Category Archives: 0042

March 14, 2024 · 3:17 pm

00420306

*Interesting*. Part of Mary Ball’s Epping Woods remains over near VHC City on the Heterocera continent, although the Killing Shack there where vampire Pitch Darkly and his partner in crime and fellow vampire Buster Damm took their victims for blood sacrifices is gone. I guess that would go along with it reappearing at the bottom of a lake over on Bellissaria. And Pepper and her gallery of abstract sculptures is there too (as I wrote that, I sneezed).  Hard to forget her. She’s the one who drove Pitch (and Buster) away from VHC City in the first place, back back back to Collagesity also on the same continent at that time but many sims away to the south (Rubi Woods). We’re talking about storied lands here and tales that are approaching decades in length. Tales of banishment and at least partial redemption.

Nearby: The Void swallows.

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March 14, 2024 · 4:07 am

00420305 (blow the doors off something (also: Rabbit))

Time for Mary Ball and Pitch Usurpius Darkly to move on to the next leg of their extended fishing vacation…

…. Fox Island at Endlessly Antipodal. Note that Antipodal is very close to antipoison, almost as if it was in the same jacket near the same pocket. Juliet-like, balcony standing Sepisexton we’re talking about here again and her hidden vial of the latter. Just in case, as she puts it. The former is included in picks by not one but two Yellowmoon Ridge landowners who seem unconnected to each other, er, otherwise (where we’ve just seen Shelley and Arthur). That’s why I knew I had to send the Darklys or someone else in my family of avatars there to check it out, interact with the landscape and perhaps the residents, if any exist.

Philosophy time now: Everything in Our Second Lyfe is connect to each other as if in a fractal environment. It all drills down to the same thing over and over. Only Outside can save us, something beyond Our Second Lyfe. Haze County where I actually live up in the Real World is an obvious, top level way to escape this void. Similarly virtual but much more intensely verisimilitudinous Red Dead planet too — if I can figure out how to get Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate out of that fox body and into a human one again in St. Dennis, its only full fledged city and what some call the 8th wonder of that world. GoogleEarth and associated Street View is yet another way to latch onto something more real. Thing is, Our Second Lyfe is losing energy as games keep developing way above and beyond it. If it weren’t for the ability to create. Oh, and also the avatar customization and the incredible creativity of Our Second Lyfe residents in designing clothes, buildings, vehicles, all sorts of things. I seem to need to relay this to the reader of my blog to illustrate that I’m in sort of a tug of war between it and the rest of reality, including even other virtual worlds (and specifically, at least at this point, Red Dead Redemption 2, even though I don’t yet own the game itself, ha). I mean, right now in one of my other computer windows I’m looking at something that shouldn’t be possible. Something in Mary Ball’s old Killing Shack now located at the bottom of a lake in Decker on the original Bellissaria continent. How did I get to this point?


Then there’s the problem of OSL laaaggg.

So here we finally return to Pitch Darkly and Mary landing in their small fishing boat on what’s called Fox Island in the River of Bear. Of course it has other names — no surprise there — including Squirrel Island. Because of this little fellow, currently surrounded by sniffing foxes checking him out. But he’s actually a chipmunk; that’s what the foxes have surmised as well, being versed in Endlessly Antipodal geography and the naming of local things. “We’re still okay; still on top,” one speak-thinks to the other, actually being a part of one soul beneath the separate exteriors, a distinct advantage they have over humans.

Maybe we shouldn’t be so hasty in switching Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate back into a human body himself. See what he can still uncover as an urban fox.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0042, 0305, Bellisaria, Google Street View, Hana Lei^^, Haze County, RDR2, Western Hills

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March 13, 2024 · 4:55 am

00420304

“Are you disappointed that she didn’t want to sell the castle property back to you, Shelley?”

Sigh. “No, not really. Gave me an excuse to look around the place, see what she’d done. That’s good enough. For a consolation.”

“It’s pretty expensive still,” says Arthur Kill. “Baker only pays about 1 1/2 times that amount for the Aisle of Palms rental as a whole and that’s about, let’s see, 2 1/2 times as much land.”

“Do you still speak to him?” Shelley Johnston Struthers asked eagerly.”

“N-no. I thought *you* spoke to him.”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, indeed.” Both understood that Baker Bloch, owner of the virtual town we as a family rent now, didn’t seem to know the couple’s whereabouts. They were off the radar. And then both also thought about George, aka The Musician. Was it the same with him?

“We should go down into town tonight. Go shopping and dining.”

Shelley looked out the window on their perch atop Yellowmoon Ridge at all the snow falling. Then she looked around the house at all the elephant decoration. Just came with the rental — no planning on their part. “Nah, I’m fine staying here tonight. That special on indie animation is debuting on Youtube at 8. Then they’re replaying a doubleheader of ‘The Pink City’ and ‘The Amazing Digital Circus’ at 9.”

“Love that stuff,” opined hubby Arthur, envisioning other stuff at 10. This 3rd honeymoon (or was it their 4th?) was working out swell. Cheap rental *exactly* on the spot where the old Ant Castle use to exist. Current owner didn’t even know anything about that storied history. Arthur had a hard time believing it — still does. He checks his watch not on his wrist. 7:45. Time to pop open the first bottle of wine? Why not.

They ended up drinking the 1st glass to Biff Carter, which was a strange toast indeed. Have to think about that.

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March 12, 2024 · 4:00 am

Walsh County (Pitch Darkly)

“Look dear, I caught another one (!).”

“Hold on, Mary. Hold on. It’s Baker calling.”

“Baker? Hi!”

(reply)

“Yeah, we’re getting along great. A little cold of course but it is North–”

(reply)

“What was that? Hold on, let me take this darn Russian cap off with the ear flaps and all.”

—–

“Okay go ahead, sir.”

(reply)

“Yeah, I heard that now.” He covers the phone with his hand and whispers over to fishing Mary. “Baker says he needs to talk to us as soon as we get back to town.” He listens again…

(reply)

“Mary Ball, eh? Well that’s *one* of her names.”

(reply)

“George, right.” He removes the phone from his ear but doesn’t cover the face up this time while saying over to his wife in a louder voice: “He wants to know how you acquired the Killing Shack, you know, the one over in Epping Woods.”

“Why does he want to know that?” She was happy fishing right now. She didn’t want to be reminded of that horrendous past on her well deserved vacation. Calm, she said to herself. Caalllmm.

“I’ll ask him.” Phone to bare ear again. “Baker, what’s going on?”

(reply)

“Virginia neck country again, eh? Just like with—”

(reply)

“Dead ball era, huh? That’s *my* era, where I came from. Where the *ERA* was real low, he he. Get it? My era. My ER–”

(reply)

“Okay, thanks. See you when we get back.”

(reply)

“We will. Thanks.” And Baker Bloch hangs up on the other side.

—–

“Did you mention the antipoison?”

“No,” Baker responds to Hucka. “I thought he’d had enough to chew on today.”

“Agreed I suppose. So we’re on for next Tuesday?”

“8 o’clock sharp.”

(to be continued)

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March 10, 2024 · 9:40 pm

00420302

“I found this in the same county as White Stone, Hucka. Merry and Mary, just like in St. Merry’s (?) Church.”

“Follow up on that,” she requests. So I did. I talked to Pastor Ziegler about the weird conjunction.

—–

“That’s interesting it’s Mary Ball there as well.”

“As well?” I prompted.

“Yes. Mary Ball is the mother of George Washington. And it happens that it’s Pitch Darkly’s Mary’s maiden name too. Can’t be coincidence.”

“Again,” I replied.

“Especially since they also have a kid named George, come to think of it. Not sure how old the boy would be now. Maybe even a teenager?”

“He was growing up fast the last time I checked,” I agreed

“Anyway (*sigh*), this is certainly a mystery indeed. Another Virginia neck mystery.”

“First Susan and Shadow. Now this. Lively… variant names of both Pitch Penny and Catch Penny, inferring a battery in baseball. Balls are more lively than they use to be back in the dead ball era, before the death of Indian Ray Chapman via beaning and the cleaning up of (the ball and) the game, giving hitters the upper hand over pitchers (and catchers) from that day forward. Martyr, some say because of it.”

“I’m glad you are confiding all this to me,” spoke Pastor Stephan Ziegler of the 1st Church of St. Merry’s — yes, that’s the name — who seemed just happy to be part of the town story again. Aisle of Palms… stated he loves it in all its interesting twists and turns. I thought to myself that he’s probably just glad I didn’t instead go to Rev. Amos T. Sandman across the street at the rival Fries with Cheese Church with my insights — gives him the upper hand there as well. But of course Amos is rarely in the building because of the smell. Allergic to cheese of all things. And they built the church out of the material, as traditional states. No one can really stay there that long without wearing clothes pins on their noses, and so that became part of their traditional as well, part of ecclesiastical lore.

Fries with Cheese office manager Martha Lamb takes note of Baker’s exit from her second floor office window while getting ready to go home herself. She can free up the nostrils at last. Worst part of the job — everything else she loves, just like Stephan, who she perceives as a direct arch-rival, assuming that role for the mainly absent Reverend, she feels

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March 9, 2024 · 4:09 pm

00420301 (another VA neck)

Unable to write today he watched her from afar, wondering what she was waiting for. Hope she doesn’t abstract today, he thinks. Sometimes just doing nothing can set it in. Maybe I better go over there, talk to her, interact with her, check on her. Make sure she’s okay. Keep her mind occupied. Maybe talk about the past. And the future. But not the present. Never the present.

I wonder where this Shelley girl is, she ponders from the balcony like Juliet to his Romeo. She had an antipoison on hand just in case she made the same mistake as in the past. White Stone — check on it.

She smells the red roses and that makes her feel better. Arrive by sea and I’ll be waiting and watching, she ordered the girl who was actually a woman indeed. The Woman. Unless that’s Parasol.

Ah yes, that must be her pulling in there at the marina, she observes from her castle up on the hill. Better tell Amos I’ll be indisposed for a couple of hours.

(to be continued)

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March 8, 2024 · 10:47 pm

00420216 (original shock)

And this is where we came in.

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March 8, 2024 · 8:57 pm

gone bye bye

In this “Amazing Digital Circus” teaser, ringmaster Caine directly references Kane (Pixels) and his famed Back Room bacteria creature. Knew it.

And then there’s the abstracted Kaufmo clown character from the pilot, who some spell as Cofmo. Including me here. Poor Cofmo. But good guy (?) Caine takes care of the immediate danger for himself and his still intact circus employees by banishing the poor transmogrified creature to an underworld, underwater realm.

“Honey? Honey? Snap out of it again. Look at me look at me. Honey?”

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March 8, 2024 · 8:10 pm

00420214

Okama Majo rests comfortably on Fuzzy Wuzzy, his devious plan fulfilled. Heat back up to normal in his house — no need for exercise to generate warmth now. Cat litter cleaned and deodorized — no urine smell about the place. Wendy: gone. His similarly red topped store in the center of Kangerootown safe, phew!

And all because he switched around some of the language in his report to mayor Golden Jim, who passed it on to town council chair Newt for a final decision. Just a bit, and all from one sentence. It wasn’t that hot dogs from reporting companies in the referenced study contained 5 percent human DNA but instead that 5 percent of these reported *some* human DNA in their product, probably from workers’ hair or skin cells and so on. The words stayed exactly the same. He was just passing it along. If he gets caught he has what he feels is an air tight alibi of that it was someone *else’s* responsibility to proofread the document and make sure the words were in the right order.

Original sentence:

“5 percent of all reporting companies found human DNA in their hot dogs.”

Altered sentence:

“All reporting companies found 5 percent of human DNA in their hot dogs.”

Back to sleep after reviewing his alibi once more. Beloved warmth again. Makes him feel so lazy. Like a cat, he realizes. A sly, conniving cat. “Night night, Fuzzy.”

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March 8, 2024 · 7:27 am

00420213

“King Rodney,” the Shadow spoke. He turned, confronted it.

“Me? I’m no king. I’m just a ruler of a country, democratic in nature. Now, anyways.”

“The Country of Morrow. Otherwise: Cofmo.”

“Well, yeah. That’s it. A country, not a kingdom.”

“But you train ants. I mean, you have ant warriors. In your fort — make that: forts.”

“Use to. When I was a kid I suppose. Now I’m they’re grown up. I have adult games to play.”

“So I’ve heard,” the Shadow spoke. A pause, then: “What year is it, ruler of Cofmo? I mean, can you sit in a diner with a white girl or even an Asian girl and get away with it? Can you listen to the Everly Brothers blaring from a jukebox? Or do you have to settle for Fats Domino?”

“I… don’t know. 1984 I guess. Last I checked. What time do *you* think it is? Shadow. My Shadow I’m supposing.”

“Correct. You are just confronting yourself. Because this is a dream. I know something that you need to know. About the abstracting.”

“The what?” And he woke up.

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