We do not purport to know what’s really going on at this French rr station with its blurring of time.
But could it be something to do with, for example, *this*?
Out on the platform, people walk one way…
… then mysteriously switch directions for the next shot.
A man appears just in this one photographed panorama and then vanishes. The logical answer is that this is the cameraman himself. Why the similar jacket and shirt to the other man here, though? Is it just chance; did they think this resonance funny and thus the jumping out of 1st person perspective and into the photo? Why at *this* station of all places? The Center of the Universe.
At the end of the camera’s journey on the platform, time is different in the mirror…
… from reality.
For the ultimate answers we may have to look upwards.
“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”
As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.
Andy Warhole had been looking for Gabby all over town and finally found him in my new bar called Moe’s on the west edge, a low rent district. Art was on his mind again, and how to make money from it. “Look into your marvelous crystal ball, Gabby,” he requested, “and tell me my future.”
Gabby gazed deeply into the smokey sphere, saw the future, and then lied about it while starting to sweat. “Nothing, Andy. Sorry. Shall we talk about the weather instead. So hot, so muggy!” He nervously wiped his brow.
What he actually saw was a muscular man of reddish complexion walking underwater and wielding a menacing metallic golf club. Heading right toward him: The Boss. He knew this was one a-hole of a man.
He stared at Warhole. He reviewed the vision of the man. He stared at Andy Warhole.
“Ok, my turn, my turn.” Andy got up, Hilter from the couch sat down. “Ahem: How do I become chancellor of all of Germany?”
“I don’t guess I’ll ever go back, Wheeler. It’s all too *embarrassing*.”
“Oh snap *out* of it. Let’s get some pictures of these blue buggers and get outta here.”
And next time we travel together brush your *teeth* why don’t you!”
A mystery, Wheeler. One of the Blue Tinkers has disappeared while trying to open a Coke. This must be the work of…”
“*Peppi*” both exclaim together.
“The Man(n) is not coming tonight, Charlie. Still — I’ll keep an eye on SEAN’s Southside Bay residence for signs of change.
Change, thinks Charlie Banana behind her, just finished with one. She’s *white* now and she talks of signs.
“He’s got a boat, Charlie. A row boat.”
“And he’s heading right toward us!”
Kate McCoy always left the table to (softly) play the piano when there was after-dinner talk of war.
“Heterocera is *not* dead,” spoke Summerhill Nova to his right. “We can carry on. The Sister sim will remain strong — I’ll make sure of it my liege.”
“Good, good,” the person at the head of the table spoke. “I won’t worry any longer about that direction. I trust you with the matter.”
He turned to his left. “And you, Walter.”
“Um hmm?” The tree being’s voice was hollow and husky.
“What say your people about the matter? About the changes in VHC City?”
“As long as Bob Dylan’s okay with it we’re okay with it.”
“Alright, then”. Jack looked straight ahead.
But the CB Dylan Dresser containing the other Snow at the table didn’t immediately respond. Then they realized the Manster within had gone to the wrong dimension — again.
(to be continued?)
I was putting up birdhouses today on my new property, too lazy to even change out of my Purple (and) Bear costume. Maybe that *was* my identity here, though. *I* am the Purple (and) Bear. Perhaps I own both this place (Sanctuary Point, after the sim plus the location description) and the old quarry. Or maybe the old quarry is where I come from. In the past. Where the mist got me. Maybe mist with a “y”; maybe capitalized but maybe not. Maybe the mist doesn’t like you capitalizing it in writing. Maybe it exacts its toll even a bit more if you do so. I must be careful. But yet — what could be wronger than the curse I’m presently under! A purple bear! Banished from my circle of friends. Confined to an old quarry and, now, a neighboring peninsular point far far away from a societal center. It’s out here away from the capital that Rosehaven’s *myst*eries are fully revealed; uncloaked. I must be vigilant for more changes.
The piping voice, sounding of helium, was far far away yet somehow quite near. I looked around — no one here.
I then spotted him in the giant live oak tree, the centerpiece of the property actually. Beside the birdhouse I had just set up on one of its massive, sprawling limbs.
It took him a short while to start forming actual sentences and just stop chirping greetings (maybe the creature was part bird?) but I eventually got out that he thought the house he sat beside was too small for his needs. Or the rest of his clan. The wee ones.
The next time he showed up he brought along architectural drawings. Turns out this was his land as well as mine, or so he claimed.
“So why haven’t you returned to Collagesity, Baker Blinker?” he asks in his surprisingly mild voice. For someone so important. “Or 7 Stones I guess I should say.”
“Just Baker will do, thank you,” she politely replied. The Tillie experiment was over. The classic or traditional Baker Blinker form was back. “Well…”
“It’s Karoz, isn’t it?” guessed The Man About Time, who, like Baker Bloch before her, Baker Blinker knew was Pierre now. He had found “Floydadada”, for what it was worth. The analysis for user baker b.’s “Art 10×10” was more or less complete. He could move forward with his plans. A determination had to be made soon about Wheeler. He’d learned that she couldn’t be disposed of that easily, like a unique key for a storage facility. A safety factor was still involved.
Baker Blinker pondered an answer to The Man About Time’s query. Karoz was in Chilbo still. *She* was in Chilbo. They frequent the giant meditating tree. They take part in a roundabout way with town matters, headed by [delete name]. Karoz worked on TILE a lot still. But somehow, for some reason, they still couldn’t enter the photo-novels in a large way any more. Unlike the early days. Unlike novels 1 and 2. Yes, they were married still. Happy and married. She started with this.
“We are happy,” she replied with some confidence.
The Man About Time leaned over and patted her knee. “Well of course you are.”
He stood outside Home Julia after the meeting was over, taking it in. This is Baker Blinker and Karoz’s residence in 7 Stones for certain, he thought. But they are rarely here. Rarely as in one or two posts per photo-novel, if that. TILE is very valuable, though. Hmmm.
Time to go visit Roger Pine Ridge now. If he’s available.
Before DJ-ing at Regaltown’s fabulous 50th Anniversary Man on the Moon shindig, Grey Scale Kimball just had to buy that yellow purse she had her eyes on at Maraschino. But it meant she could only spin Dark Side of the Moon that night and not the light one.
“There, there Sport,” Uncle Barnacles rattled. “Ship’s gonna come *any* day now.”
“It’s been *five years*,” his hound speaks droopingly. “I’m tired of perpetual motion.”
“There, there. Now, now.”
Black Rain (old ship) will do for now. Craighead Phillips, wearing a combined option 1 and 2 look until the polling’s closed, applies facelight and heads to sea. Patterns he’ll examine today. Maybe walk on the bottom but maybe not. Bottom writing.
“So long, Unk!” he shouts back while steaming forward.
“That ship ain’t going *nowhere*,” Sport slops. “Corralled.”
“Five years,” Uncle Barnacles slips. “Any day now,” he then adds, rocking and staring while the ship also rocks in place.
“I can’t quite see the top of Greentop from this chair, Huma. I’m… disappointed.”
“It’s fate,” countered Green Squirrel’s wife laying on the bed. “The Julia House simply had to be here in this spot, though. Removed from Collagesity to give Baker Bloch and his friends and family almost 200 prims now to work with. But also needed here to *fill* a prim level to the brim to protect Baker Bloch’s Yarn Shop. Rosehaven isn’t it?”
“You know it is, wife of mine.”
“Yes. Because… let’s see. I’m Wheeler in this situation, right?”
“And I’m Baker. Baker Bloch. Let’s go outside and sit on Greentop and enjoy the view,” Green Squirrel suggested.
“166 draw, Huma. The castle pops into view. Complete with a Yarn Shop now. Right on Yarnby.”
“Fate,” Huma reinforced. She looked around. “There use to be so much here in this sim, Green Squirrel. So full of life. Now: nothing. Just us. I think we’re the only ones that live in Asha. Correct?”
“Correct dear wife. Just us and the hills.” He lays back. “And the stars.”
“I’m going to explore those hills over there again tomorrow, husband. Last month I found some scissors. Maybe something else will pop up.”
“We can dream.”