Category Archives: 0113

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The unique chord progression for “I Walk the Line” was inspired by the backwards playback of guitar runs on Cash’s tape recorder[4] while he was stationed in Germany as a member of the United States Air Force. Later in a telephone interview, Cash stated, “I wrote the song backstage one night in 1956 in Gladewater, Texas. I was newly married at the time, and I suppose I was laying out my pledge of devotion.”

“One has strings, the other doesn’t, these HARDR pools, the only HARDR sims in Our Second Lyfe currently (Hardrada and Hardrock Island).”


Hardrada pool


Hardrock Island pool

“Obviously the same creation besides that, Hucka (Hucka!). The unstringed one, useless for playing, see, merely points to the stringed one, the useful one. This is the same as Franklin’s guitar she was playing backwards in respect to Apples’, which is the same as Johnny Cash’s guitar, or at least the one he played backwards as inspiration for perhaps his seminal song ‘I Walk the Line.’ We can understand this through Franklin KY.”

“Sting is a line,” added Hucka. He’s just warming up perhaps. Been in storage for a while. “I meant string.”

“Of course.”

“Gotta run.” And he was gone — oh well; not even time for a snapshot. Plus I couldn’t get to the stringless one since it was on banned property (I continued on my own). I think back to the 2 pools, banned and unbanned, on Owl Island, and how we also found doubles of those in Eveningwood. Back in novel 26, which is becoming more and more relevant to our current novel, 36…

Along with 35 of course. Photo-novel 36 seems to be more of a direct continuation of its predecessor than ever. See, for example, here (post/riddle from likewise section 01 of 35 unraveled/resolved):

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0113, Kentucky, Nautilus, North

Machines take over?

Officer Brendin, not to be confused with officers Brenden, Brendan, and Brendon from other photo-novels (joke), reports a time burp to his superiors over at the Triggerfish station on his invisible phone, undercover at the time. Just about to rub my chin thoughtfully, he thinks, grinning a bit while talking and kind of hiding his mouth. “One woman’s ordered curry,” he spies while recording. “The other is nibbling on fries and then… *there*.  Something fishy happened fer sure.”

—–

He finally gets around to interviewing Angie about the incident when he finds the correct alley. Queer as well, because there’s only one. Maybe he’ll get to that case next. “‘All Eel’, with a big sign outside reading ‘Ask about our Eel!'” she defends her dive. “What did the woman expect?”

“I see.” A spider crawled up his leg, followed by more. He was down for the count in 5 and not the normal 10. The reds had advanced just that far. Angie held out a bit more, armed with eels the size of seals. Blam blam blam, like teeny tiny atomic blasts to the wooden planks of the docks. Yet they swarmed in from uptown, downtown, sidetown, emboldened by the lack of residents in each place. The town was down to 4, all in the middle, all about to get “spidered”, likewise cornered fishermen Ben and Al joining in the fun. From above, it looked like a big red dot formed atop the center. Like a target. And drop away those technologically advanced Triggerfishians did just then, boomb!! (again) Trouble is, this time the town went away with the enemy. Everyone loses.

Etherea heard it in Ohio, a 4608 rental parcel 2 sims west named for a user from Cleveland or Columbus, take your pick, throw in Cincinnati as well. She made the call, learned the bad news about her house, her town. She talked to her cousin Apples (Apples?) about it, similarly tagged for the state fruit because of a past presence of Johnny Appleseed.

“Don’t you worry, cousin, you stay here as long as you need to rebuild your life, your way of living.”

She glances outside at troubled, black haired and black clad Darla by the swimming pool, back from camp just in time for the unfortunate event that would spread atomic dust this time as far as Pennsylvania, a neighboring parcel to the east. Just that close. “How’s she holding up?” Etherea decided to deflect her troubles, knowing she’d take it harder than anyone with her sensitivity to sounds and all. BOOOMB. Even though two sims over it must have been deafening to the child.

“She’s holding,” says her mother, indeed looking out at the girl with hands now clasped to both ears. “And she brought a friend with her, wearing white instead of black. I think they’ll help each other over time.

“How’re *you* holding out darling?”

“Stunning. Didn’t hear a thing.”

“That’s my balance girl.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0113, Nautilus, North

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Turns out the duck had as many varied talents as his new master, including the ability to wheel and deal at a rapid pace. He quickly garnered the job of chief salesperson at the local car dealership. John, attached to him by the ankle and neck and some other places, had to tag along. He mainly played jigsaw puzzles on his phone while the other worked. A few hours each night, he was free to roam the streets of town and explore while the other slept. This is when he secretly rendezvoused with Martha and had a chat with the Wizard through that wegee board of hers. W-I-Z-A-R-D it began, announcing the spirit.

Meanwhile, over in Jeogeot Wheeler is surrounded by rainbow colored butterflies.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0113, Jeogeot, Midlands, Wendy-Ontario

Thirteenville

The infamous talking rooster of Towerboro, an obvious tourist attraction. Currently owned by Wanda Debbie Prichard. 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, Towerboro

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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^