100 - The Bed Bug Part 1

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His name was Thomas Edward M., the Freelance Sound Man. We hired him to record the oral history of our island community in the Great Lakes region. He helped save Slumberland. So, what do you think? Maybe I can open the bed bug with that? You know, begin the evening of performances with a tribute to Thomas. Hmm Well, I say your sentiment is good, Ella, but it is premature. Best not to confuse the situation. Our residents may take your message to mean. We've given up hope Thomas will be found.

Of course, that's most certainly not the case. Oh, not the case at all. I hope. It's just a little bit more. It's been a while since the thing that happened. Happened. Yes, it was a nasty shock to see Thomas disappear when he took that photograph. But recall, his enchanted camera film strip is what captured the Sandy Spectre, with us the ghost will never again endanger our town. Ella, I keep coming this close to filing a missing persons report with the mainland police.

That was for Omar Evanston, mind you. But he keeps popping up, according to witnesses, then disappearing again. It's rather frustrating. Has that happened with Thomas? Wait, is that why you're going to Europe? Uh uh Oblivia is proceeding with utmost prudence. Go on, tell her what we know so far. I spoke with Thomas this morning. He took my phone call. He's in Europe. He doesn't remember Slumberland. Said he didn't know about the Oral History Project or anything else to do with this place.

But that makes no sense. Obviously, I needed to avoid upsetting Thomas, so I booked a recording session with him. Not even under false pretenses, as my office work here is complete. Just as I wrapped up Noah Dahl's research on the metalhead statue, I got tapped for a gig. My agent from back in the old days with the band says there's some production company wanting me to voice an animated project. So, naturally, I need a freelance soundman to manage my recording sessions.

So you see, by way of a face-to-face, Oblivia will uncover what has happened. Hmm. Then I guess my only other question is. What is this animation you're going to be in? Some remake of a comic book called Sissy Space Kick. I'm playing the title character. Ooh, I've never heard of it. What's it about? Doesn't really shock me. It was way before your time. Nineteen seventies? As I recall, it was rather raunchy for a comic book.

You mean to say sexist? Now they assure me this re envisioning is politically correct. At any rate, the gist is a science fiction scenario, good vs evil. Germaine Clement plays my arch enemy, a creature called Galactos the Intolerant, and I hear there's talks for RuPaul to perform as Guinness the World Wrecker. Oh then please tell me this is a musical? It sounds so cool. I just pray this doesn't turn me into an action figure.

Ah, moving on, then. Ella, my reason for asking you here was to give these instructions for tonight's bedbug event. At this moment I have Rupert Nevins disassembling the standalone recording booth which stood outside Oscar's house. You know of it, I trust. Oh, sure. You said there were some strange reports about that booth. Did I? Splendid. Not altogether surprising, as the booth has a strange history.

I should tell you, before he disappeared long ago, our own Stig Gorgon's daughter constructed the booth for me, Its design is based upon an orgone energy accumulator conceived by Wilhelm Reich. Oh? If you think that name sounds connected to the Nazis, it isn't. In fact, Reich fled Nazi Germany to live in the United States. although Doctor Reich did have his own uh issues, his theories and inventions were controversial. His organ booth was hotly debated as to whether it could actually

Cure or heal a patient placed inside it? Do you really feel the need to open old wounds? So sorry. Something caught in my eye, it seems I'll just say it like a long, long Time before you were born, Ella. Jeepus had a friend named Jenny Weather, a climate scientist who became very ill. The recording booth we set up for the Oral Histories was originally built with the hope it could cure Jenny when other treatments failed.

or at least reduce her suffering. It did do that. We piped in lovely music, parted a philodendron, Being a genius, Stig built the booth so it was larger inside than it appeared on the outside. But this loggerhead doesn't forgive himself for keeping Jenny essentially confined to a box for much of her final days. Now, will you tell her about Clara or shall I?

Clara Bellman? The little girl in Tauswoman's painting? Someone recorded anonymous messages in the booth, and someone wrote anonymous poetry at the last bedbug. Anonymous. You mean the ghost poet? Wait, do you think that it was Clara Bellman? Like speaking from the beyond? This is where I hold my tongue. What do you have to say, Japus? All we shall say is that Rupert will reassemble the recording booth upon the stage of tonight's bedbug.

It turns out the Playhouse setting, with its seated audience, dimmed lights, And stage performances of poetry and spoken word is a framework not dissimilar to the holding of a seance. perhaps, with the right person serving as medium. All elements will be in place if Clara Bellman wishes to communicate again. What's more, with the sandy spectre now gone, it may be easier for Clara to share with us any clues regarding others who have disappeared from this island.

Like Steak Like Omar Like Thomas And who'll play the part of the medium? I'll leave you to thought that. Off to the airport. Remove your fez, I'm going to kiss your forehead. Bone voyage, Oblivia. I have some one in mind to act as the medium. If they are up to the task, you shall meet at the playhouse.

It's time Bug People. Filling up the seats. Oh hi, Thomas. Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to startle ya. Turns out I'm the host for tonight's bed bug. Nice. I wondered whose coffee this was. And the sound recorder. Oh, that belonged to the other Thomas. Got left behind when he disappeared. Jeepers wants me to keep recording things for the Oral History Project. The bed buckets included? Nice.

Oh, did you hurt your foot? Yeah. Walking to the control booth, I hit my toe on something. There's like an uneven part of the floor. Ooh, that's the crawl space. I've done that. It really hurts when you ram your foot into the trapdoor. Hope the pain wears off soon. Thanks. How long have you been back on the island? Oh, I've been here a few months. Just didn't get out much. I was up in the lighthouse with Bonzo's team. We were just obsessively working on his shellphone project.

Oh, I miss mine so much already. What'll happen next with the shell phones? Well, I signed something, so I can't talk about it. But Bonzo finished his test run, packed up the shell phone workshop and left. He was a hard guy to read. Every day he was like a different personality, But maybe someday everyone on planet Earth will have a choice between iPhone, Android, and shell phones. I hope so. I'm dimming the lights. We're pretty close to start time.

Big crowd tonight. Well, I'll head to the stage. Welcome everyone to tonight's edition of The Bed Bug. Slumberland's long-running tradition of showcasing poetry, spoken word, and music performances. Tonight's lineup is such a fascinating mix of local residents and visiting guests. And it's my first time ever hosting. For those who know me, please forget the boring name I used to have. When I left town some years back, I picked up a stage name in art school. Now I go by Thomas Anonymous.

In the Slumberland Memorial Gardens, there's a large metal cube sculpture titled Coyote's Voice Box. I created that. If you get a chance to check it out while you're in town, I think you'll dig it. Plus, you can go inside the cube, and for some strange reason, your cell signal is perfect. Unlike almost anywhere else on this island. Some kind of Nexus side effect to my geometry, I guess. Which brings me to the elephant in the room. Over here at stage left.

Why was a wooden booth placed here for tonight's show? Well, unlike my cube sculpture, it's a lot easier to move. But similar to the cube, it has some strange stuff going on inside it. Based on recent investigations, we think someone briefly materialized in this booth. You might call it a ghost or a spirit, but she has a name Clara Bellman. A girl who disappeared from this island in the eighteen eighties.

Like thirty years before Badamo Del Becca's ghost started causing trouble here. And so that's like sixty years before Slumberland was even founded. But unfortunately, over the years since Clara disappeared, some other people have vanished too, just as mysteriously, and as recently as this season. The hope is, if Clara saw fit to revisit Slumberland once, the welcoming vibes we offer during tonight's bed bug might entice her to show up again, and maybe help us learn how to stop the vanishings.

To begin tonight's bed bug, we have a guest making a special stop in Slumberland, folk musician David Tamulevich. Hi everybody, David Tanya Levich here of Mustard's Retreat. I'm gonna do a song now that is uh

Started out as a poem. Eugene Field wrote this back in eighteen eighty nine. It was first published. He was a newspaper man in Chicago at the time. It tried a lot of things in his life and Nothing seemed to work except uh except humor and uh and writing poems and he became known as the as the children's poet. The thing that I like about this is my aunts, my great aunts, Vir and Berness used to read it to me

a at uh when I was a kid, along with other poems. And as I grew up I had a fondness for it it and now as a musician I was lucky to be able to put music to it. So uh here we go Winkin, Linkin and Nod. Wherever you want.

Hello, my name is Flance Fleesel, and I'm a visitor to your lovely town. I am originally from Scotland, though I move about the world and rarely look back. When visiting interesting places, I enjoy creating soundwalk poetry in the vein of work by Janet Cardiff. If you could play my field recording track, please, I'd like to share the poem I wrote during my stay here. I fell in love with an atlas. It is a guide to remote islands. It is titled Fifty Islands I Have Never Set Foot On and Never Will.

I would like to think if the author had room, for 51 islands, she would have included Slumberland. A dot within a massive lake is this small island called Slumberland. And in the centre of the island is a small inland lake. and in the centre of that, an even smaller island. The locals call Dungenessa. It is misting the day I arrive on her shore. Banks of fog blend into grey sky. I step onto a paddle board and ease into the water.

With microphone and recorder attached to me in waterproof containers. I drift past lily pads and cigar-shaped cattails. Fewer than fifteen minutes to reach Dungenesa. Here many seagulls congregate. Loose sand clicks between the toes. At what I suppose is the islet's centre stands a peace pole. Languages on four sides read, gone, but not forgotten.

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