Category Archives: 0045

December 11, 2024 · 7:58 am

00450204

I parked on pink which matched the color of my Villefort Alvarado 570 De Luxe Convertible — appropriate. Lizzy’s own even larger and more expensive gold plated wheels to match her body was already there, blocking off the parking lot as, in turn, I just blocked her in. As if she owned the place. And perhaps she does. Let’s listen in…

“So. Are you suppose to be Tin or Lead now, Lizzy? I always forget.” Sarcasm. Bitter. Evelyn hates Lizzy, Tin or not. She hates this bar too. She hates everything but that’s beside the point. Lizzy is the focus of that hate right now. Lizzy and (her?) Lizzie’s. Let’s continue to listen in…

“I’m going to answer that with a riddle, Evelyn. Ready? What’s blue and bitter and a hard pill to swallow whatever?”

“Jeez,” says thoughtful Evelyn, game for a game. “Let me see, Iiii–”

“It’s YOU. You hate everything. I just happen to be the focus of that hate right now.” Just as I thought. And I forgot that Tin is silver-ish not gold now. She’d changed with her last album about alchemy, “Coleman County Corners” or something. Country? (origin). Let’s go with France. 1/2 of the songs are set in such. There’s a really interesting one about the Eiffel Tower and how gold statuettes of the famous monument were mixed up with the ordinary lead ones by 2 thieves attempting to corner a market, but that’s another story involving Lavender. Best to leave Lavender out of it for now. Let’s stick to pink. Back to the action…

Well, they’re slapping each other now in a kind of continuous way. Both are getting a bit red cheeked already. This may not end well, may end with one of them, perhaps both of them dropping to the ground. Should I step in? I decide to step in.

“*Ladies*,” I tried to calm, walking toward them. “Ladies ladies *ladies*.” *Smack* *smack*. I was down on the ground with a double to the face, ears bloodied on both sides. I drain the blood out of at least my left ear to try to continue hearing what’s going on.

“*Right* here. *Right* now,” Lizzy was saying now about a duel, slapping ceased for the moment with my downfall. Oh dear, this was getting worse instead of better. “*10* paces. Live grenades.” Live grenades? I think with my aching head. Surely she jests. “Make it bombs, atomic bombs,” Evelyn upped the ante. “World extermination if you lose, world extermination if I lose.” Where in hell was this going?

(to be continued)

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December 10, 2024 · 8:54 pm

00450203 (doing The Flamingo)

Art is sort of a decentralized, collective thing. Like, art is kind of a conversation with all the artists that have ever lived before you. You know, like it’s like you’re really just sort of its — it’s not like anyone’s reinventing the wheel here. Like, you’re kind of just taking, you know, thousands of years of art and, like, running it through your own little algorithm and then, like, making your interpretation of it.

“Pyramid. Know anything about it?”

“Ground floor’s open to everyone, choom. Called The Heavy Hearts Club — more to that name than meets the eye, huh — never thought about it like that.” He shakes his head, then refocuses. “But those top floors: only VIPs, the gold plated ones, huh. The ones gifted – by – the – Goooodds. And sitting at the very top like a huge glinting eye… well, um *hum*. What, child of mine, do you know about the *Suun*?”

“I– dunno, choom. Tell me about it.” I glanced at the flamingo behind his head again, knew we were entering some deeper waters. Those long legs might come in handy after all.

“I mean, *huh*. Are you a true *believer*? Or are you just a pretender, a wannabe worshipper with his religious mofo diapers still on and sh-tting those mere mortal *brown* bricks. Not the yellow ones, the golden eggs. You have to sh-t the golden eggs to be the chosen. Otherwise, you’re a wor*shitter*, ha. See what I just did there? Okay, okay,” he admits. “Not my best one. But you better believe the other parts are true. There is a shining eye at the top, choom. A shining — eyyyyye. You look into it, you better damn well be one of those chosen ones, hmph. Or else,” and he extends two fingers and pokes at his own eyes to demonstrate. “He takes your *two* to make his *ONE*, *huh* — you know what I’m saying?”

I figured I’d gotten enough out of *this* one, obviously also blinded by his own ambition. Top notch runner in his day, he explained before, only to have his body reject the new cybernetics. Another casualty of Fiona’s School for the Gifted and the Damned, as he put it. Just like that Linda boxer across the way he also told me a story about. Typhoon Ronald indeed. Living inside a past glory, old memories drowning out the present. He can’t even see what’s right behind him.

“Welp,” I said, taking one last look at the neon pink flamingo then turning toward the pyramid. “Guess it’s time to head over and see for myself.”

“Gold – plated – *sh-t*,” he ended, shaking his head again and laughing and waving me off.

Start with the ground floor, yeah. Have conversations with everyone while working my way to the top. Become a little algorithmic of all that’s ever been. Gold plated.

(to be continued)

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December 9, 2024 · 3:27 pm

00450202

Just enjoying a drink beside some pretty fluttering butterflies at Pan Estates Regional Center while waiting for my ordered money to be deposited into my account so I can pay my rent for the week. Yeah, I still have my Aisle of Palms virtual village set up in Mugunghwa over on the Jeogeot continent. Can’t quite seem to let go of it. Next decision date is 12/16/24 — next Monday.  Maybe I should start saving my builds over there earlier so the decision will come easier. Because I have to derezz the place. Don’t I? I think I do. The Baker Family of (Our Second Lyfe) avatars is already spending the money I’ll save. Well, Wheeler is spending the money. More expensive furnishings in her new, basically free house in lower upper left right central Nautilus. “Let’s hope it stays longer this time,” were the last words I’ve heard from her about it.  Edward D. is over there too. They bought some kind of crazy bookshelf, he said to me the last time I checked in with him as well. Tends to deform their bodies with its built-in crazy animations like martial arts, zombies, and drunkenness, he said, so they might have to send it back. Said they also bought a barrel of fairly expensive wine from somewhere called Touisant, but I knew this was a lie. Wine, yes. Barrel, yes. But not from that place with the Witcher. Not really.

Well the money shows up online but not in my in game account. Looks like I’ll have to log out and then back in to get the cash. Goodbye for now!

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December 8, 2024 · 7:45 am

00450201 (stone’s throw away from something)

“Shoot man, you don’t know *nothing* about Doggtown, choom. Buy something from a poor ol’ peddler of junk and I’ll tell you all the places to go, not to go. Mainly the latter because there’re so many of *those* around, huh.”

“What’s with all the flamingos around here?”

“Don’t get me started (!). Flamingos been around since before the beginning. Killed all the birds within a 10 miles radius of town because of that a-vi-ar-y flu, you know. No flamingos around any more. They’re ghosts. Heck, *I’m* a ghost. Anyway…”

This is Ronald. He mentioned business being down because the whole town is chasing after a VIP named Roslyn (sp?) whose plane crashed nearby. The flamingo perpetually behind his head is colored pink, which is close to lavender. Another thing we are close to, then, is Twin Peaks. Only a reference to Northern Exposure in some way remains to seal the deal. I’ll keep looking.

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December 7, 2024 · 8:42 am

00450116

Look at them. Hard at work. Whatever they’re doing. Alchemy alchemy alchemy, he then thinks. That’s where the real work happens. Must get back to my lab in the cellar to test out some stuff. Let’s see, I bought a new pestle at the marketplace. Will try that in an old mortar first, or, what Young might call, a marriage of male and female forces to create the hermaphroditic whole. Can’t wait.

Just because it’s a pretty girl doing it doesn’t make the activity any more hygienic, he thought while passing the grape stompers. I’ll have to ask Barney if there’s any other way to do this. “What you’re name?” he asked, thinking she might be unemployed soon. “Pricilla Plum,” came the answer. “Well, that’s a plumb beautiful name,” he quickly shot back. “Just like you.” She titters while still stomping away. What a grating laugh, he thinks while walking away. Now where was I? Oh yes, the lab.

“Bob, Carol, Ted,” he addresses each individual at the table before him, eating heartily on a meal between breakfast and lunch. Let’s call it luckfast. “Do what do I owe the honor?”

“What do you mean? Witcher?” said either Bob or Ted, reader’s choice.

“Gerald, please,” insists Gerald over his more formal name.

“Yes, of course,” said Ted. Pretty sure it was Ted this time. “Gerald. With a D right?” then said Bob opposite him. “And not a T as more commonly spelled.”

“Spelt,” insists Ted, making Bob grin.

“That’s right,” says Gerald about his name.

Carol between them begins to titter in a way not unlike the grape stomper before, making Gerald visibly wince. “Don’t you see fellas,” she followed. “*Gerald* has forgotten where he lives. *Again*.”

Now hearty laughs from all 3. Gerald realizes his mistake. This was not his vineyard. He had gotten confused in the maze of Beauchamp streets and exited the wrong gate. It wasn’t the first time. In a dream of alchemy he was, ever since the library.

“Down the path over there and take a right at the bottom of the hill,” said Bob between laughs. “Just ask one of your workers if you get lost again, ha ha ha.”

“Ho ho ho,” echoes Ted. “And, ho ho, ask them where *I* live, he he he.”

“Hu hu hu,” goes Carol. Gerald had had enough. His cheeks red from embarrassment, he spots the indicated path and was on his way again. At least he remembered their names, he tried to console himself in the moment. The Fishers. Not *his* vineyard but theirs.

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December 6, 2024 · 6:58 am

00450115

Once my eyes were opened to TILE in the city…

… I started to see the sacred 4 colors everywhere…

… not only in buildings but in people’s clothing, the arrangement of fruits on a market counter, the list goes on.

I went to the library to study more about alchemy to try to understand the phenomena. 3 aisles over, in the 600s according to the Dewey Decimal System, were the wine books. Being an owner of a wine making business I should logically be over there more, studying those old dusty tomes instead of these ones in the 100s. But the winery, thanks to my trusted right hand man Barney Basil-Fawlty, the majordomo who’d been there for decades, basically ran itself without my help or input. And anyway, I *did* have an alchemical lab set up in the cellar of my new house, my crypt as I call it. It just didn’t produce any money unlike the vineyard proper. That was about to change. Thanks to the gold.

Ah ha! This more modern alchemist Karl Young seems to recognize the phenomena too through what he calls a mandala. Another lead! Might be here the rest of the day. Probably should get a message to Barney so he won’t worry about me. Make sure someone walks Chomp, and so on.

(to be continued)

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December 5, 2024 · 7:47 pm

00450114

I may have found a home in upper lower right left central Nautilus, continent that is, search at least ended for now. It could be enough, despite being only a room and access to a “collective” basement called The Crypt, spookily enough. Maybe there’s a reason the rent was so cheap!

The candy sentry is still present from photo-novel 25 when the Mosses — Fern, Lichen and, ahem, Redd, the red one — lived here, still looking out for intruders on his land. My Candy Shoppe didn’t make it the last time, existing for only a couple of weeks before deletion. But I have a different plan this time. Maybe the sentry can’t see *in*, as in the house he looms outside of and stares away from. I join the appropriate group so that I can rez objects and set up in my room there, also placing my newly bought barrel in the cellar. Let’s go with wine. Superb; somewhat costly but not too costly, especially for the quality. Gotta start somewhere I figure, and middle is often the safest and wisest choice between upper and lower.

We’ll see if I can stay longer this time.

(to be continued)

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December 3, 2024 · 4:08 pm

00450113 (clash)

“It was not just me in the Back Rooms. There were others, but we all had our own little cubby hole in the place. There was Jack to the right of me, Monkey below. And I believe someone named Marshall or Marshill above, although I can’t quite place the face. Jack’s (sigh): hard to remember too. And Monkey always wore that space suit so I never saw his face either. Come to think of it…


“… *I* didn’t have a face.”

“Oh sure you did,” I encouraged. “You were Shelley. Trapped in the Back Rooms along with your boyfriend Edward D. Trapped as trapped can be. Part of that Flesh Pit actually, as it turned out. It’s *everywhere*.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to tell you to leave this place, this Aisle of Palms. Heck, go to the *real* Aisle of Palms (road) in that salty sea village in California. Follow Strevor’s footprints in trying to find his own true self as Trevor up in that video game in the real world. Try to *escape*.”

It was not cold. It was warm, warm as hell. She didn’t need any of Fern’s heavy garb for this one. Or gab. She was on her own, lower than brilliant but certainly not plain. It was a quandry, a conundrum. Should I stay or should I go.

(to be continued)

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December 3, 2024 · 8:50 am

00450112 (associations)

After being left alone in the Badlands desert without a male to ogle them, our two Mary Anne and Ginger type girls decided to play a game within the game around a warming campfire to pass the time. After all, Lexi had been summoned and Panama was already there. Just around the corner. She could return. So she did. Sister act. Act 2 of 2 can wait. Still point in the middle.

“It was right around a campfire much like this that the legend of the Burning Man began,” started Panama, wise to desert ways being the nomad she was, an outcast of the city. “A man we only know as Edward D., dancing up a storm to summon… well…”

“Me?” Lexi guessed. It could be so, Panama thought, but she pretended not to hear her and continued. “Soon, very soon, others remembered a rock with a depiction of the scene, along with the glyph 01 + 02 – 03 = 00.” Lexi repeated it to make sure she heard right and Panama nodded. “It all added — and subtracted — up — and down — to zero.”

“Hmm,” said Lexi. “Burning Man,” she summarized.

“But wait, there’s more. If you go to this rock at 3 o’clock at night you’ll find him again. The Burning Man, burning away inside a fire much like this one. You smell the flesh searing right off of him. Or so they say. You can follow him, burning away like a fireball, streaking across the desert…

… then collapsing, the screams finally silent as the fire keeps consuming.”

“Wow,” says Lexi. “That was a good story.”

“Wait. There’s more. So move the clock back to daytime — return. There’s only a dummy there, not even charred. An Arasaka robot, a crash test dummy, or so it’s been described to me.”

“Uh *huh*.”

“And *that’s* the end.”

“Great. My turn now.” Lexi already had a follow-up and was eager to get at it. “City this time now obviously — where I’m from.”

“Right,” says Panama.

“But burning man again, but in a different way.”

“Oh?” says Panama. “How?”

“Penis burn. Or some say balls. Crotch malfunction. But — get this — Arasaka again. Interesting, eh?”

“Eh?” says Panama.

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December 2, 2024 · 11:37 pm

00450111

“I need to have a talk with you, V. Panama’s not my type. I don’t *want* to sleep with her. I actually… have my eyes set on someone else.”

“Jonny. How long’s it been?” I say to the person inside of me, the person I’m wedded to as much as any soulmate lover. We’re not lovers. We are One. “Roller coaster?” I tried to pinpointed.

“Yeah. Roller coaster. Had a fun day back there. Thought I’d end it while we were still on top.”

“Yeah, noticed you weren’t with me after we started careening down to the bottom again on that last big hill.”

“The biggest!”

“Yeah.”

“Good times.”

“Good times, Jonny. So… are you back?”

“Define: back.”

“Welll.”

“Just kidding, kid-o.” Jonny’s affectionate nickname for me, since he’s, I don’t know, like *150*. “Take the blue pill and let’s try that scene (from the last post) again. Let me take over. I want to demonstrate my point.”

“And then you’ll take the red one,” I said, reinforcing the pact we made before. Blue on my side, red on Jonny’s side to return control back to me. He’d been proven a reliable ally on this arrangement.

“Sure, sure. Just like before, chum.” He even gently punches me on the shoulder to reinforce the partnership, the unity of cause. I don’t feel any punch of course, all this being just virtual hallucination.

“Now?”

“Now. Before the inspiration is lost.”

I had a couple of bluesies handy in my back pocket. I pull one out. “Okay. Here goes (swallow).”

—–

For a moment, she appeared in their midst, naked as a jailbird, even bringing a bit of Kabusie canal water along with her which pooled down below her feet. I thought it was a mirage at first, but then I stared at the tattoos, remembered what they said and represented to her, the roses, the firetruck, the spiderweb, that *cat*. No mirage this Lexi Alvocado was — straight out of the city and into the desert, Panama nowhere to be Scene. Tattoos like that don’t lie.

I could feel myself stirring down there. I wasn’t sure I wanted to lose control again this time. Which of course — doofus — V or Val heard, being One with me. What gives? he says way down there, but aware of the stirrings not his own, the thoughts. Okay okay, I say back in my head to the other part of myself. I’ve proven my point. Take the red pill, he pleads. Get out of there before it’s too late. But what do you think? I say back. Beautiful isn’t she. Better than Panama, eh? So go with Lexi. We’ll get along *so* much better later. Take – the red — *pill*, he insisted from within. Okay alright, I say. I had two in my back pocket as well. Wait… one. Always forget how that works. I pull it out, I swallow. Yeah, before it’s too late. The arrangement, etc. etc.

The pill begins working its magic. She acquires her regular garb to stem the stirrings, cut them off even. She was Jonny’s type, I said in my head while making my way back to the surface. But she wasn’t *my* type.

—–

Then *I*, baker b. of the Baker Family of Our Second Lyfe avatars, took over. Neither one, the Mary Anne and Ginger of Cyberpunk 2077 as we could call them, were my types. I put the patch back in my pocket to end the game before it even began.

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