Category Archives: Jeogeot

January 25, 2024 · 3:47 pm

00410609

“Excuse me, sir. If I could interrupt you for a moment.”

—–

“And so as you can see, basically when we cross the Dewberry stream we’re already upon New Site and Chapter 03.” Baker Bloch looked around at the assembled members of The Table, a larger number than usual just because this was such an important new development: the potential end of Our Second Lyfe. “Questions so far?”

“Are we still in Randolph County?” queries Wheeler directly across the table from Baker, still dressed as Atlantis High Priestess and fresh from another shooting scene.

“Tallapoosa, actually,” replied Baker. “Same with The Barroom, same with Mary, Camp Hill, Slaughters.” I through the brain of Baker Bloch make a note to look up all US Slaughters after all this is done.

“Hmm,” said Wheeler. A pause here.

“Grassy?” Baker spoke to the green Mmmmmm being sitting to Wheeler’s left. “Any thoughts?”

But Grassy was biding his time until spring and the return of outdoor plants, ready to make a move in the Mystery Spot of nearby Boulder highlighted in a section 02 post of this here photo-novel (41). “Not at this point,” he said, knowing he represented all Toy Avatars, all of his kind, in this opinion.

“Very well.” He turned to *his* left. “Newt: any comments or opinions or whatever?”

Newt, with old Axis-style pitch black German coat worn over modern agogo red-yellow-black German t-shirt, was also biding his time. Until Baker Bloch handed over the reigns of Aisle of Palms to him; make him mayor or whatever the title turned out to be. Maybe even King? With Wheeler his Queen, if so. After all, Baker Bloch is just kind of a Prime Minister figure in all this, having most of the power to create, etc., but not being the legal ruler of the land. That remained in Wheeler’s hands. So far.

Baker looked 2 seats down. “Hucka?”

“I wish to come back into the story,” she spoke plainly, directly, looking at him then looking at everyone else at The Table, wanting them to understand she was dead serious about this.

Another pause. “Well, okay. We can make that happen. Right gang?”

Murmurs of agreement all around, even the usually silent 88’s sitting to Wheeler’s right. Everyone knew the spiritual importance of Hucka to the blog, a type of Holy Ghost to the thing.

—–

Afterwards, Baker thought back to meeting the Bishop in an unexpected place off Old Wagon Road in central Maebaleia (continent), Our Second Lyfe must remain relevant being the overarching message he relayed. And then he took him diagonally to Redlands for a demonstration.

(to be continued)

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January 19, 2024 · 7:14 am

00410603

https://marketplace.secondlife.com/p/Rue-Saint-Denis-for-classic-or-BOM/15679735

“Well it was a foolish outfit and I was a foolish girl at the time. Blonde hair; rosy red cheeks after that, but not from rouge. Syphilis I contracted — still trying to be frank and honest with you guys. But it eventually cleared up when I got out of that crazy, mixed up place of a land full of bad, bad people. Arthur gave me some money. You see–”

“Arthur? Arthur Kill? I know him.” Red Dead Beardy Head again there.

“Err,” said Libra. “Yes,” she decided. “Yes, let’s go with him. Married to Shelley Struthers (partly named for Sally Struthers, TV daughter of Archie and Edith), right. It fits!”

“And what of Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow?” Black Pearl responded to a slightly earlier declaration.

“The same,” Wheeler continued with the admissions. “Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow equals Shelley Struthers along with 2 other components, a kid named Frankie Brown who provides some gestures and perhaps a conscience, and then another kid called Marsha. Shelley is the (grown up) body for the 3. Body, mind, soul we could call them, with the Marsha brain aspect up front and on top.”

“So… let’s cut to the chase,” said RDBH, trying to regain his wits in the barrage of strange information. “How do we get to the X on the pirate map?”

Wheeler dressed as Libra in her parrot dress exhaled. “You can’t… not with that ship.”

“You *sold* me that ship,” replied Black Pearl to this. “You *implied* it could.”

“I was wrong. That ship will divide the 2 of you. I know this because I understand the perspective from the opposite direction. I know the endpoint. I was *at* the endpoint. Red Dead Beardy Head,” she addressed the male partner of the 2 sitting across from her in the Perch Restaurant of Aisle of Palms, open for business at 10 but not serving fish until 4 to his disappointment. No perch in Perch yet. And will our damn waiter please wake up! he was thinking just before this. “Red Dead,” Libra said again, “you and Black Pearl will break up if you try to go in that ship. It’s certain death up there in Outer Space. I’ve seen the future!”

“But — you *sold* it to me.” Black Pearl was smelling a rat as big as a human and named Victor-not-Victoria. “You said the golf course is closing.”

“The golf course *is* closing,” followed Libra Neptune closely. “The Black Pearl was smashed up on the rocks outside. I fixed it up. But really, I didn’t fix it up. Not in the way that could take you safely to the X.”

“*Finally*,” said Red Dead, seeing the waiter shake his head and blink a couple of times before fully reopening his eyes. He’d been woken up with a poke from the right. Manager Percy had let him sleep until 10:15, feeling sorry for the overworked man who toiled both day and night, with few minutes for rest in-between.

Now, in the moment again, he was upon them. Talk of the ship and its position at the head of 2 streams of virtual reality would have to wait a bit; after some bites. “Sorry for the delay. Our breakfast special is perch,” he said, knowing it was unusual but wanting to please an irritated customer and his friends. He could hear like hell — just had to process all the information right after coming back into consciousness. Being both waiter and chef, he could make this so.

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January 18, 2024 · 9:21 am

Officer Howard’s wife

—–

“So how did you become an owner of a golf course? Libra is it still? I mean, as of 10 minutes ago?”

Libra aka Bermuda aka Atlantis High Priestess aka some other titles I’m not thinking about in the moment decided to be pretty honest for a change. “It all started when I got some money in St. Dennis.”

“St. Dennis?” replied Red Dead Beardy Head to this, tired of staring at Petty who was their waiter, convinced he is asleep instead of glaring at him. He’d heard of people doing such with their eyes open, and he was correct in this deduction as we’ve seen in an earlier post which this post is a direct continuation of timewise. We’re back with him and Black Pearl, soon to set sail in their sea ship to the outer depths of space, grilling just found Libra Neptune in recently founded Aisle of Palms on the Jeogeot continent of Our Second Life. Libra certainly had a story to tell, with a lot hanging in the balance.

“Money?” Black Pearl continued Red Dead’s line of inquiry. “From whom?”

“First off, let’s drop the pretense. I’m not really Libra. My actual name is Wheeler. I am what you could call a co-owner of this town. I *play* Libra.”

Wheeler let this set in a bit, then added: “Newt is my husband. But Newt is actually Baker Bloch, kind of Baker Bloch’s replacement. We’re king and queen — of sorts again.”

“King…” said Red Dead Beardy Head, utterly confused look on his face.

“… Queen,” continued Black Pearl again for him, just as shocked.

“Yes, that’s right. King and Queen. Of Aisle of Palms. On the Jeogeot continent. Of Our Second Lyfe. But, thing is, St. Dennis is separate from all that. St. Dennis is elsewhere. St. Dennis is (part of) the Shangri-La you seek. And I know the correct way to get us there.”

(to be continued)

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January 16, 2024 · 9:18 pm

00410515

“If we discover a new land in the ship I think we should call it Redlands. After our current hangout. Whaddaya think?”

“How about *Black* instead. Er: Black Nation, say.”

With his quicksilver mind from all that pirating business down through the years, Red Dead Beardy Head thought of a compromise. “*Well*,” he started the new pitch. “Since red and black are both card colors, 50-50 for each, how about a card game. Say: Poker.”

Black Pearl laying beside him had to smile. He certainly was honoring both him and her with the name. But she couldn’t help countering with: “Black Jack. I say Black Jack. Fits the card part. 50-50 on the cards.” But my color up front and on top again, was the implied meaning.

“Okay, got another one. How about, say, *Hearts* — Heartsland. Like our two hearts are joined beyond just playing poker.”

“Awwww. How *sweet*.”

“Red on top, I know.”

“Yup,” she returned crisply, knowing the game was on again. “Spades,” she countered logically. The game of Spades, like we have the game of Hearts. Except, let’s see if I remember, *spades* trump everything; a black suit trumps everything.

“Okaay, but if I remember correctly (thinking quick again), Black Lady and Black Maria are variants of Hearts (game). So *if* we find new land, how about we stick with Heartsland — but the capital or the town we found there or whatever will be called Black Lady. I mean, Black Pearl of course.”

“Make it Black Maria and we’re good,” she finished the negotiation. Maria was her mother’s name as it turned out. Good to honor ancestors in a new land. Remember the past and roots while at the same time moving forward beyond them.

Heartsland, slightly changed to Heartlands, stuck. But Black Maria turned out to be Valentine.

(to be continued)

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January 15, 2024 · 12:31 pm

00410513

“I hear the perch is good here.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. They don’t serve fish this early. These are *landlovers*.”

“Oh.”

“So… *Libra*. Is it still Libra? I mean, since we’ve been walking? It was Libra about 10 minutes ago and I’m just wondering if the name still sticks.”

“You can call me such but, admittedly, I go by many names.”

“Yes, I’m seeing the bigger picture now.” She looked over the parrot dress, which Libra aka Atlantis High Priestess aka Bermuda aka Victor/Victoria redonned shortly after being released from jail by Officer Michelle Roundup. Some sort of pirate convention in town; they figured they would need the cell soon enough. Assign a hefty fine for the crime and move on.

“Where is our waiter?” asked impatient Red Dead Beardy Head. That man over there in the other room had been staring at him all the time. Is that our waiter on a break — taunting me? he wondered. Turns out it was.

4 handed Keat Owens, waiter/chef by day, private detective by night. He’d learned to sleep with his eyes open but he needed to wake up now and go to work again.

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January 13, 2024 · 3:56 pm

00410512

“I found the ship at a golf course sim which was closing up — got a cheap deal on it for that reason. Plus it was a mess, all cracked up on those rocks over there as you can see from the photo.” Black Pearl provided a photo to Red Dead Beardy Head much like the one below where she is finagling the deal with a woman named Libra Neptune who, of all places, had ties to Saint Dennis. So it seems like she has the power to manifest such realities. I, the writer of this here blog and attached current photo-novel, had no idea the Black Pearl ship would be here too. A gift, we can call it, ‘nother one.

“How ’bout Davy Jones?” said Red Dead still beside her in bed, although it was a different night than before. Plans had advanced. The restored Black Pearl, ready for space as it would ever be, parked in the vacant lot in back of downtown. They were staying in the captain’s cabin, testing it out. Well stocked with Caribbean White Rum — good start.

“Not needed in this story,” she replied plainly about Jones, knowing what he was referring to. *Her* Black Pearl was different from Sparrow’s. This was from a woman’s perspective.

—–

They were walking into town for a morning drink and a bit of breakfast when Black Pearl spotted her walking below Parrots for Pirates.

“Libra??”

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January 13, 2024 · 12:08 am

00410511

Soon after leaving Aisle of Palms, the pirate ship ran into choppier waters rounding Thailand, encountering unexpected waves of stretch marks in trying to stick to the prepared dotted line of their journey. But this was only prognostication derived from the leg, with the actual voyage into space and not sea still lying ahead of them. Keeping with the body analogy, The Black Pearl was about to set sail for the fabled or perhaps fantastical Islets of Langerhans, said to dot the Pancreatic Sea in considerable numbers and whose shores are protected from harsher elements by huge ribs of sandbars, or so the legends go. The parallels to all this in space could only be guessed at (islets = asteroids? etc.).

Hopefully the sea and its islets haven’t been removed from the body in question and the dotted line they’re following turns out to be more akin to this, ick. In other words, the chest had been opened and the buried treasure within removed. Like coins in a gold bullion, maybe the islets themselves are this trove. We’ll work on it.

Barfly Sparrow has a secret.

“Hold *still* Prisoner Bermuda or whatever your actual name is while I take this final shot.” Officer Michelle Roundup had started at the end and worked her way back to the beginning. As shall we.

There. The Black Pearl is now in Aisle of Palms.

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January 9, 2024 · 6:03 pm

off to a flying start

We have a sign…

… and are directly tied into our neighbor’s road system to the south in two places. Super nifty!

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of downtown from the sign, we find a parallel Michelle Roundup examining another object. Just ribs now. But soon…

“Should be ready by the christening,” spoke mastermind Red Dead Beardy Head, a pirated version of himself from another open world game.

“But… how are you going to get it down to the sea?” she logically asks about the still skeleton of a thing.

“Don’t need to.” He turns and points up toward the circling seagulls. “Space.”

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January 9, 2024 · 6:01 am

00410506

Michelle returned to the graffiti on the side of the Hole in the Wall bar, but not with paint. Instead she chose another art form to practice today: collage. John of Arc was left back in his cell. She decided she had to do this on her own — for now.

“What are you doing, Love?” spoke Sparrow in his smooth, pirate voice to her side, always peering down this direction from his perch in front of the bar. “You’ve dissected public property, Dearest.”

“I’ve *confiscated* public property. *Dearest,*” she spoke back harshly. And she almost had it before the interruption. She was mapping out the differences in the two treasure maps she had found this week, one here and one on the body of new prisoner Bermuda, aka Victor Ratt the owner of Parrots for Pirates, as we’ve already reviewed. Charged just yesterday for not charging customers for his/her goods.

“Almost all treasure maps have an “X” (at the end of a dotted line),” offered devil’s advocate Sparrow. “Almost all involve a pirate ship; almost all involve dragons or octopii or some strange watery creature.”

“*No*,” says Michelle to this. “The patterns are just too similar. You have the islands with the 2 palms trees in both. You have compasses in both, although I don’t think it centers on the compasses.”

“Again–” started to counter Sparrow once more.

“I know I know,” interrupted Officer Roundup. She exhaled deeply. She kept staring.

“Well let’s review, then,” Sparrow continued to help from his observing perch. “With — Triangle isn’t it?’

“Bermuda,” said still staring Michelle.

“Bermuda, right. Well, Ms. *Bermuda*’s treasure map began at the palms.”

“Right right,” cited impatient Roundup. If he’d just *shut* *up*, she thought… but still, he may be able to help, being a pirate and all. And what of silent Hook so far? Always peering into that *2d* version of the ending treasure. Nothing to add in the real world.

“And what part of the body, hmm?”

“The… calf. Yes the calf on the back of the leg. Then it winds up” — and here she traced the upper progression with her billy stick — “and passes the pirate ship; *first* in the graffiti, with the palms being second in that case. And then the dragon or whatever.”

“What part of the body are we up to?” spoke Sparrow.

“We’re circling around the rump, yes.”

“And the X at the end?” Sparrow’s eyes became wider in anticipation. Michelle caught the look.

“*Not* where you think, Perv.” Back to the map, back to the X.  “At the ribs, actually,” she realized aloud.

“*Welll*,” said Sparrow to this, looking over at Hook in a knowing way. Hook just kept opening the chest, peering at the treasure, and then shutting it and repeating the action. Over and over. “I think we *both* know what that is.”

Michelle kept silent for a minute, brain wheels spinning. “Adam and Eve?” she finally outputted. “The *rib*.”

(to be continued)

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January 8, 2024 · 8:48 am

stripes

“Yeah, this doesn’t seem to be scrubbing off, Michelle.”

“Don’t call me that, Murderer. Call me Officer Roundup.”

“Sure. But, um…”

“Option 02, I get it. Let’s go back to the station and pick up some white paint and some brushes.” But then, staring at the back of her heavily tattooed prisoner, Policeperson Michelle Roundup had an idea.

“John,” she said, making him pause. She’d always called him by one of his many crimes before, Murderer if pretty to really upset down to Burglar if only mildly so or not atall. Never the actual name. Before this; what did she want? “John,” she repeated, trying to phrase it in the proper way. “Erm, have you seen a tattoo like this by chance? A full body one? One that wraps around the whole body front to back I mean? Another treasure map is what I’m saying.”

Oh Jeez, he thinks here. She knows about them! What will he do?? How will he answer?? “You, um, mean on another person’s body.”

“Yeah. That’ll do.”

“Then: no.” Relief! He didn’t have to bring up the curse attached to the design.

“How about in general?” Michelle Roundup intuitively followed up. “Like a drawing of such a body? Or a painting? Oh — photo,” she then realized. “Have you seen it in a photo or a series of photos?”

Drat! Now he’ll have to actually lie. Certainly he can’t admit to stealing Officer Roundup’s camera behind her back. Burglar becomes the worst nickname in that case!

“Iiii…”

In the hesitation, she sensed something else, something new. The camera! Missing for a couple of hours yesterday. She thought she just misplaced. But, upon thinking about it, it was there on her desk, then next minute: not. Then *placed* in almost the exact same place a bit later in the afternoon. He knows about the treasure, he knows about the X! The inability to scrub this one off was a sign, a portent.

—-

She acted really smart. She didn’t accuse him of the theft to his face. After all, he was already in custody for several other, more henious crimes. He can’t go anywhere.

There were a couple of possibilities in play, she thought as they walked back to pick up the paint and brushes to finish the job. First, he’s just a desperate perv wanting to look at some pictures of a naked girl. Two, he was gathering information about, I don’t know, the location of an *actual* treasure. Three: maybe he just stole the camera to take pictures himself and then saw the photos already on it. But indeed he knows about them. People just don’t turn that red for no reason. What’s black and white and red all over has a new answer beyond newspaper and embarrassed zebra. Actually I guess the latter still applies, she finished her joke.

(to be continued)

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