Monthly Archives: February 2019

arrival 01

“This is not ideal, Philip Dilip.”

“I know, I know,” he gruffly relented. “It’s all we could afford. Rent here is out the roof!”

“You said something about Clyde. Where is Clyde?” Billy Jean Kidd puts her hands on her hips for emphasis. This was important!

“Um, well, let’s just go meet Marion Harding over at that Vineyard he found yesterday.”

“Vineyard *cafe*,” Billy Jean Kidd corrected, still in a steam. “I could use some coffee. This heroin is beginning to wear off.”

“Well, we had to give you *something* for the trip. And to prepare you for, well, *this*.” He indicates toward the cottage he’d rented just several days back. Their new home: he and the Kidd and Marion. The kid who wasn’t really a kid atall. So the drug part is totally legit, at least in Caledonia. I’ll have to check the local laws on drug use before the 3 settle in. All heavy imbibers they are, Marion with his pot, Philip his pills, and Billy Jean, well, she’s the worst of the 3 now. Old souls can falter in that manner.

“Coffee!” The Kidd begins to stomp in place on the melting snow. “Coffee, coffee, coffee!” She was having a caffeine conniption.

—–

“It’s so laggy here, Philip, Kidd.”

“It’s the beginning of the end,” states Billy Jean plainly. “And where’s my *coffee*?”

“In a minute, babe,” spoke Marion, smooth and gangsterly as always. “Just gotta knock the edge off this pot with some wine. Then we’ll shift — over.”

“Wine, beer, booze, drugs, cigarettes.” It’s all we do any more. It’s like we don’t *exist*.”

Philip and Marion try to absorb the impact of this statement. “*Clyde*” Billy Jean harshly interrupted their ruminations. “The *reason* for the *being*.”

Marion finally thought to take another sip of wine. Buzz was strong this afternoon. Blur the higher regions a bit, the parts he’s not suppose to know yet. The blue above the red. Red wine, blue pot, hmmm. He drinks deeper. Must return to red.

“Well I for one am going to get some sugar… donuts hopefully. Take the bite out of these barbiturates I’m on currently.” Philip scoots his chair back and gets up to go to the other side, across the wooden swing bridge. The side of the cafe that has the coffee. And the pastries.

Marion then stares at The Kidd, who stares back. “You don’t… really like me do you,” Marion states, seeing the hatred in her eyes.

“No, I don’t really like you Marion Star Harding. Not at the moment, anyway.” But Marion thought it went on longer than that. Through eternity, maybe, but that was the blue beyond the red again. ‘Nother sip of wine. Oh… he realized, she just wants some coffee. And I’m here, taking my time, drinking my wine. Slooowly.

“Oh… I see,” he spoke aloud. “You want…”

“Duh,” she interrupted. “Are you through with the wine?” She pauses a beat. “How about now?”

“Listen, doll… kid. We’re here to show you something, Philip and me. There’s something special about this place. It’s not… just about getting away from Caledonia. It’s *fate*.” Marion ends here.

“It’s fate *what*?”

“The, er, Oracle.” He decided just to blurt it out. “It’s in the other side. The pastry part.”

“Well,” states Billy Jean Kidd, unimpressed. “Down the rest of that precious wine and we’ll head over there. Join Philip in his sugar binging. It will probably be cocaine after that. Usually is after sweets. We may have a clear spot between…” — she checks her watch which she actually isn’t wearing — “… between 5:30 and 5:45. That gives us 15 minutes to make some actual sense to each other. Not red… blue… black… yellow. I need some coffee, I need some drugs. We’ll actually *talk* to each other. Like a regular family.” Billy Jean Kidd thinks again how she desires a normal family, not necesarrily a father and a mother instead of 2 fathers — pseudo-fathers. Just… normal. White picket fences, red apple pies, blue skies, green trees, yellow dress — well, she has that… but the rest. She so wants it. And she thought this mythical Clyde might supply it.

Marion finally remembers to drink the wine again. And that they need to get to the other side. He stands up, a little wobbly but then steady (as she goes).

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Filed under *Second Life, Rosehaven^^

dogged

“Slowly but surely, Spring is coming to Rosehaven, Sandy. The snow is melting. The old link with Winterfell is weakening once more. Eversnow.”

“Herbert, please,” spoke Sandy Beech, still under contract. “I suppose that will have to be one for the blooper roll of this novel.”

Merry Gouldbusk skips over Herbert’s breaking of the 4th wall in her reverie. “And castles… they are changing too. I’m not sure for the best. Homogenization.”

“Still sulking about Murdock’s Castle, eh?” Herbert Dune looked at his nails. “There’s still Dog Island.”

“No. (The essence of) that’s moved too. I consulted the Oracle yesterday. It spoke of a Pineapple Island where the true savior of Our Second Lyfe was born. One Daniel. Or Jackson — the Oracle couldn’t specify.”

“The Tiger Oracle,” clarified Herbert. “How is DJ anyhoot?”

“He’s doing fine. He’s looking forward to spring too. When the rest of Rosehaven will homogenize with his evergreen, everliving Borderlands.”

“It’s a nice anchor,” declares Herbert. “A tale that wags the dog — something.”

“Something,” agreed Merry Gouldbusk.

—–

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Filed under *Second Life, Rosehaven^^

Wednesday, February 27, 2019


soaking it all in…

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Filed under *Second Life, The Waste^^

link

The company put Jackson Bloch up in a shack over in Hambone, just across the sim line from Nevermore. Handy for work, but he had to live with rental furniture and decorations, which he usually hated. However, this place was different. All the decor that should have remained alien to him began becoming more familiar instead. Slowly, surely, he felt like this was home, not only the shack, but, perhaps even moreso, Hambone itself.

He’d heard of a local man named Pat who disappeared in the past that some say looked and acted like him. They didn’t say “slow” or “ugly” or “unkempt” to his face, but that’s the essence of what they meant. Maxine Cornbread, Howard Johnstone, and the rest. The Gossipers, they called themselves, and met at The Last Drop every Wednesday afternoon, sand storm or shine. Jackson Bloch was now part of their outer, extended circle. So was a new dude named Walt: Walter Westinghouse. Philip Tongue as well. The Tongue — fits right in with that nickname. Anyway, the similarity between Jackson and Pat — our Patrick Starr of course — has been brought up several times now by that group. Slowly, surely, the story of the Nevermore abductions will intertwined with those of Pat and Jackson. 1 plus 1 begins to add up to 3. As in an unexpected baby. If he hadn’t died in that killer shark attack 15 years back, imagine the relief Zoidboro would have experienced learning who the true father was. Aliens! “Should have known,” I can hear him say from the grave.

With his mind, Jackson removes several posters from the wall he suddenly finds unwanted and unnecessary.

He’s been doing such things all his life. That’s how he became involved in the ruin construction business. No one puts up ruins faster than him. Or tears them down if the reverse is needed. No one.

Jackson is indeed very blessed and very special.

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Filed under *Second Life, The Waste^^

breakfast of champions

“Don’t kill me sir!” the puppet man pleaded vigorously in his high, wavering voice. “I’m an innocent! I haven’t done nothing wrong, done no one no harm!”

Charlie stares into the eyes of innocence, lowers the knife. He can’t do it. Charlie Banana begins untying Freedom Puppet.

“Get up. Here. Take the knife.”

—–

“That trick was easier than I thought,” Freedom Puppet said while quickly cutting a circle around the center of Charlie Banana. “Eat your heart out Gene Kelly.”

—–

At her Fruity Island house boat, Parasol goes to check the morning mail. “Ahh. A real heart instead of a puppet one.” Parasol sighs. “Poor Charlie Banana. We had a good run, though.”

“Looks like blue might win out after all.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Fruity Islands^^, Rubi^

Ruby Fantasie: savior

“It’s so beautiful Zoidboro. Just like you said. The trees would grow, the water would go. I’m ready to name my baby.”

“Jackson, then?” guessed Zoidboro, steeling himself for disappointment.

“No, a compromise. If our son is very special — say, can do 6 butterflies in a row…”

“What’s a butterfly?” queried his cephalopodic partner while watching yet another shooting star cross the sky.

“That’s right. You never went to dance school like me — sorry. It’s a cartwheel where your hands never touch the ground. Anyway if he can do 6 of those as opposed to, say, 4 or even 5, we will call him Jackson. Otherwise: Daniel. Danny will be a good boy, I’m sure, but not special. Jackson is reserved for Special.”

“Like Jack’s son.”

“Yes. I wish 100 times over that he is special, but we must love him equally either way.”

“Agreed,” Zoidboro quickly returned.

Patrick turned away from the sky and toward his partner, his ally. “And now, it’s time, to go, inside.”

—–

“I have found them! In the heart of the Pineapple Island. My intuitions are correct!”

“And across the street: another tiny car! This must be the controller.”

“I’ll go inside.”

—–

“Ahh. Should have guessed. Tessa.”

“Who are you??”

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Filed under *Second Life, End of Time^^, Hawaii

It’s a boy!

—–

Martha was both polite and curious. “Have you thought of a name yet, Mr. Zoidboro?”

“I’m thinking about Daniel. Or Danny.”

“Excellent. Like ‘The Shining’.”

“Oh… yeah.”

—–

“Danny, huh,” utters an exhausted Patrick, fresh from the Jacobian Hospital. The only hospital on this Pineapple Island, with over 100 beds. “I was thinking about Jack. Or Jackson.”

“Jack’s son?”

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Filed under *Second Life, End of Time^^