texas Pete?!” she rather shouted through the boom. One of the two turned, the other being deaf.
(to be continued)
It was a beautiful tree but it was also the end of April. Arbor Day had come and gone, the last possible excuse to keep up such a thing. So she dove in…
“You can at least take down the stuff over the mantel and bookcase while I’m working, Johnny. Pitch in, please.”
But Johnny kept talking to Cylinder Rodman about Ossemotor, how it ran, what kind of oil did it use. Especially about the oil. Gloria sighed, knowing all that was important. But does she have to do *everything*. At least clean the cat litter every once in a while, Johnny, she thought as the last snow ornament was plucked from the tree.
She stood back. I could still live with just white lights. *Something* is coming up. Memorial Day, that’s it. A couple of American flags and war emblems of some kind and we’re good to go for another month. With this, she plops herself down on the couch next to Johnny. “Okay, got anything?”
Ex-Marine Cylinder looked at Johnny for cues on how to proceed. It was his girl, after all, his filly as he sometimes puts it. His horse was put back in the stable a long time ago. He’s working for God now.
“Explosions,” he started. “The first one *perhaps* excusable. The second: just plain carelessness. A crime, Gloria. That’s what we’re facing.”
“In NWES City?”
Johnny looked confused at first but then the expression cleared. “Yeah.” Cylinder nodded with him. “We have to go back.”
“Heyy. Howdy! Welcome to 108. You must be the Golden Girl I’ve heard about.”
“Well,” I said. “My hair is golden for sure. Some say dirty blonde but I like the metal.”
“Who doesn’t, who doesn’t? Come on in. I have *so* many things to show you, Golden Girl! Mineral. Plant. Animal. You name it!”
“I think you just did.”
“Hee hee, you’re a bright one. A big bright piece of shinyy gold, yeahh.” He waves without speaking again. He’s fading.
“I found this after the dream. He must have been from the Moon.”
“Or the *Moon* of the Moon,” spoke the old hag more wisely than me, per usual. Not a golden girl any longer but, ooh, once upon a time…
Anja had been trying to figure out the presence of the squirrel in the house she was looking to purchase…
… and the plants…
… and The Hills it appears to be flying over from this angle.
From other angles… well, one angle (see above), the squirrel seemed to have some kind of fuse attached to its tail, even, like the sculpted one made out of plastic explosive Bill Murray tried to use to kill gophers in “Caddyshack”.
Strange he later went on to star in the groundbreaking “Groundhog Day”, named for a similar, large burrowing animal that often gets confused with gophers.
Back to Anja. Why is she here? Why is she trying to purchase this house perched on a small Nautilus island hill with 2 interior Hills? *Who* is she?
Wilder sister to Gloria, I believe. Tamer sister to totally out there Mona. We might meet her next.
(to be continued)
Yes. There she is. “Hi, I came as quickly as I could.”
“Well shut the f-cking door behind you,” her somewhat estranged sister exuded.
“We *did* grow up in a barn,” Mona defended.
“You, Gloria and I–”
“I *know* who my sisters are.” Silence for a while between them. Mona didn’t move closer. The squirrel spooked her. She’d seen “Caddyshack” not 3 years ago. And “Groundhog Day” even closer to the moment. The 2 fused in her mind. Something was going to happ—”
“Well shut the f-cking door behind you.”
She did. Lesson 01 learned.
The squirrel and plants and Hills soon went away. She and her sister were getting along pretty well for a change.
“So tell me about Ossemotor,” she asked around 2 hours and fifteen minutes into their conversation.
“Don’t you remember? There should have been 2 explosive fires, larger and smaller, burning downtown before the change of INGO back to pre-film INGSOC. Can’t you recall?”
But Patient 00 Mr. Beech changed as well that day, becoming disambiguated in the resulting Endless Window.
“Right there in the cartoon overlapped with the man,” Hucka D. continued with the Silverton collage analysis in the recently reset up Bogota Gallery on my new-ish Nautilus property, Barry De Boy right by her side as it was these days — changed as well. “Osseo,” she read. “Happy Motoring. Ossemotor.”
“I’ll have to pack first,” I said grumpily, unhappy about the needed travel.
He arrived almost 6000 years into the future, Osse having removed Motor from its name long long ago due to the end of machines, setting a trend. His great great great great (x332) grandchild Lottie McDottley with marking scarf awaited at the old timey Lake Hore Train Station, so named because of the abundance of such back in the day, along with the water. Including Lottie’s great great great (x334) grandmother, who happened to be Baker Bloch’s fiance, the late great
Shelley Struthers Wilson Wheeler, er, Wheeler Wilson. Then known as Wilsonia (source: Henry and Schaeffer). Dream Train we have here; everything functional for travel having to be made of spiritual ectoplasm powered by collective brain control. And everything else functional for that matter. I did mention this was far far far in the future.
There he is, dressed for the future period in his, well, present garb. No need for change there. But, to blend in better, he omitted a letter or 2 or syllable or 2 from his name as was customary. Baker Blo he is while remaining in post-space age Michigan. Or Mich, I should say.
On the edge of reality, Baker kept spotting blurs and other weird fringe effects, making him aware that he was in a very different space as well as time. He dodged another ectoplasmic puddle to reach his far future relative and give her a big, 21st Century hug. Big mistake: she crumbled to dust in his grasp. One of the nearest puddles came over and sucked up the remains. She’ll be back tomorrow reconstituted good as new, thanks to the collective. But our newly renamed Mr. Blo now has nowhere to stay tonight. Big bees overshadowing small birds hover menacingly above the station. And the tall flowers and the short trees that grow under them now. *Everything* has changed. Including love. He looks for older Wheeler lookalike Lottie in the puddle, a face perhaps, a hand. Not yet. Tomorrow. Only the reflected Moon for now. Which has a mustache and beard, he notes. He looks up to see the truth of the place, everything arranged all wrongly. Far future, BEH.
“At the cascade at the end of the stream that was his creek, Mike made peace with those he formerly warred with and screamed and hollered at. ‘Absolution.'”
“Cool, Hucka D. Thanks for showing up, by the by.”
“You can thank Barry for that.” She turns and plants a big wet one on her constant companion’s unyielding lips, surprised at the display of emotions from the usually placid, former bee-person. Insect no longer. No signs of antennae, even. Just woman.
She turned back, stared again. “Now you just have to figure out the Lyra connection. Prism.” With this, she and Barry took their leave of the place, my new-ish Nautilus property with 2 galleries now set up, Bogota and Edwardston. I had much work to do. Collagesity was *kind of* being reborn?
But I was also in Michigan. Let’s check in on Baker *Blo* there, where he spent his first night while distant relative Lottie McDottley was regenerating from a misplaced and mistimed hug, thanks to the ectoplasmic puddles that made sure all death, all disease, all foul play, was eventually cleaned up as in a refreshing fruit combo drink downed on a sticky ass summer day. Do you see how this keeps carrying over, Mike? The reverberations? Water would be best. Like from your stream. Absolution.
“Okay, alright. I’ll talk to Hill about it.”
“You do that.”
(to be continued)
Porcelain laid down in the middle of Helmic and looked up. There was no LOVE here.
“It’s an important role,” the Common Teacher spoke, knowing only one could get it, trying to make them face the fact that one of them was going back home to an angry set of parents.
Porcelain got it. She looked around, wondering how to shrink all the trees so that they could fit under the flowers. She *would* get this part, even if it meant cheating, stealing, lying.
She looked up backwards to the Moon that was her Father.
“Look! The Moon has come out from behind some clouds. We’re saved!”
“That’s just old Xianity superstition,” replied wannabe lover Johnny Blank to this, hoping she wouldn’t go down that road again, the Jesus Saves one. He’s Muslim and he’s going to stay that way! And Cylinder is Jewish so that’s that. Found God a while back but a different one from mine, and a different one from Gloria’s. But we still seem to be getting along. For now, he thinks.
Gloria stares and stares. With hate. Just like long long ago when she first got this role. The Moon grew a mustache and beard, peered down at her in ultimate superiority and changed birds into bees, flowers into trees. Not God. Something better, she realized. A Dark Lord. She’d been thinking about it for years, but hadn’t said anything about her insights. A good Christian woman she was to others still. Until the Big Reveal. She’d been pondering it for months. She’ll act on it in days. Xianity, as my *friend* Johnny Blank puts it, doesn’t *have* any superstition like that. She made it up. But, being Muslim, he wouldn’t know the difference. Maybe a perfect match after all, a perfect foil. I set them up he knocks them down.
“Johnny,” she says seductively, moving her pointing finger over to his shoulder, making an “X” on it to mark him as a target. “Tell me about your family again, your overbearing father, your loving but absent mother.”
“She *died*. She wasn’t absent.”
“Oh right right.” She sat up with this, looked up to the still visible Moon for strength. “I… forgot.” The Moon went behind clouds and she suddenly became sad, spell over.
(to be continued)
“No ma’am, we don’t have that in stock. We *can’t* have that in stock. Laws of the land.”
“Okay, but what if I do… *this*?”
“No ma’am. However many *seductive* poses you try it won’t get you that drug.”
“Okay, but how about *this*?” She remained undaunted. She had to have that soda!
Mike (and, later, Pat) met with Newt and Wheeler on this very issue just across the road in a cavern. *The* Cavern, in fact; sitting around telltale mica. America was slowly but surely being poisoned. Mike had an idea for a new campaign.
“Just *shut* up and *listen*, Moms and Pops.”