Category Archives: Hana Lei


Cyberpaperdoll returned to her home of 5 1/2 years across the Atoll Sea and pondered if Biker Mann and she had any kind of real future together.

Oh. Speaking of swings and futures…


“Tommy Brade was always your mother’s favorite, Paul. But you’re not Paul. You’re Even Whiter Walt. Whiter than Caucasian Tommy Brade. You burn in moonlight. You dance to Guy Lombardo. If you were any whiter, you’d turn into a pillar of salt. Believe me, boy, Mary is not the boy for you. She’s not even a boy.”

“I love her,” counters fellow swinger and estranged nephew Paul. “She’s kind to animals. She sings like a butterfly. I’m hanging my future on her. I’m not going back (to the woods).”

“Sure you are. You’re already there. *They* have spies all around. The Invisibles.”

“I don’t know who those people are, Uncle Babyface,” his nephew reiterates. “All I know is that I’m happy here in Be Happy.”

“Hana Lei,” clarifies Mr. Babyface.

“Sure,” states Paul. “There’s *so* much pot here, uncle. Did I show you the biggest one? Just behind us.” He points to his back right.

Indeed it was a big pot. Three stoned little Story Room wannabes staggered around in a bit of snow in front of the whopper. They could be there for months. Years!

So it is with Peter, Paul and Mary in Hana Lei, Mr. Babyface realizes. Months. Years. He returns to Collagesity and drinks with a broken heart at Audrey’s until the clock strikes one and there is no sun.

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Filed under *Second Life, Hana Lei, Heterocera, Uncategorized

It’s perch for God’s sake.

Mr. Babyface direly needs to find his nephew in Hana Lei and attempt to talk some sense into him, but he can’t seem to stop studying this Big E provided with the apartment.

“Ahh, what the heck,” he says, prying himself away from the object. “Time to take the plunge…”


“Me Gods, what a mess. A Messiaen Mess.”

He turns around in his tracks, staring into the heart of infantile Hana Lei. “Where *are* the stoneheads?”

He walks down to take a closer look.

The band now known as Lamb were all gathered at Chunkies playing Guess That Fish when Paul heard him grumbling to himself on Swingset Knoll beyond the door. There could be no mistaking.

“Uncle… *Babyface*??”

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Filed under *Second Life, Hana Lei, Heterocera, Rubi, Uncategorized

Um, aloha?

Mr. Babyface stares disgustedly into the heart of Hana Lei from a safe distance, wondering how his nephew could have ended up in such a God awful spot.

“Blow she does indeed,” he answers that whale over thar.

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Jacob 02

He recognized the big, white lily pad just ahead. Jacob had circled back to where he began. Nothing here, then.

Wait, an opening right beside him he’d missed.


Jacob thought of the small island as a whole now. Melancholy was its name. The I. that could not get high.

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Jacob 01

Jacob the Lawnmower was trimming and harvesting the grass around the highest sand dune with the castle when suddenly he was someplace else altogether.

Something big was sniffing his right ear.

And up the wooden stairs, an ickle, white in color and cubic in shape.

He derezzes the now useless mower and heads up to the tree, trying to gain perspective.

“You can stop clutching now,” the simple ickle suggests. “You are no longer a mower. You are no longer anything. Welcome to the Land of Infinite Possibilities. Did I say infinite — I always do that. *Finite* Possibilities. But very broad and rangy possibilities nonetheless.” He paused, studying the guest more, the dilated eyes, the psychedelic, swirly green t-shirt. “What is your name, man?”

“Jacob,” came the answer in a plain voice. He almost said Jacob the Lawnmower but caught himself. He also stopped clutching. “I desire nothing except the grass and the wind.” Jacob then remembered another thing he desired. “And paper.”

“Rolling paper?” the ickle guessed correctly. “We have caves stocked with paper just for that purpose. “But — and this is the clincher, Jacob, so pay attention — we have no *grass.*”

Jacob looked around, seeing plenty of grass, if not exactly the mowing variety.

“Yes, yes,” the ickle explained further. “We have grass but not grass grass. The weed variety. Our grass is not weed… Mary Jane.”

“I am sad I cannot get high,” a high pitched pink bunny-ickle added from a nearby landscape depression.

“Nor me,” ventured a deep throated cuckoo-ickle from the base of the tree further up. “Come here, man, and descend down this spirally green hole to help aid us. It’s a worm tunnel going all the way to Jupiter. Trust us, man. It’s groovy.”

Jacob studied the tunnel using remote viewing. Seemed harmless enough, so he walked past the square white bird, uttered a quick, “see you guys,” and went in.

A 100+ pound weight then fell on the depressed bunny-ickle, crushing her to suds.

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Filed under *Second Life, Hana Lei, Heterocera, Uncategorized