Category Archives: 0101

Hazelwood

There’s also what I’ve labelled a blue room and a red room about the place, but let’s start with the yellow or golden one, central in several ways. Tania, a Valentine’s gift from Gladly in days gone by, stares at a computer screen depicting a Rainbow Sphere twirling merrily in on itself. Makes her think of Christmas and her maw. Golden bars stacked on a table beside her. Small sofa with Saints style fleur-de-lis decorated throw pillows behind her of the same color. Her dress is also kind of the same hue. She sits in the middle of the manor, unobserved. The building she’s in twirls in on itself all around her too. One named Wayne, although the description says Wayen. Tania’s boss was never the best of spellers. Plumb pitiful actually, but don’t bring it up to her face or you may get a smack. So this is where we’ll begin.

The Maebaleia continent here is still relevant in Our Second Lyfe. So is Jeogeot, Heterocera, Sansara, Nautilus, Corsica, Gaeta V, Zindra, and, heck, don’t get me started about the various Bellisseria ones, as large now as all the original ones I’ve just listed combined I would suppose. Like Atlantis Rising — again in the middle of it all or between the 2 mainland hemispheres, linking them up in fact. Azores greatly expanded in relative scale.

Her replacement Patricia, a St. Patrick’s gift also from the past, arrives at the Secret Door Bookshelf waiting her turn. Not yet.

Still thinking of Xmas, she changes the screen. She replaces a beloved ornament named Girly Santa with a shiny new train, golden in hue as well up front, the place she decided it would poke out of the tree’s innards.

Her user found it in the woods. Just waiting for him. It turns a Christmas Tree into a Winter Tree proper, extending its life to, say, Arbor Day or thereabouts, he figures. Or at least March 17th.

Thanks “Bigfoot”!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0042, 0101, Concreek, Frank Park, Haze County, Maebaleia/Satori, Redsland, Whitehead Crossing

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She tired of yellow so she changed to orange, another kind of disguise. The woman on the road directed her to the man on the tractor in the distance — up at the farmhouse — but she could travel only so far. Ran out of gas, we’ll say. Another man was waiting who turned out to be the same as the one on the tractor, which was only trick of shadow.

“My you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said in his gravelly old voice when she approached, being use to only cows around here. “What’s your name, Hot Pink?”

“Pink actually,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow answered with a wry smile. “But you call me Marsha — I only let friends call me Marsha.” Lie lie lie, she thought. They call me *Pink*, which you never will again you old pervy man on the road. She noted his half buried legs. “Looks like the ground’s a bit soft around here.”

“This?” He looked down too. “Got caught in some quick terraforming by the owners, people named Locus. Only met ’em once or twice I believe. Now I can’t get out.”

“Would explain the smell,” Marsha said, noticing it for the first time. She wondered if she should pull him out, get him going again.

“Don’t worry,” he said, sensing her desire to help. “Owners will come around again soon enough; they’ll set me free.” With this, he looked hopefully down the road beyond Marsha’s now orange VW, beyond the woman still standing there. Christina I believe is the name, from Wyeth County, Missouri. Waiting on her dad Andrew.

—–

She found herself driving up the road again to the farm with the tractor. She didn’t run out of gas this time. There was no man on the bench waiting for her. Instead someone was actually at the tractor, apparently working on it. Christina’s father. “My you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said as she approached from behind.

“H-how do you know?” She got within 10 feet or so and halted, looked at the pleasant back of the dude.

“Switch places with me. Know a lot about tractors?” He had seen her from before, she realized. Test run.

“Not really. I was… *pretending*,” she decided to explain herself.

“Nothing pretentious about farming young lassie.” He turned. “Could you pipe down for a moment, Wally?” he requested to his punk playing son on the left now, a Ramones song I believe, perhaps “Rockaway Beach”. Hard to tell since they all sound alike and he’s just kind of mumbling the words as he quickly strums along. Probably doesn’t know the lyrics, Marsha guessed. But could it be possible? Could he know about her stint in prison?” Just then, he pretty clearly mumbled the words “Rockaway Beach.” It *was* that song; he *knew* about the prison. What *is* this place, actually?

“Christina!” the tractor man suddenly belted out in the direction of his older child. “Time for dinner!” Her wait was over.

“Joining us I assume,” he spoke to Marsha. Was she?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0041, 0101, Teepot^^

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Third time’s the charm as they say. Wheeler/Shelley has found a temporary home in the Sandfly region of the original Bellissaria continent, along with her two boys. A powerful psychic told her that down the road she’d have to choose between Arthur and Edward. But for now she’s treating them as one. Two fer One, 1/2 price on each. Bargain, she says. Cheap as cake, or at least yogurt. This region, this sandy place, embodies that idea.

She may have functional neighbors we’ll see.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0040, 0101, Bellisaria, Sandfly

red over blue (Democracy continues)

It’s a very blue place, she thinks. 10:01 AM. Yet she stares.

Wonder why Myrtle doesn’t like linden plants? she ponders.  I’ve *always* liked linden plants. Maybe the only one she respects, the branchy winter tree with no leaves, is my *least* favorite, hmph.

Someone else should be with me here in this lonely spot, she ruminates. Someone else blue.

She suddenly has the urge to get up and dance. Must be the costume. And the place.

—–

“I see plumeria over there,” she spoke later to rail sitting Edward, her chosen beau for the day. She’d changed into something safer, something non-dancey, urge abated. “I see palm tree no. 1, palm tree no. 2. And then a cypress tree 1 just up the hill. What’s not to love?”

“Different strokes for different folks,” Edward offered to Shelley’s continued rant. She just couldn’t get the logic of Myrtle’s opinion.

“Very regimented. *No* chaos. No mention of mainlands. What a mess! she might exclaim. Yet… she’s there. On Constance.”

“*You* put her there. Even gave her that weird belly button, the on and off thing.”

“The Abyss must be a key. That’s where we meet, her and me. That’s where I can tell her off if she doesn’t friend me.”

“Drop it,” urges Edward to the girl, perhaps the love of his life. If Wanda doesn’t enter the picture again. “Let it go.”

“The *island* is all about that merger.” But as she spoke this, she began to doubt her words. It was more than just that.

—–

The next day Shelley replaced Edward with Arthur in the sim of Escanes and they studied the illegal TILE treatises of Bart and Lisa in a sand covered underwater room directly beneath a false island planted with those plumeria and palms, thinking their actions there were unexposed to the prying eyes of superiors on the FILE. They weren’t; didn’t call them that for nutt’n.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0101, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wild West

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Another circle of interest has been created in my ongoing hiking mythology about *Haze County* (left pink circle). Dimensions this time: 0.4 mile radius, 0.5 square mile area, 2.5 mile circumference. This is exactly 1/2 the area of my previous circle of interest centered on what I call Pink Peak (larger pink circle to right), which was one square mile. I believe I’ve pinpointed a center for the new one as well, a kind of island in a stream containing 4 trees. More info soon!

Nearby Blue Mountain with a snow tree on top.

We’ve already featured pics from the inclusive Throne House in the last photo-novel here, now 37 in number. We seemed to have started the 38th with this post. The Throne House may also be called the Tyrone House, with logical results coming up.

Every circle I create seems to have a standy outy rock, sometimes gleaming from a distance. Like this one from the newest, flat against another and purest white in color.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0101, Blue Mountain, Red Hill

start with red

“A demon? No, I don’t think you are a demon. A *demo*, maybe, ha.”

“Thanks, Keith.”

“Call me Dad.”

She wasn’t going to call him that. She’ll stick with Keith, but she doesn’t say any kind of name for a while. Just to pretend she’s forgotten.

She wonders about the man at the table next to them again. Obviously a *recorder*. She’s almost got a name for *him*. Besides bastard. Keith notices the stare, whispers over: “This man bothering you?” Keith was thinking he could be giving her the eye. She has that way, he knows. Heck, if he were 20 years younger and he didn’t know this was his daughter… But he had to climb out of those depths, back into the present. He was Keith B., former drummer of the Blown to Smithereens and some others. Safely retired from all that rock n’ roll lifestyle and its wildness. He was tame now. He was ready to present himself as a nice and decent father for a change. Sobered up, cleaned up. He didn’t *die* in that Room (for instance). And neither did she for that matter.

—–

“He doesn’t remember me,” Biff Carter says to the camera without moving his lips. “Nor she, although she’s getting there. Almost a name now. I can read what’s in her mind. It’s the same as this book.” He holds the book up for us to see.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0101, Jeogeot, Middleton^, Towerboro

Jem’s World

“Well, my name is Gemilly Johnston — Jem for short — and these are the books I’ll be keeping up with (!).”

So cheerful that first week, she says, reviewing her introductory video, whiskey sour in hand as usual when looking at this type of stuff. So many videos in her collection now. But this was one of the clean ones, before the dirt and grime of the city, this Dodgey City, became fully evident, thanks to John. *Not* Jim.

“I live about 1500 meters up in a nice house with a beautiful perpetual sunset, right on the beach. See? (she indicates a hand, an arm). I’m already working up a tan (!).”

If I could go back and kill her — myself — I would, thinks Jem here, wanting to wipe that ridiculous smile off her face with a rag of acid. OK, maybe Texas Pete.

“The house is owned by John L. Brown, who is also my boss, who is also my, ahem…”

Boyfriend? thought present Jem. Fat chance.

“… cousin,” past Jem completed her sentence.

Wait, is that possible? present Jem thought. She reversed the video, started over. At 2:32: “cousin” again. She doesn’t remember saying that. Plus it wasn’t true (!!).

—–

But John L. Brown for one knew it was and changed the wording yesterday after also slyly suggesting she take a day off for mental health reasons and look at old videos from the archive to soothe her nerves, especially recommending — or starting with — the one she’s viewing right this moment. Jem eventually figured this out as well as she continued to sip (or at least try to contain it to a sip) on one of her whiskey sours and ponder and ponder. Cousin — that aspect conveniently forgotten, conveniently wiped from memory, just like she was trying to wipe the happiness and naivety from her past self’s face back then in her imagination. She imagines someone standing behind her, looking at her as if on a video, trying to wipe something from *her*.

“John L. Brown,” she muttered with Texas Pete, add a little Oklahoma from beyond the screen. She turned (toward the camera?). Time for my close-up.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0101, Nautilus, Oklahoma, Texas, Wild West

Roberts to start again…

I think I’ve found what I needed to this morning. An unregistered Nautilus (continent) gallery. Hypercubes.

My opposite Franklin doesn’t quite fit in here yet. Too large. We’re working on it.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0101, Nautilus, NORTH

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“I *know* this person,” thinks Wheeler at the door of the investigator/psychic’s interior office. She’s playing around with forms again, and this one is an extension of her recent consumption of fries with cheese at the nearby Twin Peaks bar and grill. File it under: you are what you eat. She thought she had 30 days before the skin turned green on this freebie avatar she’s attached to the outfit. Not as advertised; no wonder it was a budget item. She’s trying to become — but never mind. It’s not turning out. But that figure on the door (!).

“What was that Mrs. Corn?” Corn? she thinks. A last name? What’s the first? But she knows what it is.

“Oh… nothing. Just staring at the big eye on your door. It reminds me of someone.”

Psychic-detective Roberts pivots toward Mabel (Mabel!). “We’ve been through this.”

The situation changes.

—–

Jack barges in with his recently cleaned shovel. “Ma’am, the corpse is now bur — oh. Sorry. Didn’t know you were with someone.” Why would he? Miss Roberts never has any clients. Except dead ones. But this one appears to be alive. And green! Must be — but it couldn’t. Martian?

“Hi Harry,” he speaks over to the shorter figure standing beside her, also a gnome, also working for the firm.

“Hello Jacob,” as Harold calls Jack, which he doesn’t like but puts up with. Harry’s a nice guy. And a great carpenter. He did a fine job with this coffin. Extra long, but he made it fit.

“Just looking for the case, Mrs. Corn,” Roberts excuses herself to Mabel, now considerably smaller but just as green. Moreso, since she’s now wearing a Hannah Montana lime toned outfit, fresh from a concert at the Rooftop Inn over in mid-town. Where are we, then? The land description mentions an asylum. Is everyone here nuts? Could explain the outfit.

And the book! Just like the one at the newly established Table Room on Rooster’s Peninsula, where I live as a castle dweller, library in the center still. For now. A sprite was looking in it for information about her type, where she comes from, what are her weaknesses. This is Greenleaf, who also shows up in Towerboro standing on a big rock behind Dove, formerly Ivory, but still a sister to Ebony on the giant tree trunk dead in front of her: Deadwood. And the alphabit spread out on the forest floor below them, which they eat with a spoon one by one by one until they reach M, when *they’re* dead. Mmmmmm dead. Thirteenville.

But I feel like I’m needlessly complicating things again. Let’s back up more.

—–

“Okay, Mrs. Daigle. Let me just begin to look for that case we were just talking about. Oh — and Barry? You can take off your pyramid and go home now. I think you’ve learned your lesson well enough, young gnome.”

The striped dunce cap he was wearing! One and the same.

We must follow this figure and see what happens next.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0101, Cable Isle, Hana Lei^^

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“I’m not ready to let go, Charlotte. I can’t give up Nauty that easily.”

Charlotte knew Nauty was short for Nautilus but she couldn’t help but think of other things at the time, especially the way Edward was indicating. Like Dodgey City. Poor Jem! Stuck in a dead end bookkeeping job after buying too many vowels in that game of hers she calls life. Spaceships, pheh. One day one of them will come down and save me, she said on their last day together, after the butcher shop and attached brothel shut down, kicking her out of the nest. Well, this eagle has *flown*, she declared.

Orilia the bartender couldn’t help but listen in. So this is the legendary Edward Daigle she’s heard so much about over the last week, she contemplates, ignoring her bar customers for now. Edward has become her *main* customer fer sure. She walks over.

“Anything, to, ahem, eat yet?” She was embarrassed. She felt awkwardness of mouth was a weakness and attempted to be all-time smooth in that department. Yet the throat clearing…

“Fine,” he said crisply, and raised his hands from his lap. Now maybe I can think of something else, thought a relieved Charlotte. “I’ll take a salad, extra ketchup. You?”

How rude (!). Ordering before me. “Just the ketchup,” she decided, making a quick meal of it. Besides, Edward had other people to see, she knew. Other places.

“Comes with mustard,” spoke Orilia, not writing it down. “Is that okay?”

“Mustard will be fine,” said Charlotte, “but put it on the side.”

“Pickle too.”

“Fine. Side.”

Orilia then looked from one to the other. “Drinks?”

Just then, someone else came in the bar that Orilia would subsequently ignore. But not Charlotte, not Edward. Because this was none other than Jem of Dodgey City, also flying the coop.

She sat down at a nearby table, waiting for Edward to finish. She brought her own drink.

“Fiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnneee,” he said before the time adjustment.

There.

Charlotte looked over as the dust was still settling. “Jem??”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0101, Jeogeot, Towerboro