Trapped on a desert isle with only 2 palms for company (slap slap).
But it’s not too bad. He’s been in worse situations.
—–
“Yeah, she’s a smacker,” says The Mann, explaining Red’s marks.
Category Archives: 0104
00410104
In the morning she skipped breakfast with the creepy mesh family and drove more into the heart of the village. She checked the gauge after starting the car. Gas tank full, good. She was back on the right timeline, the one she came from when she entered the portal.
Seeing some cows in a field above her after parking, she decided to visit them first. She always had an affinity with these gentle animals, actually wanted to be a cow when she was little. “Milk me,” she said very inappropriately to her younger brother when they were 8 and 10 respectively, too small to know what they were doing. Their Mother set her straight later on. “Get it through your bull headed brain: you are *not* a cow.” But then when she grew up and started to put on a few extra pounds, well, things got complicated again. “I *am* a cow,” she would often say to herself after that, until pound begat pound and she was puttering about the house in a black and white suit made from miracles. Took a long time to get over that. She thought of Christina again and her own unburdening. In a mesh way in that case, of course. Hard to compare the two.
And low and behold she found that she could milk the farthest one she automatically dubbed Bessy as per custom, like strange dogs tend to become Rover or Spot when addressed. Milk, mmm. Would be tasty after not having anything to eat this morning. Needed nutrition.
“You’ll have to give that milk to Donna,” spoke Andrew “Biff” Carter loudly over a nearby fence. “She owns the cow.” Can she not shake the creepy mesh man? She wondered about his ability to have sex again. Maybe he’s feigning all *this* — mesh could be just an act so that he could seem innocent when following her around. I bet he drinks that wine after everyone else has gone to “bed”. Bet he dreams about more than just tools in a shed. Wait… is *she* mesh instead? No no no, she waves the crazy thought off. I’m *real*. I *eat*. But yet she skipped breakfast with no ill consequences yet. And she couldn’t manage to quite go to the bathroom last night behind the house.
I’m *not* mesh, she then thought. But I’m *turning* into mesh. This place!
00400104
She logged into Our Second Lyfe to see who else was on line. Sometimes it was easier that way.
—–
“I wanted to talk to you first since you’re the husband. How well did you know Shelley?”
“You, ahem, act like she’s dead.”
“No no, not dead,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow protested. “*Within*.”
“Well… she was my wife.”
“Yes?” Marsha urged.
“And my lover of course.”
“Right?”
“And a friend.” He sips his now cool coffee. They’ve been at it for a while. Marsha is trying to justify keeping Arthur Kill around.
“And she still is,” Marsha reiterated the “not dead” part. Within, she thought. Within *her*. Then Marsha stifled the urge to gasp as she looked next door. Happened all the time since the conversion, the merger. Luckily she had coffee in her hand to remind her gesturing arm this time. She’ll beat it, though. Tammy (or Frankie) “Beige” Brown should remain within, as a conscience perhaps. She’ll figure it out. What’s done is done and all; no going back.
“Did you know,” she said, still staring at the neighbor’s house opposite the direction of Sandy’s we just discussed, “that I’ve met him before. The (eastward) neighbor and all. Not his person, his *statue*. Imagine that?”
“Mountain Lake,” she specified the location. “I use to skinny dip up there!”
—–
Suddenly she was back there, coffee cup still in hand but not animated any longer. The statue up on the ridge was gone — no surprise since it’d been perhaps 5 years since she’d been here. But, amazing to her, the *skinny dippers* were still around, just down in the water below from her default landing spot. Ditsy and Zizzy, she even recalled the names. Brabinites, they were. Or maybe Bravinites, one or the other she’s pretty sure. How could the thing they worship — 5 years ago again — be her neighbor now, just by chance since Linden homes like her Sandfly trailer are randomly assigned?
And that gets me to another topic. I’ve decided to call the sandy region Marsha lives in now *Big Sandy* instead of Sandfly, which is instead returned to the name of an included sim and that alone. More soon…
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0040, 0104, Bellisaria, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^, Sandfly
Minnesota to Louisiana, the mighty river rolls on
He visited the residence nearest the center of Chum and found another tiger laying on a couch. The more things change the more they stay the same, he contemplated, also looking across the deck at a dancing bear.
If I said he wasn’t perturbed at this new development I would be Lion.
Yes, there I am below, a Batta-lion to be specific. Ready for battal. But it was all a dream about the war again and the loss of Chet. They poured into the sea looking for the real me. I wake up.
—–
Later, much later, I revisited the scene and found 3 girls, probably sisters, all peering round the corner of a neighboring houseboat down the pier at… me again I assume. Wondering what went wrong. Their lives had unfolded perfectly: 3 beautiful children spaced about 2 1/2 to 3 years apart. The golden family. “Golly gee,” the pigtailed middle one said to the others. “Do you think he’ll *ever* make anything of his life?” “Yes,” agreed the younger also coming around like the others before her, also watching me flounder around the end like a lost seal puppy. She was my junior by close to 15 years but was already enrolled in special classes for the gifted and damned, although I just added the second word in jest. This must have been before I enlisted and made something of myself. Finally. My family would beam down smiles instead of rain frowns. The war was the best thing that could have happened. The girls grew up to be successful women in their fields of archeology, anthropology, and astronology from top to bottom, although the youngest had a tough time choosing between astronomy and astrology in her junior year of college and decided to combine them into one to create something new. Since she was special, perhaps special special, the instructors granted this wish. She became the most interesting one to me later, after the war, after all the death and destruction was over. Because she had the most insight into herself, being a kind of split being like myself, although obviously not as fractured. I sat down with her one day and talked away, although this was not part of the dream. This was reality. I told her about TILE. I told her about the renegade treatises by two other children, without a third this time. I was looking for them. I wanted to find out… what they knew. How they channeled such important documents at such a young age. And why that milk for that bread, that (peanut) butter? Was it really needed to make the whole thing palatable to others at least in part?
—–
She still wasn’t allowed to eat with him, despite the changes. “Dear, why don’t you take off your mask. *I* have.”
That is just a wig you put on to give the appearance of a beauty and not a beast, he thinks. You’re still a white faced cow. He stared over, looked at her black vacant eyes. Yes, cow. Nothing to be desired at all. He imagines the heat again, the flies again. He remembers the military.
“I wear this, *cow*,” he answered aloud, “because I don’t want to forget who I am, how I got here. If it wasn’t for Chet–”
“Oh Chet Chet Chet,” she cut in, tired of the name. “Watermelons and cantaloupes, right. You have to get *over* it dear.”
“Stop saying that,” he protested. “Stop calling me that.”
“*Dear*,” she insisted. “Just take off the helmet — not the cape. Let me take a peek. It’s only fair.”
If he took off the helmet he would no longer be one with Chet. He refused, adding another “cow” or two to rub it in. We are different still, you over there and me over here, he thinks. He will not succumb.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0104, Bellisaria, Northern Hills, Pickle 02
partytime
She looks around the sauna, thinking: Jake’s a good guy, so’s John. Jim for that matter, although he does a bit too much coke for me. Will rot out his teeth one day soon down the line. But none of them are Edward. Where is my sweet, dear Edward now? Still with Shelley? Maybe even, dare I think it, *Penny*? How ironic that would be. He was toying with both of us.
Maybe I should go with John, Sandy thinks, leaning over and blowing on his hair, a possible sign of things to come (she hopes). She looks around again after retreating. Did anyone notice what I just did there, what it potentially means? Jake seems disinterested. Jim is busy with his coke. Sarah in the water is just bending down again and again trying to get the attention of the others in the room. Besides me of course. Or maybe me as well, who knows? I’ve heard rumors, but maybe that’s just more Penny foolery and trickery.
Yes, Jake definitely seems more interested in Sarah than me. I’ll mark him off. Down to Jim and John. But as she’s thinking this, Jim takes another deep draw off his coke, says “ahhh”, and smiles widely in her direction, teeth already showing a tiny bit of wear and tear. Looks like it’s down to John. She leans over once more, blows once more. His hair smells nice, like lemons. He’s also orange tinted like me, Sandy thinks. Good that the orange people stay together. She blows.
They hooked up, this Sandy Hook and John Helms fellow, but she found herself thinking of Edward all the time. Sweet cute adorable Edward. Where *is* he?
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0104, Lower Austra^, Wild West
Wooboostoock (Baltimore)
The 2 parts of the letter appeared before him, as if by magic. “Abra-” ended the first page and “-cadabra” began the next. Baker has much to ponder.
—–
He landed just out of sight with his out-of-place swimming trunks and beachy attitude. Arthur Kill, still confused over his role, still confused over who he *is*. Arthur? Kill van Kull, a much tamer cousin? Or, dare he speak the name, Lemont. Lemont Sanford. The overseer, the one who controls. Not him, though. Not yet. But he has to choose a cousin in the meantime. Else: this keeps happening.
—–
“*Not* here. Not on my watch,” speaks bartender Zane Tar, holding out a stop hand. “We know about the castle.”
“You *do*?” But Arthur knew he had to move on. These were military people at the bottom of it, good at digging out information. This was, in essence, an extension of Rose Heaven, where his user had gotten in so much trouble looking for the fabled Murdochh Castle of Loch Ness. “It was all a misunderstanding,” he’d said in his head to them, the collective, so many times now, a defense set on repeat.
“Actually,” he decided to say, “I’m just looking for a child named Archie,” and then took his leave. He would keep them hanging this way. Because Archie would lead them right back to “East Lynne” and confuse the heck out of them, for at least a while, until they could get their bearings. He’d check back later to see what they’d come up with in the meantime.
—–
“See you later, Clyde.”
“Good day, sir.” The policeman made a note about the HUD being missing this time. Cousin? he pondered, probably also reading his mind. Military people, pheh. But he’d try to use all that to his advantage… we’ll see.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0104, Hana Lei^^
recentering
“We’re both tall for our species,” spoke Albert. Maybe we should bury the hatchet, get together. You’d have to have an operation of course. I’m not taking what you have down there currently.”
“You’re joking, right?” Sometimes it was hard for Franklin to tell.
“Of course.” Albert was somewhat reformed, having almost died over at Sporminore in the last photo-novel, 35 (period). He’s kind of seen the light. He returned his butterfly curtains from his formerly very special room to Curtis’ just the other day. I believe we have a photo of him doing so in the media library, along with some attached dialog…
Yes, here:
“You’ll have to trade them in.” “That’s fine.”
“So I come here looking for the Umbrella girl and instead find you. Under an umbrella.” He looked over, he looked up. “Explain.”
“We’re different people,” said Franklin. “I sit on the blue pillow, which represents positivity.”
“I resent that,” shot back Albert quickly. “*I* represent positivity… in the now.”
Franklin realized this was so. More memories kicked in. She was Shelley before, but also, behind that, Wheeler. She was Wheeler. She *is* Wheeler. She took him in, realizing she was sitting beside fellow core Baker Bloch instead of prevert Albert. Only the blackbird linked them together. And the hat(s).
“Take off your hat, Albert, and I’ll know that you speak the truth.” Could he?
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0104, Nautilus, Perch-Mistletoe, Upper Austra^
different
It was fun testing out boats before settling on the KittyKat one we eventually bought. Like this golden beauty found under an airport in Agrippa — on the Nautiulus continent ta boot. We’re kind of loyalists in that way: Mainland first, then Nautilus even in front of that. We want to stay close to Real Life through the Iowan hypercube, more Roberts’ thing but I get it. She’s explained it to me in layman’s terms.
But this one, whatever the other advantages, didn’t have a functional bathroom. What are you suppose to do, go off the side of the deck? You just dock a little more often, the seller tried to persuade. You’ll get use to it, she added. I don’t think so.
So afterwards we chose to look exclusively at the Bandit series, the ones with the cute little ducks on the shower curtains. All have a functional shower, a functional bathroom. And the KittyKat was well within our price range, being less expensive, for example, than the gold one pictured above, which was more near the top. Whatever disadvantages we have in bedroom animation we’ll make it up with imagination. And, anyway, you have to dock less for bedroom stuff than bathroom stuff. Everyone has to do their no. 1’s and no. 2’s with regularity, several times a day at least, right?
Truthfully, the first time I used their standard Flushmaster 2000 I was sold. Aim free peeing!
And I guess we were joking when we said Roberts hadn’t seen a man thing since she was 14. We’ll figure it out.
My name is *Franklin* and I approve this message.
middle
Half the audience will be red, the other half blue. But in her purple sock hop outfit singing the right songs she thinks she can make it work. First off: the national anthem. “America the Beautiful”. No one can argue with that choice.
She decides to augment the “purple” in mountain through synthesizer manipulation. Lampton will be more than willing to help, she realizes. He knows the importance of all this too. The manipulation of the people of our great US of A.
Come on back Lemont Sanford (!). Turns out you weren’t killed off after all. Wheeler has that power.
But Duncan Avocado was another story and thus we cut off at the drums. Acapella I presume. Get ready for that augmentation Arthur “Kill van Kull” Lampton!
“Oh beautiful for spacious skies…” Beautiful singing voice. Just beautiful. Get ready.
“For ℘ùℜ℘Îē …”
She keeps singing but she scans the audience for change.
00330104
I use to have a dog, Edward thought while staring down at the masked man’s he was standing uncomfortably close to. If he were in his same time zone.
Funny how he can’t recall what kind. Must be an exotic type.
—–
“Catchup,” Edward Daigle exclaimed after waking up beside Mary. “The dog’s name was…”
“Don’t say it.” A flood of memories came back for the avid fisherwoman. Pitch! How could I have forgotten. She springs up out of bed and stares down at Edward, straightening her skirt. How could *you* have forgotten.
Edward wakes up in Towerboro and, looking down at the Arkansaw book he was sleeping on, remembers to jot it all down.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0104, Jeogeot, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Towerboro, Upper Austra^
Sunklands 