She stands at a crossroads outside the motel. David A.B. and Linda Halsey are still talking in the lighted patio outside the lobby. They would be doing this as long as the motel itself existed, she realized. She stares toward the mysteriously highlighted red-blue-green gate to the east (sky-sea-land). She’s *been* here before, she realizes while studying it and almost being hit by a right turning, beat up station wagon with Illinois license plates in the process. BDR529. Not quite all the numbers but getting there.
“Where there are churches there must be liquor stores,” she remarks confidently while walking between two. She goes in a direction no Yoko has ever gone before, messing with the patterns.
“So this is what you do all the time, Baker B.?” asked observing Marty at Collagesity’s Blue Feather Table Room.
“Pretty much,” admitted the male baker version to the famous composer/musician variant.
“W-where is she going? She’s just heading off in a random direction.”
“Not random,” spoke Baker Bloch. “Hopefully.”
“What is this place?” Marty further queried.
“Heartsdale. It’s in title.” Baker looked over, confident in his randomness. “She’s been here before,” he added. “Or *I* have.”
“And this has — something to do with John.”
“Absolutely,” I crowed. “Bakersworks,” I said to end.
“She’s *good*, Katy,” states Keith B., listening in on “The Real Me.”
“Call me *Kate*,” Kate McCoy hawed back.
“Alright, Kate. But she’s not as good as my little girl.”
“Oh, just *shut* UP about your little girl. What about ME?”
“A different castle, Hucka Doobie. But still in Splinterwood. You can tell by the position of the divide between that sim and Hilling. We have landed; we are grounded.”
“Say (that picture) was about 6 years ago, huh,” the wise bee-being replied to my Corsica peak ramblings tonight. “And what of the others? You better check.”
“Well: Yuiselle,” I replied. “That hasn’t changed since all that land is protected. It’s not far from Splinterwood as well. Just a couple sims to the southwest.”
“Southwest again,” spoke Hucka Doobie. “And the third and last for tonight?”
“4 sims directly west of Southwest…”
“… Castle,” Hucka ended.
Peak of Moork; Yuiselle summits in the background.
Moork (left) and The Yuiselles (right).
Band playing beneath The Yuiselles. “Lamb” again?
“Celebration (End of Rain),” 2016
“She’s always hanging around, Parasol. It gets annoying.”
“She has just as much right to hang around here as you — us.” Parasol points to Ingo across from her and then herself and then back and back again to reinforce. “You better put your sphere back on. You’re getting weak already.”
“Alright.” He does as Parasol told him. The witch hovering outside the window suddenly flitters off, soon landing on a summit just below. As if the sphere drove her away. And perhaps it did.
She’s at the fire tree now,” spoke Parasol, standing up to get a better view.
“She’s always at the fire tree,” returned Ingo, back in form. “She’s up to something. Norris say…”
“Norris?” queries Parasol (not back in form).
After Parasol left, Ingo decides to teleport down to the tree for further investigation. But no sign of the cat-witch. It *could* have something to do with Purple Wolverine, thinks Ingo, looking further down toward the roughly circular island below and its lone residence. It’s time for a visit anyway. See what he’s been up to. Make sure he’s in line with the code still. What a mischief maker!
They became the Adam and Eve of Golden Sink. Green Acers. Oliver. Blue Feather Douglas; Grey Scale Kimball. It was all in one.
Many theorems have been written trying to explain who they are. Why sometimes with dogs, why sometimes accompanied by cats…
… and then, at other times: alone? Separate even, perhaps, but maybe not as well. Probably not.
They shortly figured out that this was some kind of original home, since deleted. Perhaps a precursor to the House of Truth or running parallel to it.
An Ur Residence.
“It’s important to know where you are and where you are going and/or have been,” Tillie stated to the others after a preliminary study had been completed.
He looked down on me, always smiling, always laughing.
The Man About
I must get home…
Without hat, Baker Bloch stood upon the sim line dividing Treasure Hill neatly in 2.
He thinks there may be 2 Treasure Hills which are actually one, but he needs to get Roger Pine Ridge over to Grassy Noll’s place asap to start the process of finding out…
END OF PART 1 OF 16 OF “BAKER’S DOZEN: AN ANALYSIS OF THE COLLAGESITY NOVELS”!
Duncan finds himself naked and aware in a sim of his own name. 128, 128 of course.
He stands before the Pearly Gate.
Peter thumbs through the great book. “Let’s see. Oh yes. ‘Avocado, Duncan William.’ You may pass through. Job well done.”
Reward (just the beginning).
“My blues cousin Opp is missing, Bill. I, of course, blame the reds and yellows.”
“Tell me about it,” affirms Wheeler who is now Bill — The Bill. “I’ve been shooting reds and yellows all day.”
“But if you’ll excuse me, I must now get back to sewing the elephant.”
Grassy Noll wondered what that was a euphemism for, but Bill meant it literally.
Pitch Darkly teleports into the centre of Clemscott. As he knew from previous visits, the owner of the sim had marked the spot with a grassy, oval lozenge. This Clem fellow. Clem Scott maybe. Smart like a Fox.
Merlin’s Mound dead ahead, as Pitch has dubbed it. Grassy green like the central object he stands upon. Extension?
What, if anything, is buried within?
This is a grassy avenue just beyond that interests Pitch greatly for reasons I won’t go into just yet.
The avenue extends along the north side of… well I’m just going to let the pictures basically tell the story.
According to these signs adorning the surrounding square shaped wall in all 4 of its corners, the fenced-in region of approx. 1024 meters (32 x 32 meters) holds what are apparently experimental building projects, with apologies given for the involved dust. You can actually buy the wall and attached signs for 50 lindens. Pitch is tempted…
Banana and apple.
Once again, Pitch realizes he’s not going to be able to figure it out tonight. He must move on. But not before noting this 32 meters long “measuring rod” extending well below the surface here. 32 meters is also the length of each side of the walled compound.
Walled region and “Merlin’s Mound”.
Pitch decides to quench his parched throat at a neighboring bar before continuing. “Bucket of blood,” he requests to the familiar bartender. “No nails.”