Category Archives: 0108

00330108

The elimination of George.

Harrison remains. *Barely*.

“They got his knee, which knocked out the rest of his leg — sorry. A thumb was missing from the hand but they were able to regrow it with the intact others. Don’t ask about the procedure. It’s messy, complicated. But without that hand, that regrowth…”

“He wouldn’t be able to play the guitar,” the other in the room finished for Dr. Diper, fresh from the surgery. “Thank you.”

“The red and green almost got him this time,” warned the doctor. “Best not to send him back out to war.”

“Oh, we won’t. Denisce just made a bad decision sending him over there. It’s in her name, you know, bad and good.”

The doctor paused with this, then said, “oh yeah,” as he got it. “Denisce. I forgot it could be spelled that way.”

“Almost,” replied the other. Probably Marty at this point, since he’s so concerned with the hand and its dexterity. “Will he lose any chords? I don’t mean vocal chords obviously (Dr. Diper snickers here, since both knew the head wasn’t involved — nice break in the seriousness) but guitar chords. Can… will he be able to play…”

“All your songs,” the doctor finishes a sentence in turn. Like tennis they were this day, battering concerns back and forth across a net that is the separation between people. Good and bad. Sometimes it’s absolutely necessary. “Wellll.”

Nurse Jem comes in, celebratory drinks in hand. Vodka for Diper and a, let’s see, Russian Roulette for Marty, a new drink he claimed to have concocted on the spot back at the hotel after the San Francisco concert in Candlestick Park, knocking it out alongside a couple of new ditties: the embryonic form of “Back in the USSR” and the unreleased and seldom heard “Moby Prick”. A baad song, Georgge Martin proclaimed upon hearing it back in England. “Hey, we’re the f-ing Beetles, Martin. Leave us alone!” exclaimed Marty after the judgment, but then the others admitted it was sour instead of sweet too and he let the matter drop, song unrefined and left in a raw, unprocessed form. They all secretly felt it was about Marty and his character, though, but to voice this out loud would be character assassination. He was just that much of a prick. At the time — he mellowed out later. After he died.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0108, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Canada/Tungaska, Jeogeot

00330107

“No it has to be one of those other colors,” Denisce decides, which was in her name after all. A decision maker she was, a go getter. And blue wasn’t in her name aim. George neither.

“Aw, *rats*,” he says, and starts moving toward his clothes.

—–

“Blue,” George begins, floating like a ball in his Southwestern pool as Little George, thinking of Michigan and some other stuff. “And yellow — *that’s* what did my beloved Duncan in, Marty.” George looked over at the red topped Beetle, checking to see if he was actually listening. Because he often wasn’t. He was currently looking at his soaked shoes and wondering how to slip them off and make his feet bare, like young George’s tootsies over there. He was wondering how he could Be Like George.

“Are you hearing me, Marty?”

“Um, sure sure. Blue, right.”

“And…?” George prompts.

“Um… *yellow*, yeah yeah. Real reet.”

George actually shakes his head with this while floating in the water. George thinks that Marty isn’t black. He should stop trying so hard. The Mann, pheh. “So that leaves…?” he prompts again.

“Red and green.” Marty was starting to pick it up. The Annaberg balloon; Blue and Yellow seeing a yellow sunrise with his two blue peepers. Duncan didn’t look the other way this time. This was all about TILE.

“You disappeared into that rock over there, you rocker. Do you even recall *that*?”

He recalled… something about a Cyclone. Blue and yellow. Then red and green. Oz.

Wizard Cube

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0107, 0108, Iowa, Jeogeot, Nautilus, Southwestern

00320108

It looks like a major question in the division of Lower Austra from the rest of Nautilus is the status of the Frog Islands, we’ll call them for now, beginning, west to east, with Brork, *Froog*, and Stoogle. Right now, Dickie Doom is in Stoogle, looking at a map that seems to indicate, with its drawn yellow line, the Frog Islands are part of larger Yd Island where we’ve just been through (wife? sister?) Debbie Doom. We’ll get back to her story in just a moment.

But then the picture changes and we are confused again. The Frog Islands seem to move through space and time.

Maybe it’s a situation of turning a frog into a prince again like in those other fairy tales.

Dickie Doom stands up. And spots another triangle.

Not bad.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0108, Collagesity Fordham, Frog Isles, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Yd Island^

spoiled?

“Why are you here, Big Red? Can you not find the litter box again? I told you. Today is the 5th so you turn left at the stairs. If it was the 4th you’d turn right. You understand? Even and odd, Big Red. Just like we talked about. And then the 3rd Sunday’s Monday… but no need to complicate matters right now. Can you hold it in a bit more… until I guide you down the hall past the tailors to the correct room? Thanks for your patience. No need to pull out lumber or anything.” She was starting to sweat. A.B. Normal was influencing the future as well as the past too. He needs to merge with my 1/2 brother’s body and pronto! Besides: I get lonely. She concedes.

“Alright Big Red. Just this *one* time.”

“Ma – ma,” he squeals in joy while moving toward the east that was the west just yesterday. He’ll pick it up. Or not. Hopefully won’t matter soon.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0108, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^

00300108

He stares from the rock while listening to rock. *His* rock. Can he actually listen to what The Mann says this time?

From this perch, he’s looking for the plane or at least the boat, but they weren’t that easily spotted. The pink plane may be totally out of sight (man). The small boat may *just* be visible, he determines. Another floater. Another 6 inches. If he could just fix the engine and move it away from here all would be well. The boy might be his.

—–

It was time for Zach Black and Lena Horned to leave this place. The Maebaleia red white and blue battle flag keeps flapping and slapping, ouch ouch ouch. Duty calls; Nautilus continent tour aborted. The red hand scratches.

Lena Horned takes one last float like the boy and is gone.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0108, Nautilus, Southwestern

00290108

He had a new girl now. And, not coincidentally, a new director. Percy was her name, although some people call her Pauline. Some people don’t call her anything, afraid to say the wrong thing and suffer the consequences. Other people know her as Dean, which is apparently a woman’s name as well — didn’t know that. Some say she looks exactly like Jill Valentine from the Evil Residents game, and she does. But they aren’t the same.

Some say she has umbrella eyes, but that was instead Shelley Struthers, also dead, also an evil resident, or at least others say. All Marion Star Harding knows is that he is in love again, a new Valentine in his life, although he still dreams — day and night — about his old “cowgirl” Heidi. He can’t decide between a woman who’s dead who he can keep alive in his mind, and this woman here lying on the beach before him who’s perhaps dead but still living. A conundrum.

“Marion,” she calls over, getting up from the towel. She dare not take her bodysuit off else the flesh could crumble. It’s all that’s holding her together now. “I’ve got to direct another shoot over in Cass City. I’ve got to get going. Be a dear and start packing my bags.”

More time with Heidi coming up soon, then. Is he happy about it? He’s not sure.

(to be  continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0108, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

00280108

“It all begins with windmills,” he declares…

“… and Mouse.”

“Hi, I’m Windmill Man and I’m proud and pleased to be adding my story to the flow of this photo-novel, which I believe is 28 in a series of… well, something or another. Kolya is a friend of mine, we can say; shared a room together at Mouse Manor, haha. Expression never changed, poor lad, no matter how he was feeling inside. Couldn’t smile, you see. Well… I *can*. See?

“Where to start, where to start? Windmills… oh I already declared that. Bottom of one of the newest subcontinents, you know. River in the center running all the way to Maebaleia; connecting East and West at last, and put in there that I capitalized east and west to emphasize that they are hemispheres: 1/2 worlds if you will. This was *important*.

“Brady Stream was the sim I’m talking about. Start of this new land, this finishing connector. Now I’m sure a lot of you readers from the outside world are shaking your head and saying, big deal, it’s just a virtual reality, one of many now, right? This one’s a little different, though, in that you have *two* worlds secretly combining into one. You’ve read about it here many times now: the simultaneous (as it were) beginning of Lime World and World of Lemon, one — the recognized one — coming from the West and the other, the one not fully known but actually more powerful, from the East. And now these two directions are linked, see.

“Windmills… let’s just go back down into the world and start at the stream.

“There I am. At the most central one.

“And also in the center of the sim. This is where it starts.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0108, Bellisaria, Maebaleia/Satori, Paper Soap, Soap

heavenly hooves

Concert tonight in Harmony Heights. The Rolling Joints, coming all the way over from Minnesota or Michigan, a long long ways indeed. They’ll obviously play their recently released hit single from the 70’s called “Money” to get to the root of the problem. This is a band with a strong political statement, and with their 3rd eyes squeegeed wide open, they know what it’s *all* about. Everything. They have a direct talk with God on at least a weekly basis, and I mean *direct*. Strangely he doesn’t appear to them as a flamey bush or a fiery, golden sphere or anything you would imagine, but a horned deer, a stag, claiming to actually be named Jon but without the usual “h”. He’ll yell something like, “get it the hell out of here!” when you insert such between the “o” and the “n” of his true, tripart title (they claim). “The 4th is not to be found anywhere upon my being or my soul!” Jon-God doesn’t like the number 4, and, in turn, usually leaves it out when he’s calling the citizens and denizens of Earth. Tip for the trippers, then: that’s how you know who’s dialing.

They hired these tree sized deer in order to appease their master. Twirling, early bird groupie Confusion Animesh obviously approves (stumble/*fall*).

The rest of the concertgoers will shortly be crowding the stage. The band will go on as soon as they finish talking to Jon.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0108, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

Dubya

“Yeah, sorry we got cut off back there. It’s just the kids –” (reply) “No, first it was this turtle, and then a f-cking witch came out of the ditch.” (reply/reprimand). “Oh… I didn’t know that.” (reply) “Wife, eh?”

“Just get over here,” he barked from the other side of the line. “And expect some kind of spell day before tomorrow’s Tuesday.” (*click*)

The situation was growing worse. Orange now.

—–

The green phone rang. The green phone never rang. He went over and stared at it, wanting it to stop. Green screens flashed all around, as if connected to the rings. It was just that important. Time to calm the hell down.

“Pick it up,” Ballpark Johnson urged from the back windows, staring out at landing passengers, this time with a plane. “It’s the only way to end this.”

Oh I see: a name. “Say my name and I’ll do it,” replied the khaki wearing man beside the phone, smart with book inside him. Anderson County. Now he knows how to build a rock wall a mile long if needed. Which it will.

“*Can*.” Close enough.

“Hello?”

“Pepi?” came the hoarse and raspy voice from the other side, as if beyond the grave.

“Who is this?”

“You – know who. Last time – we met — I was — jovial.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0108, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

about town 02

“And that’s about it, sir,” he spoke mildly, as usual, to the new town ruler. “Tour: complete.”

Jeffrey Philips stares at the entrance to the new collage series, called simply Picturetown and breaking the pattern of former series, all of which are named for towns and villages in and around Jasper County, Illinois — a map of which they stand upon here, in fact. Like Falmouth housed in the Fal Mouth Moon gallery that Danny cleans up, for example. He ponders whether to go through the door representing the beginning of the series. Instead he focuses on the surface aspects; he’s learning to ride or jump situations in order to remain objective, like a good ruler should.

“These… Rosehaven people… from this Picturetown. Are they aware we are using their store front here?”

Man About Time looked at Jeffrey Philips, trying to gauge what direction he was heading. “Does it matter?” he decides to say, and let it rest on that.

“I don’t know, I’m just wondering…”

“They will not care… they are artists as well.”

“Maybe we should talk to them.”

“Why, sir, don’t we enter the (new) exhibit and see what they would see if they knew about it.” His voice was gaining confidence. He realized Jeffrey Philips helped temper his mildness with his rugged individuality. This is a man fixed in time, unlike himself. He lets time move all around him rather than inside. MAT wondered who the latest girl is… he’d heard rumors of a woman alternately named Zado and Bad Kitten. He’s been meaning to look that up on the interwebs… maybe when he returns to his lower penthouse apartment at Kidd Tower. And he needs to finish decorating (!). So lazy; but I’ve had to help Jeffrey Philips so much lately. He knows so little about what we do here. And then there’s Carrcassonnee. He resists looking over at the top of the Temple of TILE from this vantage point; needs to keep focused on Jeffrey. This was a pivot point of some sort. Will he go inside? Is he afraid of losing… perspective?

“Not today, Man About Time.”

“MAT, please,” Man About Time insists about his name. Confidence. He is ever so slightly — baby steps — moving away from Time into something else. Town, perhaps. He then has the urge to look left at Roger Pine Ridge’s new house which isn’t there. A sudden backslide, pheh.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0108, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus