Category Archives: 0105

Black

A new crop of potential recruits has shown up on what they call Umbrella Beach on the western edge of Nautilus’ Crisp Sea, chatting after the delicious, shrimp dominated buffet. Decision time coming up. Whether to step into the shade of the protecting umbrella or go back out into the glare of the harsh, unrelenting sun, all exposed and for everyone around to gawk at in their increasing redness. Red ironically protects against red, they said during the meal, standing up one by one, these past recruits, to give their testimonies of success and life fulfillment through the initiative, the collective. Already, one here was basically under the umbrella, decision made, shackles (of outside life) removed and legs to be retreated back in the shade with the rest, perhaps even before I write this sentence. The purple clad one in the background middle was also about to cave, being a bigger shrimp lover than Lois in white. Sitting down Darla was just ready to go home and be done with it, another one forced here by a prevert relative trying to seduce her to the dark side. “Okay, okay,” she said to her mother Tulipia in a call between meal and beach. “You win. We’ll move to Ohio.” Joy in the Conner household tonight. Uncle Albert would *not* be tagging along, thanks to a restraining order issued by Pinky, Darla’s father, just yesterday.

Speaking of which…

” Medium build, medium height, wearing a black bathing suit. Any idea?”

“Sir you just described about half the girls that walk on this beach.”

“Oh. Thought of something else. She wears a Venus cage necklace. Very distinctive. I don’t think (smile?) you’d be able to miss it.”

“Just a moment; hold on. I promise not to do anything stupid.” Beach cottage owner and secret “receiver” Claude briefly goes inside and retrieves a box, opens it for the stranger. “You mean like *these*?”

It was full of such. Claude gives them away to every girl lured in by the bosses. He doesn’t tell Albert they’re trackers as well. They know where you are.

“Whatever that picture you’re referring to, every one of those girls up there has sent back the same to their family.” He also doesn’t tell Albert they track even through photos. Powerful amulets indeed.

“Interesting information,” says Albert, the uncle of not one but several girls involved down through the years. He comes from a pretty big family. “Just for that, I’ve decided not to shoot you.”

Relieved look?

“Just kidding! POW POW… POW.”

No wounds. Albert wasn’t kidding. Just a water gun… this time.

“You *fell* for it [delete name],” he said while walking away, already plotting Plan B.

—–

Dripping Albert runs inside, calls the boss who would care the most and explains the hold up. “We have another situation,” he says, knowing the boss would understand. “Heading your way.”

“We’ll take care of it,” the boss says to him in a deep, level voice made for a crinimal. “We’ll send him to the Abyss. With the others.”

“Good deal.” [Delete name], *pheh*.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, Nautilus, 0105, Wild West, Crisp Sea, 0035

basement dwellers

Wrong side of the road.

—–

We watched from afar (right side of road). “This is where I got my butterflies,” she spoke over, hovering beside me. “You can have some too!” I didn’t need that kind of thing. I needed answers.

“Why are we here?” I cut to the chase. “Jeogeot, I mean. I thought Nautilus (continent) was our focus now. But as soon as we abandoned Collagesity it seems the energy drained away from it. So that would be novels 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 focused on that continent. But now…”

“You need to tell *this* tale because no one else will or can. Else… everything lost.”

Middletown, I assumed.

—–

I looked across the small Linden pool of water at the significant amount of land I could rent. I knew it was coming: the unleashing of MOA again. But not yet. Nautilus remains the one, the tentacled sphere locked away down in the castle’s dungeon. If head librarian Miss Ouri hadn’t already destroyed it. Will check as soon as I get back.

—–

No. Still there.

Oh. Hi me.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0105, Jeogeot, Midlands, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

00330105

Curious, Orilia the bartender does a search on his name back at the apartment after her shift was over.

“He is an eagle too!” she exclaimed when seeing the result. Just like Charlotte. Just like… she can’t recall the name of the other one that had flown the coop, far far away from Dodgey City now, they said.  She thinks: Catchup; but then remembers that’s just what they ordered. Extra ketchup for him, just plain ketchup for her. And the time zone thing. Wieerd. Creepy. Just like that book which keeps popping up here and there around town. Towerboro is cursed! she couldn’t help finishing her thoughts with.

—–

“Where are you trying to mail it to this time, Gladys?”

“Let’s try… Fayetteville.” She produces the needed cash from her purse and hands it to Bob who just gives her that stare again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0105, Jeogeot, Towerboro

fruit loops

“Oh fer sure,” spoke Filona beside Nibble, who had two points of focus, right and left, balanced by center (319). “You just turn left by the safety ovens… or is it right?” she asked Nibble, who knew but didn’t say. She just shook her head. Filona continued. “Anyways, we gots ta run, Lester. But, just saying, you’re the best(!).” For tonight, she thinks while redonning her neon roller skates, leaving both in the dust. Nibble realizes she had to interact with Lester, since they were left alone. Right? she thinks. I have to interact with him, yes? Lester starts.

“Soo. You wanna go on a date? Down to that place by the harbour?” Turns out Nibble didn’t know Filona, althought they appear together in that photo just above. Accidental conjunction; Lester, with Nibble all along, just wanted to know how to get down to the bay where he’d heard there was a bitch’n bristo that served Hot Molten Silver (alcoholic drink).

“See that booth over there, Tabitha? That’s the one that’s going to collapse and kill Mommy while she’s standing under it buying that watermelon in 10 years, in fact (she checks her watch), 10 years to the month day and even minute.” Tabitha understandably begins crying. “Oh shush shush baby girl. It’s just an asteroid. Crushes Mommy’s head like, well, like a watermelon.” She edges closer to the fated booth, the scene of the future tragedy that cost then 11 year old Tabitha her mother. On her own she was beyond that. No: instead taken in by the triangle, the 32×32, which caused the “accident” in the first place, or, to use its lingo, the “occident”.

Like Mork in Terry Gilliam’s “Fisher King” movie, Tabitha had clearly gone insane through the experiencing, BOOOMB!!!!

Mommy was the triangle from then on, the only intact piece left. She carried it around in her mind, in her brain. It spoke to her constantly, and was even hard to shut up. It then predicted its own death. In the past. “I’ll be standing just over there baby girl.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0105, Nautilus, Yd Island^

not boxed in and correctly oriented

“Mistress said not to be disturbed.”

“Not to be disturbed”, echoes weaver Tealy to roller Tillie’s issuance.

Neither look up from their respective tasks. Big Red lumbers by them as if they didn’t exist. He opens the door to the far eastern room.

“We tried,” Tillie said afterwards, rolling a green one now.

“We did,” Tealy quickly followed, weaving his own color still. Always.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0105, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^

mistletoe doorway

“Grapes?” he guessed while passing the stomping pretty, beret bedecked lady.

“Raspberries,” she exclaimed back in a shaky voice, her legs and attached body going up and down, up and down. Soon all would be red and it wouldn’t matter. It was the first of many sightings for the girl in this as yet unnamed place. A place in Sunklands with Pietmond Boy and Norris roaming about it, perhaps zombies now but perhaps still alive. 1/2 and 1/2 would be another guess to insert here; eye for an eye.

On with the show…

They have quite the audience.

Always wanted to dance with a white girl, he wished to say but of course bit his tongue.

“Would you look at them down there.”

“Disgraceful,” the other agreed.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0105, Jeogeot, Sunklands^

resident but perhaps not evil

He waited for the security orb to kick in but it never did. He was INSIDE. Triple number for Hooktip, or close enough — 1 off.

Who to celebrate this occasion with? Why his wife of course: Martha Lamb. Or maybe (since animations are limited)… Shelley. Yes: Shelley.

She was, as usual, speed reading the famous or infamous red book, take your pick. It’s also flame retardant she’s heard.

“Hi Shelley. Sorry to hear about your castle.”

“That’s okay (read read read). There’s another one already there (read read). And Jacob’s I. (read) is asleep back on the bench at the Prog Rock Museum (read read read read read).”

“So I’ve heard.” Sid wanted to ask the obvious. Was this his daughter? ‘Nother one?

Sid was gone. Shelley was all grown up, having been through her Firesign Theatre period (“Piera”) and loving it. “Uncle Meatwad” — soo funny. Queer as well, but mainly funny. Both at once. It was all in the book…

… which was in her eyes now.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0105, Heterocera, VHC City^

seeing green

The wastelands of my mind.

—–

“I call them the Glory Holes, Alysha, because, you see, 2 are in Glory (sim) and the 3rd is just over the line in Shining Sea. I thought you might like to see.”

“Oh Kolya, do you even know what that means?” After investigating the 3 small bodies of water a bit more, she leaves somewhat disappointed: 1/2 and 1/2. Will he ever grow up? she thinks after returning to her rotating square alone. Probably not; the holes will remain what they are and nothing more. Gathering pools for rain water.

I *think* she liked them, ponders Kolya afterwards.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0105, Bellisaria

star laden

“This *arm* of the lake,” he spoke to me, well aware that his own arm represented the other at the moment, “is private, say, from the elbow down. But the shoulder to the elbow, where it’s glued to the rest of the body?: well, that’s something else. That’s where *I* fit in. And a good deal of others like me.” He looks to the water with this, and others of his kind dotted here and there. Like these fishermen, good men all, except for the one they call Blackbart staring in a different direction from the rest.

“Any of you boys got any… coke?”

“L-leave us alone, Blackbart,” spoke the stockier fisherman on the pier. Trying to ignore the just arrived renegade seaman, an ex special op naval medic discharged for mechanical reasons some say wrongly, didn’t work for the pair and now they would have to interact. “We’re just simple fisherpeople. We don’t deal with *cans*.”

“Or bottles,” spoke the other fisherman in a thinner voice to his counterpart. “It comes in bottles in this part of the country still. Bottles too,” he doubled down.

“Okay, okay,” exasperated Gemini Roadhouse McCutcheon Sullivan O’Reily. Most just call him Al, as will we. He was eager to keep the story moving, going past the whole bottle vs. can war of the 50’s and perhaps the 70’s as well, hard to tell because time was slipperier back then and had more variant arms to it. Like this particular arm of Starfish Lake, which some call the Starfish Sea because it is a pretty big lake, and could logically be bumped up on the scale of water body names. Up here, say, it’s the 70’s still, and cans are all the rage. Go past the elbow and suddenly you’re in the 50’s and the only Elvis singing on the radio is the white one. Bottles everywhere; they just threw them on the ground when done with their sodey pop back then. Littering was okay back in the day. Heck, they even made posters touting the benefits of such. Don’t have to hire garbagemen, a whole arm of the city workforce deemed unnecessary. An arm for an arm they said back in the day, which is still today past the elbow again mind you. Luther, the other fisherman was from up near the head hand of the arm (Hand o’ Arm), what they call Fingerboro, another fantasyland, then, I suppose. His mother father’s house was actually made from bottles, discarded waste put to use. The farsighted fisherman had glasses made out of bottle bottoms; his first hat was bottle caps stitched together to make a whole. Basketball? Try bottleball: it was a heck of a sport to try to keep up with with all the cracking and cutting. You’re lucky if your star kid came back from such a war with both his arms intact. But of course they could just grow another one if so.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0105, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

00260105

I looked at the ship as if entering from below. I had been here before, she said. This W. “Now you know; now you are beginning to see,” she furthered, walking away from me, having given me enough information for the time being. Tick-like Tickie, the blue being, perhaps the blue meanie, pointing a magical turtle in my direction, which is south from him at the time in the back of the ship we sat, he on a break from driving. But not for dining. For *divining*. Turtles have a long history with magic, as in squares, as in other shapes. But, for now especially, squares. Saturn. Southward turning. Malefic as opposed to Jupiter’s benefic. Admittedly jovial blue Tickie north of me was trying to tell me something. I listen to his mouth, which moved in slow motion which was, before that, sped up, making the sound even more lo-fi. I needed definition to understand. I decided to go back to Yellow Submarine. After all, we all live in one, each and every one of us. So says Lemon.

So I began studying turtles and magic squares, immediately coming to this:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lo_Shu_Square

A Chinese legend concerning the pre-historic Emperor Yu (夏禹) tell of the Lo Shu, often in connection with the Yellow River Map (Hetu) and 8 trigrams. In ancient China there was a huge deluge: the people offered sacrifices to the god of one of the flooding rivers, the Luo river (洛河), to try to calm his anger. A magical turtle emerged from the water with the curiously unnatural Lo Shu pattern on its shell: circular dots representing the integers 1 through 9 are arranged in a three-by-three grid.

I checked the turtle still physically in front of me, ignoring the blue being and his slow moving mouth behind it for the moment. No grid patterns, but… something was there.

“Jerrrrrry,” I then heard it hiss. Channeling through the turtle? Yes, Tickie was channeling through the turtle, I answer myself. I refrained from asking who Jerry was in this post.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0105, Lower Austra^, Nautilus