Monthly Archives: December 2020

December 20, 2020 · 5:12 pm

short for Grotesque

After all the actual avatars had moved over to Perch (diner) for after-meeting drinks, Gordie Down, formerly Curled Paper, said his first meaningful word for no one except us, the reader and the writer of this here blog. “Grote,” he uttered, not loud enough to attract the attention of others. Instantly he felt his physique change, growing in some spots and retreating in others; no need for Baker to get those apples. For the first time, he-turned-to-she began to dream. The result was a whole book which remains unpublished to this day, “Winesap” taking its place in the instant of the moment.

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December 20, 2020 · 5:11 pm

Sunkland Institute’s Blue Feather

If only they could have brought the ocean all the way up to the docks here and made NWES City a true port, thinks Baker Bloch, staring out at same. Maybe Sammie Parr, Tenty, the rest could have been saved, maybe the Black Ice Market here would still be thriving and providing talky tubes for beloved pets, etc. He sighs, turns.

If Spunky’s also goes that may be it for this side of town. And if one part crumbles then the rest fall as well, all 4 jigsaw pieces. And that means the 5th, orange, Sunklands Institute in effect, will be meaningless too. Might as well move it back to Iris, then; Bella (squirrel) could have proved that.

Speaking of which, I must get to the Blue Feather meeting over there, called specifically because of new developments in Bella, Belle- seri… sare… whatever (think “Bell is serial”, baker b.!).

—–

“So you see,” he says a bit later at the meeting, comprised of himself, Wheeler Wilson, Grassy Noll, Chef-Detective Keat Owens, and Gordie Down (formerly Curled Paper), just like before, “this wheel of avatars found by Bixyl — lemme see (Baker squints at the media feed), looks like Shuftan — occurred just after the completion of photo-novel 22, the one prior to the current one.”

“Hi!” repeats “Winesap” reading, light bulb headed Gordie Down. Baker and the others look at him, jointly wondering if he’s ever going to become a functional member of The Table they all sit around and participate in. Baker also makes a mental note here to get those apples for him as requested by Wheeler.

“Yes, hello once again, Gordie.” Baker decides to try to prod more out of him. “What do *you* think of this circle or wheel, Gordie? Do you think it represents the nodal photo-novels 1-4-7-10-13-16-19-22, like we talked about before? At the time, Wheelhouse (sim) was at the top of the developing continent and Wheeler (sim) at the bottom. This circle was created just over from Wheelhouse. We think it’s All Orange, Gordie (Wheeler and Grassy nod in agreement), but… what about you?”

“Hellooo!”

No success on that front! They’ll try again another night.


Baker discussing the same concept with dummy Chef-Detective Keat Owens in photo-novel 22.

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December 20, 2020 · 10:20 am

00230515

It was in the 4th valley, or perhaps it was the 5th, that Jeffrie Phillips actually found something solid and concrete and pertinent to his mission. He kept staring at that tree in front of the rock wall: something wasn’t quite right here. A cave! he intuited with his enhancing Pan-Z mind conditioning. But hidden — someone or something is doing the hiding and he’s going to find out. This is where he will camp. Too bad about Sammie, he laments again, not knowing her ill fate. He was luckier than Tickie in that way. One ambulance turned into two as the night went on. Jeffrie heard them, but the sirens blended in so well with the distant whale songs that he couldn’t tell one from the other. Ah yes, those whales, confirming he was a lala. Tessa Doom came to him in a dream that night, a dream so real that it could be Earth, like New York but in the past.

At 2:01 am, in the middle of the dream, the portal opened.

“Grandpa?!”

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December 20, 2020 · 7:10 am

00230514

Valley no. 2. Higher, more dangerous, more chance of monsters. He trods the path that Jeffrie Phillips walked before him again. Is Jeffrie dead already? Did Sammie make it back to the highway or was she done in like Tenty. We know, in fact, that she made it back to the highway but not in a good way. So: like Tenty, except a different type of transport.

Sammie was so red already that it was hard to tell where the body stopped and the wound began. This likened her to an alien, perhaps a Cygnus Xian this time. Why was she in all those collages in the Red Umbrella and why was she actually a 5n1? Yes, a member of Pan-Z, like Jeffrie, but one not nearly as established and in the loop. Qualities of a red shirt, then, Jeffrie realized; no better, really, than a middling to higher constituent of inferior Pot-D, he rationalized. He figured she would be done in, but he didn’t reckon this early; thought he would have at least *one* night with her in his “love tent”. He was surprised, just like Tickie in a different way. And soon they would find out why. Together. But first: two.

—–

Jeffrie descends to the lakes and thinks he finds the first monster which turns out to be just an oddly shaped and hued rock protruding from the water. Charlene would not be proud.

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December 20, 2020 · 7:10 am

00230513

Valley no. 1. Probably not far enough away from civilization to act as a bonafide monster attractor, but we’re on the way. Tickie reviewed the events of what just happened in his mind again. Tenty: dead! Or was he? And the Operator or Zero Hero. He is me! He’s jumped the rail, skipped the highway. He’s in lala land: a lala. He believes he hears a whale song far in the distance. Perhaps the sea is nearer than he thinks but perhaps not. New York comes to mind as well: he’s heard about a certain island on this continent that acts as a land antipode for a place on the opposite side of the world, proving Our Second Lyfe is a globe, a sphere (it has a belt). But it’s not New York; something *pre* New York. New Hamsterdam: that’s it. Pot-D sent a team in there a couple of weeks ago — hasn’t heard back from them. Pan-Z’s probably not far behind. They like to send the red shirts in first to test the atmosphere of a place. And antipodal Our Second Lyfe sounds dangerous.

2 hours earlier:

“Just up this path should be the second valley. More chance of monsters for certain!”

Sammie Parr hung back. She was scared. I should have never left NWES City, she bemoaned, thinking of Richmond.

Jeffrie Phillips was suddenly on his own as well as Sammie silently made her way back to the highway while she had the chance. He only turned around at the top.

“Sammie?”

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December 20, 2020 · 7:09 am

rails again

He’s in there somewhere, Tenty. We’ll check that isolated valley over there first.”

“We’re looking for different people — entities — yes, but have a common goal.”

“To free the Inbetweenland of monsters (like us).”

“Correct.”

“Alright, let’s move out!”

Inexperienced traveler Tenty never made it past the railroad tracks.

“Watch out!!!”

Tickie then spotted him across the road and knew this was no accident. The Undertaker. Some called him the Operator. Some… Zero Hero.

He lifted up his monstrous arms and screeched a horrible, echoing sound. “Watch out!!!”

Then he turned into me and I was gone.

“What just happened??”

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December 18, 2020 · 9:26 am

merging tracks

It *was* extraordinary. This track leading into the heart of the 4 sim wilderness. Not since Azure Islands…

Jeffrie Phillips shakes his head here. In wonder. He knew they were hiding out in there somewhere. Better recruit some help on his side of things. Cunning Poetry, good with a steal and a lie, came to mind, but that would alert Charlene. Charlene? Too busy. Plus that was the whole point. To bag this Knob Noster and bring him home to mama.

How about… Sammie Parr. He could run into her accidentally, say, at the Consignment store. Or down on the docks somewhere — he knew she liked to hang there sometime with devoted boyfriend Richmond Petersburg from Norfolk Virginia, currently *not* on leave from the navy. That was important too. Extraordinarily so.

A smile developed on his face as he kept looking ahead at the straight as an arrow railroad, aimed like Cupid.

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December 18, 2020 · 9:25 am

Bake’s

“Peppins, Pippins, Pippens… the name shifted all around down through the months, now almost years. It all had to do with that Peppi machine: that was the center it all revolved around, The Diamond some call it. David A.B. put his heart and his brain into designing that machine; literally for the brain. He knew what was just around the corner. A beat up old station wagon with an Illinois license plate reading BDR529, intent on harm. He didn’t have much time.”

“But what does this *mean*?” ask Poetry Dancer, with Jeffrie Phillips for the moment. Until Charlene Brown the punk woke up about 11 o’clock. Morning walk he could say, building up a sweat by running in place for a couple of minutes. Poor Charlene — so involved in her cryptozoology dissertation writing late into the night that she was oblivious to the transgressions. Jeffrie was taking full advantage of that. The bastard. But a smart bastard, perhaps the worst kind.

“It *means*, my dear, that the death was planned; on purpose. We must track down this Sammie Parr, who is in the collages after all. She is an amalgamation of 5, just like me. That means…”

“Pot-D. *Sorry*. I mean Pan-Z of course.”

“Yes. A rival member, perhaps rogue. *Obviously* rogue because of the murder and all. David A.B.’s brain must have been in there all right.”

“But what will they do with it *now*?” queries Poetry Dancer further, no ugly in her face for the moment.

“They got him to the hospital through trickery, just like before. The brain I mean, and not the host.”

“Of course.”

“It’s Mid Hazel,” he suddenly intuited, putting collage pieces together in his own brain. “She’s up to something.”

“Oh dear.”

“More… *cake*?” he said after a weighted pause.

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December 16, 2020 · 7:33 pm

rose hips

Sammie Parr visits the Red Umbrella and has a hard time understanding.

—–

“I do kind of like this piece,” she says to her devoted boyfriend of 4 years walking in from an adjacent room on the 3rd and last floor of the gallery, one Richmond Petersburg of Norfolk Virginia, out on leave from the navy.

“Art… like me.” She laughs at her mistake, perhaps a Fraudian slip. “I mean, *red* like me. The Art word.”

Richmond comes beside her and also studies from across the rail. He has an eye for detail. “Like the jigsaw piece as well, honey, the one at the top sort of holding the other 3 up.” He points. “The blue, the green, the yellow. It’s like they’re, I don’t know, being drug through the air. Airborn: yes, that’s it.”

Big nosed Achilles T. Pippins studying the next collage over suddenly sneezes and everyone in the gallery and more becomes infected. Stay safe out there!

—–

Later in the hospital, Achilles sees this same collage “open up” for him (as best it could) and he is able to pass the red woman attracting his attention so much before right up. Higher goals he has now! The gates swing wide.

Devoted wife of 40 years Mary Pippins is inconsolable (*sniff*).

Sammie Parr and Richmond Petersburg are fine and have forgotten all about meeting schnozzle cursed Achilles in the gallery. “I like your red outfit,” he said before parting.

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December 16, 2020 · 7:33 pm

spectre from the past

“Well I at least have some refuge bins outside — for the whole neighborhood, really.” He turns. “But I’m in a *pickle* about what to do with the rest of this building, Gotham.”

“Couple more bong hits and we might get it,” suggests the psychedelic reggae monk to fellow pothead Stumpy, pointing in what he thinks is the direction of their apartment above Bob White’s Record Store. Such cheap rent! He can afford both.

—–

Later:

“We’ll have to do something about this, Trash and Recycling. Can you, I don’t know, *combine* the two? At least get rid of one of ’em?”

“On it,” they both say in unison, already planning ahead.

—–

More later:

“Umm, I’m confused.”

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