Category Archives: Jeogeot

00430607 (archipelago?)

“As you can see when we change the map into something more modern, Feedem becomes Freedom. This is probably a mistranslation, then, but significant still. Because it indicated where Arthur and Shelley should go to rekindle their marriage. And with his money from all those roles in all those Shakespeare plays — worldwide, mind you — he bought a top of the line yacht to celebrate the find. Actually he found the yacht and pretended to buy it but never mind that now. So there they are on this hot tropical island, complete with a dog named Chomp who keeps chasing his own tail. Twins.

“I’ll open up the Table to questions.”

(to be continued)

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00430602 (shining)

Baker Bloch stares at Ring Lady in Falmouth collage 07 and decides he must call a town meeting before things progress further. He *rings* up Wheeler, she rings up Hucka who still isn’t really talking to the male Baker. He rings up Newt which is kind of himself — in the same room. He rings up Baker Blinker his original female counterpart and still is in ways. And last: Grassy, representative of all things toys. How exciting to be getting the cores back together, chatting with each other again.

“Status report, Wheeler,” he requests to his right from his seat of power at the Blue Feather Table. “How’s daughter Shelley doing over in Heterocera?”

“Hooktip, right,” Wheeler clarifies. “Well, she’s going back her roots. And, no, before you say it it’s not brunette.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” says Baker Bloch, serious for tonight’s meeting. Tonight’s important important meeting. Because all of Collagesity Aisle of Palms is at stake.

“Newt. To my left. Hi, first.”

“Hi.”

“We haven’t talked in a while.”

“Since Friday.”

“A year ago, yes.”

“Approximately.”

“How’s *your* daughter doing? Jennifer isn’t it?”

“Shelley,” answers Newt the same as Wheeler. For it is their child. We went over that in novels 34 and also 35. And some in 36-39 as well. Before the Big Change in 40. When Newt points this out, talk shifts to this change.

“40 is where I started reading Dolores Cannon and her Convoluted Universe series,” begins Baker on this new theme. “40 is where, through (the conduit of) Bellissaria, things started to head offworld. And then Aisle of Palms was founded (in 41). Current base; for 1/2 year now. About the last time we talked, Newt.”

“Approximately,” he said again. But what’s time in a town like this?

“So this brings us to the question: What if we just head offworld *permanently*? Exist in Youtube videos about Grand Theft Auto, Red Dead Redemption, and Cyberpunk 2077? Before getting a better computer and purchasing all those games and being able to walk inside them with an actual avatar, mind you. That could take another year. Years. Newt, we may not be talking with each other again until after that decision is made.”

“Fine,” he answered, knowing it didn’t matter in the long run. Baker was him and he was Baker. *All* were Baker. Besides Wheeler, besides Hucka, besides Baker Blinker, Grassy and some other cores. But mainly Wheeler. She was the new female to Baker’s male, the queen to his prime minister (of Aisle of Palms). He holds the power but she holds the jewels. They must be a balance. Newt doesn’t really play a role in this except as an exteriorization of Baker, a way for Wheeler to have a husband and so have Shelley as her child. Married to Arthur Kill still, yes (novel 35), but flirting around with Edward Daigle (37-43). Can the horses keep moving together in the same direction?

(to be continued)

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00430506

“*Hey look*”

—–

“Something about that magenta paint, Lexi. Magenta in general.”

“Of course,” she said, glad to have him back in her chair, whatever their ultimate status as a couple. The actual Dizzy Lizzy’s now and not just a facade in Our Second Lyfe — just beyond this paint actually. And the Magician graffiti with Silverhhand manifesting underneath it. He stares at the pink from across the road. Might as well be the universe.

—–

We go back to Our Second Lyfe for the next scene. Shelley is trying out Jonny’s famous Mars cyberpunk guitar in his apartment set up in NWES City where we last saw her and beau-friend Edward reading dusty books on a flamingo pink bed appropriately enough. Yes, I’m trespassing again for the sake of a message. Prop is 500 lindens, pretty reasonable for the detail and animations, but I’ve just paid 1120 for the Silverhhand avatar and I have a monthly cap on such things. Or so I say.

“She’s pretty good for a novice,” Jonny begins. “Are you going to tag along when she goes on her world tour?” he quips.

“If it comes to that,” Edward replies in stride. “Question is: are *you* going to take her on tour? Mars guitar.” He glances over at her, rocking away to a Tin Can tune, “Baby Universe” I believe, 1 after the song about a talking horse.

“Listen,” Jonny breaks character. “I’m going to have to get up. This animation is killing my arms.” He gets up, looks down on the silver chair that matches his hand. “Great world, by the way. Graphics are *way* better than something that came out in, say, 1998.”

“Hmph,” says Edward to this. He has Shelley. He’s happy with the graphics as is. “Sooo…” he prompts.

“Sure, sure. Let’s just get out of here and back to a *real* world.”

Nearby Curt Korbain jumps for joy at the news. “World tour, world tour!” he chants over and over while Fern watches on, fascinated like Art before her.

We’ll get back to him and her soon enough.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0506, C2077, Jeogeot, Kabusie, NIGHTSITY, NWES Island

00430503

“All comes from Old Grey and all will return. The illuminating light guides. The caboose is the last to disappear but the last to emerge. Black and White, Yin to Yang. Welcome.”

Lichen was getting tired of the joke; knew Fern was prone to such overkill. Often brevity for comedy was best. Good timing, Lichen knew. Fern needed to work on it.

“So you’ve explained the picture in *some* detail — can I call you Fern still?”

“*Original* Fern,” said the wee doll person still standing on the opposite corner of the picnic blanket from her, spread out between them like a quilted chessboard. Another board you’ll notice.

“And that’s, er, why you like to be called a *doll* person. Because you come from Doll.”

“Doll-*y*,” the little person emphasized. “I *am* a Dolly.” Silence for a while with this as Lichen absorbed. She tried to picture the picture he or she described (she had aspects of both sexes, Lichen observed). This one.

“Do you remember Phil? I called and called at the observing patio but no answer from the cat. This wasn’t Phil — Philip actually. Instead Philip lay at the bottom of this small pool in the ditch district of Kabusie, dead in his car after a visit to the bar. Drunk. Had the valuable pure bred cat with him that he bragged about to his girlfriend just earlier but somehow the cat survived. Standing on the container he or she came in by the shore. Maybe a mechanoid — still studying. Maybe that’s why the transfer couldn’t occur. Philip couldn’t become the cat just before dying because the cat had no inner soul to speak of. Working theory mind you. He had that power. We *all* know he had the power.”

“Fern,” said Lichen. “You’re an absolute trip!” Was this comedy at its purest, absurd statement after absurd statement? High entertainment at the least. “Good work,” she exclaimed, thinking all this was made up. It wasn’t; that’s the ultimate joke.


“Philip?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0503, C2077, Corsica, Jeogeot, Kabusie, NIGHTSITY, NWES Island, Urqhart

00430414

They were out of horse so they had to get dressed and read one of their many dusty books for entertainment. 5 shots you’re dead, but they weren’t there yet. Edward selected an ironically colored blue book about Mars he’d stopped in about 5 months ago, when the shipment came in and the dishes started to pile up and the water started running out the door. Shelley was reading this blog, in fact this sentence. She speaks as if channeling.

“I hear Baker Bloch is thinking about shutting down his involvement in Our Second Lyfe. We’ll, *I* won’t let that happen.” She pivots around to Edward as instructed, who she can tell isn’t listening, absorbed in his guided dreams about the red planet. “Will we?!” she shouted over.

“W-what? What are you on about now?” he spoke, not prying his eyes from the letters and words and sentences and paragraphs before him but thinking about something else now. Horses — wish they still had some of that shipment left.

“I *said* — dreamer — that we won’t let Baker give up on Our Second Lyfe.”

“Oh.” He settled back, ready to return to his book. “But that won’t happen. As long as you’re the third…”

“… which is actually the first,” she completed. He was reading again, not worried atall about the matter. After a minute:

“Edward?” No answer.

“*Edward*.”

“W-what is it *now*?” He looks up from the pages.  A foal was about to be born. He was very involved in the details, wondered if he should try his hand at running a farm himself. Red dirt turned to red dust. But no electricity, he remembered. Shelley must play her guitar.

“I’m ready to go back.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0414, Black Ice, Jeogeot, MARS, NWES Island

00430315

She came out of the dispensary beside the quick fix ganja vending machine V sipping chamomile tea and staring at the Black Star on its side and wondering how long Bowie had been dead. At least 8 years, she reckoned, maybe 8 1/2, the length of Fellini’s career up to the movie of that same title.

Her attention then shifted to the crime scene in the plaza slightly below her from this vantage point at the top of the cement steps, the heart of her po’ faux Nightsity, one of a handful I’ve found in Our Second Lyfe in the past month and a 1/2 or so. Another Blue Moon Kentucky killer victim, she gathered, 3rd this month of May’s June soon to slide into July. Should’ve shut down that so-called secret strip club behind the *sometimes* locked door weeks ago because of them, she thinks. Now another lies fallen.

Chef-inspector Petty studies the body outline and blood splatter volume and directions with rookie Dirk Bejirk, uselessly drawing a gun on the now vacant crime scene with no perpetrators in sight. Petty’s on loan from Aisle of Palms where absolutely nothing has happened since the end of the last photo-novel 2 months ago, not at the Perch restaurant in the Blue Feather complex during the day (chef 1/2 of his life), nor at the investigative agency in Cement Village at night (inspector 1/2 of his life). He’d even managed to get a proper amount of rest lately because he could now sleep on the job — both jobs — and get away with it. No more. Perch manager Percy Bidercy had to lay him off because of the lack of paying customers. The clients at the agency were also basically nonexistent. Put all this together and we have the current scene: Petty working in a different spot.

“It’s that strip club,” offered gun toting Dirk, still pointing at air. “City council should’ve shut it down weeks ago.”

“It’s not the strip club,” said Petty, defying common opinion. He gobbled another goober (peanut), trying to clear his mind of distractions. “Dirk, why don’t you go pick us up some food at that Chinese restaurant we passed on the way here. Bucket of Egg Foo Young for me. And a large Cokey Cola.”

“Shouldn’t drink sugary drinks, new boss.”

“Shut up and do the only thing you’re good for at this job. *Fetching*.” Petty kind of hated being so harsh to the rookie but tough love goes a long way. He’d know. Sgt. Petterson busted his balls enough in his early police/detective days to make them turn blue at times. Which, actually, also pertains to the current crime.

“3 Blue Moon crimes in the last several weeks,” he spoke to no one since a put-in-his-place Dirk had gone to fetch their food and drinks. He arrived on the scene for the first victim. He was just glad to get the job, glad of the income finally flowing into his bank account once more. Only after the 2nd did he start to get interested in the case itself, start to dig deeper into the facts. Then the 3rd here really took the cake. Fern arrived in “town”, also from a different dimension. Gave him information he couldn’t believe. We’re living in a simulation; none of this is real!

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00430116

“Well I’m glad you threw on *some* clothes. A bit of bosom still hanging out there I see. Can’t resist.”

“No,” she said nonchalantly, and purses her lips even more in disdain for the discourse. “Whadda ya want? Tobacco? Because that’s all I have to offer.”

“I *want*… to know why Clarence the Spy was here in the first place. And what the assignment is. You’ve already been a model in Aisle of Palms. To the painter Greg Ogden, remember? Why did Clarence approach you about going back?”

“Because he recognized me, I suppose. Recognized talent, like the first guy.”

“Well tell me about the 1st guy for criminy’s sake.”

“Bald. Old. Reformed stealer of art he told me. Gold I think is the name. Remembered me and the girls called him Old Gold after that, yeah. ‘Is Old Gold gonna pick you up in his Oldsmobile this evening?’ Stuff like that… silly girl banter. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh I *understand*,” replied Fern, feeling slighted about her superior brain power. “First you put on a bathing suit, then some revealing red lingerie, and now this, about as fully dressed as you can get, I suppose. I know your type. You didn’t like being *abstracted*.”

Redd said nothing to this except, “you done?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am.” She knew who “Old Gold” was, of course. She couldn’t talk to the wife about this for discretionary reasons. But maybe Greg would know something.

“One more thing. Do you know where Greg Ogden is now? We haven’t seen him since he finished your so-called portrait. I’m speaking for all the members of the Baker Bloch family, extended and otherwise.”

Redd looked around then leaned forward, reducing her voice. “Buy me out of my daily requirement of smoke sales and we’ll talk. I’ll be free to leave my post, then. Boss just wants X amount of money per day. You’ll give him that, then I’ll tell you the information you need.”

*Knew* there was something here, thought Fern while she reached into her gray capri pants to retrieve her wallet. Wait… how’d that *pistol* get in there??

She finally wakes up.

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00430115

Clarence spied something that really got him excited. Bootleg VHS Tapes, he pondered, looking more in the distance than what one might expect, someone like De Boy for instance. That must mean there’s old time users around. He’d ask the girl. But first, down to the business that brought him here.

“Would you like to be a model, dearest? Aisle of Palms has an opening.”

—–

“Found him,” she said to Clara Bellissaria, a name mispelled on purpose. Because she was a spy too, the first found.

Clarence and Clara, yes. Makes sense now, Fern thought. Father and child. Fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, and so on.

“Come on, Lichen, let’s go,” Fern said, seeing Clarence move with Redd toward the tapes in the game within a game. “We need to have a word with this *model*.”

—–

From the northeast and one floor up, old time user Martha spies Clarence + Redd + Tape Girl from between 2 bushes to angle a whole ‘nother level into our story.

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00420612

It took a supreme effort for him to break away from the Big E or, alternately Big Schwa always sitting in the middle of his Aisle of Palms’ Kidd Tower dining table, ready for further examination and scrutiny. But he did it; returned to his hometown and his Bach/Reger/Kajiura played on a silver cello purchased in the Isle of Love. He played to his loving doll Mob (pronounced: Mobe), who listened with rapt attention as usual.

Good ol’ Mob. He misses her when he’s away… plus the cats big and small of course. And he just f-ing needed to get away from the band for a while. No Lag was pushing them in a classical direction, Shelley was pushing them in a rock direction, Don just wanted everyone to call hogs like him, like the kid he is. Be like me! he indicated all the time with his actions and speech. But bar manager Martha Lamb wanted him there as a kind of front man and bar owner Bull Dragon (or Dragon Bull; *not* Ball Dragon or Dragon Ball, though) went along with it, seeing the appreciative crowds. Maybe they’re getting *too* big, too popular, thought Okama not once but a considerable number of times in the last week as they did nightly gigs to growing audiences. Poor opening act Marsha “Pink” Krakow who wanted to be a Ball herself wasn’t hacking it, though. He felt sorry for her, was *envious* of her even. Furniture comedy, he speculated at the time, watching her perform only for the ogling Thompson Twins if anyone at all. Like Satie had his furniture music. “Pay no attention to us musicians,” the eclectic Frenchman spoke to audiences of his day, over 100 years ago, so far ahead of his time. He said to just enjoy the pieces of the art gallery they were playing at, and so on. And so it is with Marsha but in a kind of reverse way. “Just enjoy the musicians on the stage over there; pay no attention to me,” she seems to broadcast lately. A conceptual art comedy piece in the style of Kaufman or maybe Hicks. But certainly not like iconic 50s star Lucille Ball as she originally desired, one of the greatest of all female performers period. This was undesired art but maybe she’s seeing the irony of it. He’ll have another word with her about the whole, er, *concept* when he gets back. But he needs to stay here for at least a week to calm his nerves. He needs to stay away from the Kidd (Tower) and he needs to stay away from the kid (Don).

Knocks downstairs. Wendy has arrived at her destination. Confrontation time; brace yourself Okama!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0042, 0612, Big Woods, Jeogeot, Kangerootown+, Kidd Tower, Omega, Xilted

00420611 (“dozen”)

I’d just reached the chapter about Flying when the call came in (again). Brrng brngg, went the imaginary phone on the pretend desk downstairs, distracting me.

7 times. 8. “Will someone get that gall blasted phone!” I shouted through the floor at apparently no one. Who’s here with me? Shakespeare?

11; 12. “Will someone *please* WAKE UP down there and get that phone!!”

—–

Someone woke up downstairs, sauntered over, bedroom slippers lazily sliding over the marble checkerboard floor. The receiver of the phone is picked up, the ringing stops. Someone says “hallo?” into it at the same time Baker Bloch upstairs yells “Thaank — yoou!!”.

Mention of Antarctica from the other end. Both Antarctica and the Arctic actually, both poles. It was as if the voice slid down one and then up the other, back to his cozy fire to finish his book. At least that’s what Baker Bloch was imagining upstairs as he started chapter 13 for real.

—–

Evening comes to the hotel in Shamon and Baker has finished his book. No calls downstairs since the pole one, leaving him in peace instead of pieces. Poor Baker Bloch. But he remembers how to fly now. Spaced Ghost.

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