Category Archives: 0113

Thirteenville

The infamous talking rooster of Towerboro, an obvious tourist attraction. Currently owned by Wanda Debbie Pritchard. Prichard? Must be a last name. We’ll determine a first name soon enough for the purveyor of the lone antique store of town, another monopoly.

Jack doesn’t like the rooster. Jack heard it says his name. “Jack son special,” he crowed to elaborate just afterwards.

“He he,” his father laughed, “that’s *us* son. I’mmm Jack, and you’rree Jack, see? (he points to the respective parties here). Jack’s son, ha ha.”

“And you certainly *are* special, young man,” wife Debbie Wanda Prichard (Prichard again?), added while pecking his cheek with a couple of quick kisses. The rooster leaned forward, seeming to want to peck Jack Jr.’s cheek as well. “Special,” he clucked to reiterate.

—–

“Show’s over, Prichard,” said the purveyor at 5 o’clock while setting down his cage on the floor and opening the door. “Time to go home.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0113, Jeogeot

00320113

Although separated now, she often dreams of him still, and sometimes she *is* him in the dream, like here. He (she) exits the rundown house where he’s lived for going on 25 years, intending to go to the library but then realizing he doesn’t have a key any longer. He doesn’t work there no more. A dove flies overhead and something lands in his beautiful purple hair, making it imperfect. Thinking the dove pooped on him, he curses it as it wings its way back over the plain whence he or she came.

He turns around, intending to wash his hair out in the sink or, better yet, take another shower, then apply more gel and finisher. He steps into the shower after removing his clothes. He’s still taller, darker, and, yes, more withdrawn. But he’s about to change that, about to wash away his “sins”. The water comes on. He washes his tall, dark body. He wishes Debbie were still around, wishes he could invite her over to join him. He imagines them together in his head as he continues to suds. Body done now; hair next. The water moves to the head. He rinses it well before applying shampoo, and, finally, touching it for the first time since the dove incident. His fingers start to move around his scalp. Something oddly shaped and metallic is quickly encountered. He withdraws it from his curls, looks down at the open hand. 319. This is the gift of the dove. This is the gift of the *library*. He doesn’t need to head there any longer.

She wakes up.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0113, Frog Isles, Lower Austra^, Nautilus City^, Yd Island^

Taylor

We are almost certain upon passing that this orange clad guy is welcoming us, the viewer, to Iowa. And the 2 little, alert dogs to his right (our left), one black and one brown? Welcomers as well?

But in the next photo we become confused, as the waver is reflected in the window of a passing red car. Is the driver of the car instead being acknowledged, his or her return wave masked by the reflection of the person waving back? There could be stories layered within stories here. The 2 little dogs remain, alert as ever. It’s as though they aren’t even real.

Happy Ruby?:)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0113, Iowa

dualities (no fire)

He was playing Schumann under the gun, this Franz Wagner. Raspberry Girl, aka Annaball or bell, was in the background getting limber on the bars and warming up for her shooting. And what a night it was (!).

—–

“This was not the night it was,” corrected W here, coming out of the background. “You can (still) only shoot zombies in this town and zombies are identified by the German war helmets, spiked or non-spiked. Probably something someone came up with in a bar, inebriated halfway to Hell, perhaps through a drugged drink.”

I stopped playing in the Middle of C. W zoomed in; Raspberry/Annaball-bell had projected out of sight, perhaps zooming herself, through the ceiling and into the sky via built up centrifugal force. Who knows what can be read and studied in this black and white town full of bigots, zombies and some other stuff. “Helmet Newton might know,” I said my thoughts aloud to her, “if we could identify the Hell who he was.”

“She,” W inserted. “Don’t forget the ‘she'”.

He continued…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0113, Jeogeot, Sunklands^

train of thoughts (for now)

Guyd on one side, Rebl on the other, the director of the current film (“Sunklands 2021 Even Later”) talks with newly synthesized Axis Windmill Man about further developments in the plot. Don’t want another giant diamond ring in an open casket situation to end!

“Scratchy is the destination,” began Axis-Windmill in earnest after the niceties were over. Down to business now. Cass City business. “The show within the show that is Our Second Lyfe.”

Director Percy Pierce tried to put new lover Marion Star Harding out of her mind. She’d been thinking about him ever since they parted ways several days back — left him back at Starfish Lake or Sea or whatever the f- they’re calling the body of water these days — the new trend. She knew he, in turn, still thought about Heidi. Actually: another show within a show, since it is a mere window in his mind now. Job at hand…

“Snowball in Hell is… reality?”

“There are 2 sides to this,” explains Axis-Windmill, looking at green and yellow eyed Guyd to the left, then red-blue eyed Rebl to the right. He moves his right hand toward his left hand to meet in the middle and form praying hands.

“Are you saying we should *pray* for the correct plot direction?”

“Erm.”

“Ob-JEC-tion,” overruled Guyd from the left. “This show should be non-denominational.”

“Secular even, yes,” interjected nodding Rebl from the right.

Director Percy Pierce peered at them as well. “The feline-people will have their way. They created all this after all, like toys for their boys.”

“Did they?” Axis-Windmill obviously had his doubts.

“Yes,” doubled down Percy Pierce.

“That’s not what the manual states.”

“The manual remains a draft in places. I’m sorry — I meant to update before you were synthesized and acquired lines.”

“The manual states–”

“I *know* what the manual states.” They sat silent for a spell, all 4 of them. Percy’s thoughts involuntarily drifted back to Marion… and, within the window (she almost thought “windmill”), the director that preceded her.

(to be continued (?))

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0113, Cassandra City^, Maebaleia/Satori

back to Nautilus

He clinks his bony fingertips together in thinking mode. What ill to bring down on the world that will do it justice? he ponders. A decision is made. The soured entity begins to move out of his small forest near the center of Nautilus — not *at* the center, because that would be too obvious to his enemies. Just a little to the west, close enough to still feast on enough energy to fulfill his plans.

Moving in the right direction. Or make that *wrong* direction, just as he is *not* Jon Deere. All Orange was mistaken. This was worse.

I see you there little fellow, he says to himself while passing the much smaller forest spirit. You can’t stop me now. I have *energy*.

“Halt!” It was as much vim as the other woods entity could muster. He was spent, but he was quick to rejuvenative, the great advantage of the wee ones. Would take a minute, though, a minute he might not live through.

“Yelloo, what’s this?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0113, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

silhouettes

She was about as far away from a cowgirl as you could get. But Marion Star Harding, cowboy for life, thought he was falling for this punk of a gal with her Mohawk haircut and razor blade eyeglasses and matching belt. She hadn’t even disclosed her last name yet; only went by Heidi. He tried to dig it out of her, and then dig it out of the internet. No go. Heidi plain and simple she was. For now: maybe later, he thought happily, she would be Heidi Harding, maybe even add a star in the middle for good luck. Heidi Star Harding. Sounds good. Maybe no need to know the maiden name. Or a married name if she had a previous husband. Turns out she had 4, with a 5th on the way.

“Cut!” the actor/director cried while standing up and getting out of character. “Great guys. See you tomorrow at 9.”

 

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0113, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

come back soon!

During the night, Harry returns to the spacecraft, is able to enter the sphere, and then returns to the Habitat. The next day, the crew discovers a series of numeric-encoded messages appearing on the computer screens; the crew is able to decipher them and comes to believe they are speaking to “Jerry”, an alien intelligence from the sphere. They find Jerry is able to see and hear everything that happens on the Habitat.

We enter something different. On the western limits of Fieldon IL we find this welcome sign, indicating a rough population figure for the town at 300. Strange and neat thing, though: the church property just beside the sign is *300* W Locust St. (see upper right part of snapshot for property details). The 30 mph speed limit also seems to highlight the doubled 300.

In the same panoramic shot and on the other side of the road, we have another highway sign stating that Route 100 is 3 miles away, 100 x 3 being yet another 300.

This *field* on the very edge of Fieldon is part of the 300 property.

Welcome to the sphere.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0113, Illinois

shared states

“I will withdraw the monkey in me,” she said while standing on the edge. “Crime rates *will* go down in this here Collagesity, 25 in a series of 1.” Who is she to be so small yet so wise?

—–

I still have a definite presence in NWES City over on the Jeogeot continent, just diminished. We’ll see how that develops.

“Dear, can we go to the temple… now?”

“Not yet. I’m still trying on shoes.”

“Lordy, *pheh*.”

—–

Ray’s well deserved pizza should be arriving any minute. He’s forgotten who he is again.

—–

And static. Glorious static.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0113, Black Ice, Collagesity Fordham, Jeogeot, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, NWES Island^

Unhappy

It all started again with the formation of Thornwood. Thornwood exists: I exist, the Rose be damned. But that was the problem. I couldn’t find the roses again because of the thorns. This was an existential dilemma. Rosehaven also did not exist now. Instead: Rose Heaven. Witch Hazel *must* be suppressed (!). She could destroy this queendom-kingdom with a single, steely glance of those evil, dead white eyes. Powerful.

I clutch my Philip Linden doll even tighter. I miss my daddy, *sigh*.

“Don’t you think,” I can hear Tessa in my head (if not in reality, at least currently), “that the truth lies in the ruined village now partially in Thornwood?” I realized this was just me reflecting back to me, but it helped.

The background sound of static. I knew I was back in Room 1898, sleeping in that oh so comfy bed of ours. Tilists — always with the static at night. I wake up (let’s say). Who is beside me? Charlene the Punk? Probably not — (she was) several girls ago. Probably that girl Gigi who hangs around the bar all the time. Just like me. Whatever’s handy at the moment. But I mustn’t wake up, must dream a little longer. I unclutch the doll pillow and turn its face toward me. “What would Philip Linden do?” I ask it. Slot Mountain! came the answer in my own enlarged skull.  I hadn’t thought of that slitted peak and attached haunted castle in a long time. Not since…

Time is all mixed up for me now. I know I’m dreaming but it’s even worse than that, because when I wake up, it will still be all wonky, like Willa. Hey, I could use that (expression) in my memoirs: Wonky like Willa. Slip in some more comments about chocolate and sweets in general to balance things out. Maybe delete that section about arsenic; too much of a downer, like the barbiturate section I eliminated previously. But here I am, wasting precious dream time on my memoir planning. I try to see who is in the bed with me. I’m clutching my Philip doll again, still in the dream.

Behind me, the square piece of land representing Illyria slides up and Thornwood appears in the gap, but brown instead of white like the others. Winter hasn’t come yet, at least not here in the yarn shop. Yarn Shop! Rosehaven? How did I get here?

Wormholes. Must — control — the — wormholes.

I can’t see Green at all now.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0113, Black Ice, Canada/Picturetown, NWES Island^, Rose Heaven^^