Category Archives: MAPS

there is no Steamboat Kelly, only Leroy

She looks over at the back of Pumpkinhead and thinks: Pumpkin*ass* is more like it, pleased that she doesn’t have such a big rump. She turns her attention back to Tammy, focuses in on the information she is blabbering on and on about. Brownsvile. Cleveland. Steamboat. Marsha gathered she’d heard or learned something in childhood that didn’t hold a bit of water when she grew up, except for the fact there was a Steamboat Springs in Colorado in the same state as a conjunction of Leroy and Kelly, albeit in a county pretty far away in a pretty big state still. Tiny places, perhaps extinct. Couldn’t have been a factor in the mistake. Not *consciously*. “Tell me more about the Browns in Maps,” she decides to say in a pause. “How about that place called Brown’s Bench you mentioned earlier,” she starts her out on about the spot she lost the train of thought — started thinking about rumps. Rumpus Ridge, big ball of twine — LOST. What did it all mean? Oh, shoot, there she goes again. “I’m sorry, Tammy, I was blanking out again — nothing to do with your *excellent* subject. It’s just…,” and here Tammy begins again without warning, without waiting for an explanation from Marsha Pink Krakow on what she was thinking in her own head. Tammy was talking hers out loud per usual. She: more internal, thoughtful. She heard Bench and then Rose. “Biding his time, hmm,” she says about what she thought she just heard.

Leroy Kelly was a star running back for the Cleveland Browns in the late 60s and early 70s. But he had to wait for the retirement of Cleveland’s greatest star ever before he too could shine — not as brightly of course, because we’re talking about the one and only *Jim* Brown, perhaps the greatest football player of all time never mind greatest runner. Certainly most Ohioans would agree to this, Clevelanders or otherwise. Leroy had to sit on the bench, bide his time until the greater star’s early retirement at the age of 30, shocking the sports world, since he was still on top of his game, it seemed.

I’m going to find them, he thought outside, not being able to see thru walls yet. He *senses* them, and they probably do him as well, at least Marsha does, being more open to those kind of things. If they per chance lock eyes it could be over. Safe at home for now, though.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0606, Colorado, River, South Dakota

light and shadow (The Z’s)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0604, Bogota, collages 2d, Pennsylvania, Willow Hill

stranger

Suddenly, miraculously, she had shrunk down, her weight even closer to Zero now as she’s checking. Crocogator watched from atop one of the floating ducks in the distance, somewhat disappointed the tale hadn’t gone on. But Story Room calls. Residents.

The world becomes solid. The curtain closes slightly more, just a slither.

Suddenly we are in a different place altogether.


Hmph. How’d I get over here??

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0513, Colorado, River, West Virginia

now

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0502, Bogota, collages 2d, Colorado, Constantynople, Falmouth, Nautilus, Rank & File, Washington, Willow Hill

00390415

“Why from the Abyss,” she answered the hot dog guy, trying to guess the ambiguity. The Christmas look and the green nose didn’t win him over. “Gracious goodness I’ve forgotten the name of this festive thingamabob growing out of my nose,” she said just earlier, talking about it before he did, they all did (in her mind). “Not mistletoe — that’s for hanging *above* your head, not *off* it, ah ha ha ha ha!” Did the laugh convince?

“Well it looks like a big long booger,” he said crudely, and then asked if she wanted relish on her big loong dog. Disgusting. Why did she come out of hiding in the first place? To deal with lowlifes like this beach bum? This nobody? “Where you from? Woman?”

—–

Where indeed? There were *elephants* in her Abyss now, another sign she had to go, along with the rest of the avatar family. Zimmy is obviously Jimy. Jimy Z., gone as sure as Zimmy since he was also dead. Only the symbolic Liverpool plane remains: big red machine, twitch of the Morgan, lumber for a Bench. Red as Rose, another archetype and more obvious. Red Star becomes Old Red Star and is banished from the game he so so loves. They bring in a Foster boy and he turns out to be just as legit as any of ’em. Conception is an error caught between the legs. Perez just is. Geronimo! (and he died) Griffey had a Junior who took control. One through eight complete. Visible compendium. No need to worry about the zero and the nine. They were enough by themselves to carry the team through any troubles, ride it to victory. Never mind who pitches what. What’s the pitch, Pitch? Didn’t matter. They were enough. Biiig lumber.

She went to talk to Willy Wonka in the past present future to give him a piece of her mind, dodging big piles of elephant doo all along the way. They met at the south end of the property, where we’ve been before, CROOKED in clear sight through an opening between palm trees and rocks. “You *don’t* understand,” she complained while indicating. “Those are *historic* buildings over there.” “That *junk*?” he reiterated, trying to think of new and more effective ways to derender all that for his fancy smancy artsy fartsy photos. “It looks like, I don’t know, a giant kid ate a whole bunch of tinker toys and legos and then threw up.” “*Moard* *Ling*”, she kept defending. “You’ll never hold a candle to him… Wonka.” It took a while but she had learned to respect the prolific prim creator, stuck in the past but with lessons to teach. Sometimes the past is better, at least in part, in ways. This is what she learned from Constantynople, soon to be no more here. She was about to have her last pass through it. She spotted the purple garbed guy — another *former* after all, another one living in the past. Why can’t he *see*?

It could have been different.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0415, Colorado, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File

00390405

I was born a boyy. My father became more famous than me. Some say he was a God. But not *the* God. I don’t think. I looked up to him. His head was in the clouds, at times I couldn’t see. I would grow up to be him [the first of many crossouts in the document], meet him. I was a boyy than grew up to be a mann. And what of dogg you might ask, the opposite of God Godd. I have no answer to that I only have a katt. Ratt. That was next.

I was born a mouse.

Bart put down the pen, still red, still bleeding from his hands. It hurt to write. He felt he wasn’t any good at it. He thought of the mouse in the film, Zero, the true hero. He was sent to bring the bull back to his father. The bull was him, he realized. He picked up the pen.

The mouse walked by the katt, not knowing what it was. The katt took chase. The mouse ran around the corner. Encountered space Was from space.

Bart thought about space for the first, real time, his true home. He saw stars. Starrucca. Starlight. Gravity called. He was sucked in. Aerial then grounded for life. He was perpetually in trouble. Often only Lemmy the tree came to his aid. His father once had a fight with it, lost his head. The boyy watched: a knife and a net. Dressed in pink, which was the style for boys of the time. His sister walked into his life wearing blue. “That’s crazy blue,” he said when she did.

He was grounded for life because of the film and because what Principal Skinhead saw that night, after the show was done, after all the people had dispersed to their individual dwelling units. Bart standing alone, no tree to protect. No shorts. He puts two hands over his parts and turns red.

He was even sent to prison for a while in his late 20s for killing a man in Defiance. He’d lost his way. Sucked up by the Great Black Swamp, as prophecy foretold.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0405, Apple's Orchard, Black Ice, Jeogeot, Marwood, Neptune, NWES Island, Ohio, Pennsylvania

00390212

Not yet (*sip*).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0212, collages 2d, Constantynople, Falmouth, Nautilus, Rank & File, Washington

00390208

Yet another pepper, a 3rd for the shirt and top covering up the exposed tank. Superseding the other two?

Big Stickout in MACAvity, another West Virginie resonance.

Meanwhile, the actual, non-merged Shelleys have started taking train rides with each other on another part of the FILE, but are kicked off before entering the water, marking passage into a different sim. Shelley, one of them, I suppose Shelley 01 which would be more appropriate, then spots a red pin on a map of Pickle 01 off the coast of the 1st Bellissaria continent, technically part of the continent itself since it was the first landmass to form there. Maybe this is our next lead, she thinks, clothes still a bit wet from the brief dunking. But she fared better than the one sitting more up front.

Pickle 01 and Pickle 02, then. Just like Shelleys 01 and 02, interesting. Also combining, and perhaps not in a good way as well.

A different location for Pickle 01’s red pin back in photo-novel 21 but too similar not to mean something, most likely.

So Shelley 01 stays put at the map while Shelley 02 checks out the actual location on Pickle 01. Real time investigating we have here. Exciting! Let me just close up some windows before actually logging on the 2nd Shelley, the now basically duplicate to the first minus some secondary cosmetic attributes along with the use of more demos to save money in the process… Okay, that should be enough.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0208, Bellisaria, Constantynople, Nautilus, NORTH, Pickle 01, Pickle 02, Rank & File, Rim Isles, West Virginia

00390202

Mr. Babyface is now downstairs in Kidd, having yielded the top 2 floors representing his old penthouse apt. to the new couple in town, the *owners* as it were (Arthur and Shelley). He’s also agreed to share the dining table of his upper floor with them, since their own upper floor is basically taken up with a bed. That’s fair, that’s fair, he ponders, puffing on Red Dragon this morning. Out of Blue Pennant, his favorite. Have to run up to West Virginie for a restock soon. But how to get there? Last time he had to go through Hana Lei, holding his nose all the time. Fairy poop, yeck! The worst kind, and they leave it all over the place, not believing in civilization and modern conveniences such as flush toilets and pressure showers. Thus the body odor added in to the rest of the smells, the poop, the pee. He *hates* going there. And yet… I suppose the band Lamb is still in all that mess somewhere. High as the sky; not figuring a way out yet. They have likely been totally assimilated, he reckons. Poor Paul, poor Peter and Mary. He may never see them again. His poor poor nephew (*sigh*). *Anyway*…

He continues to puff as he stares at the Big E on the now shared table, a ritual of sorts. He doesn’t know quite what to make of it still except that it’s perfect in its own way, and a worthy additional the TILE family of absolute glyphs. He stares at the green green sim of Xilted, thinking back to his own experiences there, 0202 as well and exactly 3 novels back. More perfection.

He met a soldier specifically named Chet, a veteran of the Trojan-Durexian War. He can’t recall the names of the other soldiers that were there at the outpost with him and then lover Greg (or Gregg) but he remembers Chet. “Grass, the usual,” Chet always use to say to him whenever he asks the ever pointing, gun toting soldier what he’s aiming at today from his lookout post. And Mr. Babyface would always pause in his activities of the day and stare out with him a bit here — into the green green hills of Xilted (now with grass!). Maybe they could be considered even… friends? What else did they talk about? The cow loving, fellow Trojan warrior now living in the Northern Hills of the original Bellissaria continent? Certainly a possibility, I’m guessing, although they could have become chums after this assignment was over given the whole perpetual war thing, but certainly before his own untimely, well, death. Chet died at the hands of a machete wielding enemy with more blood lust in his spirit. Kill or be killed, he learned too late. But perhaps he was right in doing so; rewards in heaven and so on. Mr. Babyface didn’t know about Chet’s death, I’m supposing. He’d only learn that later in this here photo-novel, 39 in a series of a lot. Maybe from Groover.

And how appropriate his table is now 3 floors down from the top of Kidd and thus displaying the Xilted sim on its side wall as well. At the top — his former upper floor again — Shelley has (XY*Z*) Zebrasil, very close to a volcano that had just gone off. Can he recover enough to go at it again the next day? You betcha! Yet another perfection and directly related. Little e to Big E, you see. TILE talk.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0202, Constantynople, Jeogeot, Kidd Tower, Middleton, Nautilus, Rank & File, West Virginia, Xilted

Permaglow

She went back the next day to meet him. She knew to sit far apart and she also wore a mask for extra protection. Many said he didn’t exist but she knew better. She felt the chills of reality pass through her almost daily.

“I can’t… stop glowing,” he said to her across the patio holding the 3 Meter Monument. “I *can’t*… stop *glowing*.”

But what to do for him? Marg was dead. Homer had lost his head. Lisa, yes. She must contact the sister, the author of the other, lesser treatise on the controversial “perhaps sentence”. Not the channeler/psychic Bart was but still the only hope, she knew. And, chance has it, they had a mutual friend, even though she still didn’t know that fact.

Back home:

“Tarnation, woman! TV dinners again?! Where you been all day girl!?” She, of course, couldn’t tell him, except that she’d been walking per usual. Cowboys never see the other side. “I’m going to stake you down with a rope,” he warned. “Just like a big, fat cow I am.” He was close to her face now, rage in his eyes, nose, mouth, everything. Her window of opportunity to help the boy was closing. She’d need allies, at least one. And he was very close as fortune would have it. Now to somehow bring them together, hmm.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0112, Ashton Village, Bellisaria, Pennsylvania, Pickle 02