She was easily enough trapped just in the sim of Sandraman. I didn’t need the rest of this *old* New Island to do the trick. The other New Island, the *real* one as it were, will remain a black and white dream inside her head at night. *My* dream.
Night night, sweet Shelley. See you on the other side, he he he. Ho ho. (sigh) Hu.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0117, New Island^
In this here photo-novel 43, almost certainly not the last of a series, I’ve been cobbling together images from a number of separate Our Second Life locations to make a poor poor man’s rendition of Nightsity from the Cyberpunk 2077 video game, perhaps the most realistic virtual city ever created. Probably is, minus its NPC’s, which are a little wonky acting and looking still. Not up to snuff in that way with urban areas from vaunted Rock Star games Grand Theft Auto V and Red Dead Redemption 2. But most everything else is equal or better for the newer game, the latest Grant Theft and Red Dead installments being from 2013 and 2018 respectively. Cyberpunk was released in 2020 to much fanfare but was *filled* with glitches and errors at the beginning. Well, according to recent reviews these seemed to have been essentially ironed out in subsequent updates and patches, and CD Projekt Red, the company that put out the product (also known for the Witcher video game series), says they’re basically done with the thing as of earlier this year. The dust is still settling on the finished work and people are still debating what has been created/revealed. Seems important. Seems different. A terrifying vision of the future, *our* future as a country (US of America) and of the world as a whole.
Maybe when I get a more powerful computer I can go there in person. 🙂 But in the meantime I have my small, connected collection of Our Second Lyfe substitutes and also game exploration videos found on Youtube by the likes of Daydream Gaming (who I call Daydreaming Gamer in the blog and attached photo-novel) and Mares The Martian (who I shortened to just “The Martian” in same (coming up!)). Also: Let’s Walk has some quite fascinating Youtube videos out there, including a 7 part “Walking Around the Edge of the (Cyberpunk 2077) Map” that I’ve been slowly making my way through. So a big shout out to these Youtube content creators, and also the ones making the Nightsity-ish locations in Our Second Lyfe that include Mouser Dowling’s Dystopian Night and Sektor 2, Sensory Hax’s Neuromancer 2020, and ღJennyღ (llxjenxll)’s ATP Paradise. Well done all. And I’m certainly still exploring the content from these and others.
And of course it’s Night City not Nightsity, another blog/photo-novel alteration.
One day…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0117, C2077, City Center, GTA, Hana Lei^^, Nightsity, RDR2, Witcher
Being Thanksgiving Day already, Marsha “Pink” Krakow started to husk corn for the festival. Now plain June joined her. Tom showed up and did a little work. Christina showed up and did even less, ranting on and on about her miracle recovery from polio as she does. And Stan never showed atall per team leader Donna’s prediction, over at Dick’s sweets and drink stand all the time drinking and sweeting away her worries. Team leaders never subbed for team members according to the rules — she at least had that going. But the corn was slow to be shucked and the cornbread needed to be served by 7, 7:30 at the latest. Something had to be done. Enter Andrew “Biff” Carter from the woods with a black and white shucking machine made from miracles, June’s beautifying witch power transferred to it instead. Marsha was suddenly free to do something else: either Reuben or Steuben, whichever one was the drummer, was lost in action (remember we’ve already heard from the horse’s mouth that one of the two wasn’t real). Marsha felt 2 drumsticks manifest in her back pocket, also part of the magic. She went over to warming up Batcorn beyond the corn and offered her services. She’ll play her way onto the band, she determined then and there, watching the machine spit out husk after husk, leaving naked white ears of goodness in its wake. All team members and all team leaders were happy. The 2023 Amiable Thanksgiving Day Festival would be a success despite the odds.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0041, 0117, Teepot^^
The actual seance in Ruby’s Bellissaria home in Ashton Village, or “reading” as the invitation called it, was kind of anticlimactic to what just happened outside. Psychic Olive Olystick knew instantly upon seeing green clad Al and blue clad Sarah sit down opposite each other at the prepared table that they were destined for each other, *made* for each other in effect (manufactured). Groover filled in the needed 6th spot for absent, sick Cowboy, taking the “yellow” seat opposite Olive’s red. “We have our 6,” she said in the introduction, amended up from 4 to include mutual friends Gloria and Wanda from down on the beach. But Olive knew they didn’t really count. There was still only red, green, yellow and blue around the table. A true TILE, yes, modified for the moment. She had manufactured Groover as much as Al had manufactured Sarah, and visa versa as well. Round and round and round.
Al, of course, asked about Bart and the renegade treatises, both his and Lisa’s, although the boy’s higher channeling effort took top priority in his mind. The reason for him being here in the 1st place. Olive looked deep into her mind, produced an image of a cow that was also a human. “Someone lives on this continent who has your answers. Not the 2nd continent (of Bellissaria), not the 3rd, nor 4th, nor 5th. Here. Not far away to the north — Northern Hills, I’m seeing. Groover knows a person involved.” All eyes at the table turned to the Trojan-Durexian war vet, who just sat there was his mouth agape per usual, like he was as surprised about this information as anyone else. He wasn’t. “Grooover,” urged still-in-trance Olive, seeing that gleam in his eyes. “You *know* something. Spill.”
“This must be about Chet,” he replied in his goofy, high voice, knowing he couldn’t hide anything from Olive.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0117, Ashton Village, Bellisaria, Northern Hills
“There it is again, Dixon 02! Shoot it this time with your bow and arrow! Quick!”
“*You’re* Dixon 02,” protested the one with the weapon. “*I’m* Dixon 01.”
“No time for that now! (POOF) Oh… darn! Look at what you’ve done brother of mine, *second* out of the womb.”
“*You’re* second out.”
“She’s gone.” Pause.
“Pretty boots, though.”
“*Darn* pretty boots.”
“And gloves.”
—–
“‘Nother dream this time about those Dixons, Grassy. Something about them poisoning the alcohol of this town.”
“Hmmm.”
“Wonder….”
“Yeah,” predicted Grassy to what Sassy was about to say, Nogin’s horrific tossing noises also etched in his memory. “Me too.”
“Should we warn somebody? Who’s the mayor of Hardrock Island?”
“Hardrada, actually. Remember, Hardrock I. contains the guitar with no strings. The pool here has strings. The one you like so much.” Maybe more than the bigger one I prefer, he thinks to himself. Differences: small, but they can add up.
Sassy contemplates heartstrings again, and how Grassy should make her sing but not quite getting there; differences again. But no strings might have its advantages as well, as in, no hands advantages. As in *recording* advantage. If you don’t play forwards, you can play backwards — that kind of advantage.
“Welll?”
“Based on a dream?” he protested about the earlier warning request.
“Dreams,” said Sassy to this. “Repeating dreams.”
“See what happens tonight in your dreams and then tomorrow we’ll go to the authorities if needed.”
“*No* alcohol in the meantime. Or only what you brought in.”
“Cough syrup,” complains Grassy. “Stuck with cough syrup.”
“And mouthwash,” chips in Sassy. First time she’s glad about having a mild case of chronic halitosis. Wouldn’t be the last.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0117, Nautilus, NORTH
I’ve given up. Wanda: gone. Punctured and then dumped in the bay, along with the couch which *didn’t* harbor any secret writing devices. Worthless, signal free TV: gone; same place. Fishing pole: dumped in the water as well. Swimming with the fishes instead of catching them. All I have is the roar of the waterfall and the occasional, added tinkle; funny how I can hear that much smaller sound through it all. I don’t even look out any more. Claude: nowhere in sight. I still live but I don’t know how. I haven’t had food for days and days. Life force… draining.
—–
“Aren’t you going to the waterfall today to do your thing? 1/2 past 6 already.”
“Nah, I think he’s had enough. Either he’s fully capitulated or he’s dead in there, hard to tell. I don’t even really care. But he’s broken either way.”
“We should contact Claude, then,” suggests Roberts to her lover and perhaps wife Franklin with this. “He owes us the rest of the 5 grand we signed up for, task completed it seems, as much as we could do perhaps.”
“Money, pheh,” exudes Franklin, picturing Albert’s limp, maybe lifeless body on the floor of the small shack hemmed in by rocks. “Fully green now,” she laments about receiving the paper bills, all Claude had conveniently enough. No metal. Not even red bills, which Franklin made up anyway to embellish a story.
“*Purest* green,” states Roberts while looking over, also experiencing remorse. “Just like you always dreaded.”
“Yes, we made a choice, Albert made a choice. I’m not sure who’s worse in the moment.”
“Us, obviously. Because we have an actual conscience.”
“He *might* come around. He could just be lying there, pitiful and useless life flashing before his eyes.”
“Somehow… I think our own lives hang in the same balance.” Both stare at the fire, realizing their actions were pure and good in that Albert *deserved* to be pissed on, and then reminded of it on a daily basis — but money never should have been involved. They didn’t pass angelic “receiver” Claude’s litmus test. But, like with Albert, there’s still a chance for redemption.
Franklin sat up. “We have to save him.”
“I’ll get my coat.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0117, Nautilus, NORTH
Okay what’re we looking at here?
—–
Impossible. She’s *green*(!).
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0034, 0117, Wendy-Ontario
1st (singing): “I’m getting married today, today. I’m getting married…”
2nd (joining in): “I’m getting married today, today. I’m getting married…”
All together: “WE”RE GETTING MARRIED TODAY, TODAY. WE’RE GETTING MARRIED…”
STOP
GO.
Marillia walked out of the mirror to help Denisce. “Oooooo,” she exclaimed, “I can’t *decide* (squeal). The green dress looks oh so *yummy*. But the RED.”
Marillia didn’t tell Denisce the actual colors were aqua and pink. Marillia needed a sale today to probably keep her job. Because marriages were far apart in this here Towerboro, known for its division instead of addition, subtraction instead of multiplication. Yet the figures keep spinning, the numbers keep changing. Her boss Wallace D’ass figures sales have to turn around, law of averages. Love over hate, joy over competition. Substitute bartender Doris might know. If she could pry herself away from the constant soccer and rugby tugs-of-war. Dafney might figure it out. If she could stop thinking of herself and go with a different color.
“Ooooooo. Can’t choose!!” The wedding was called off. To save the business, Marillia married her boss instead. The dick.
—–
Suddenly — just like that — the war was over, and sunshine and happiness returned to formerly dark and dank Towerboro. Vet and alternate substitute bartender Walter Hotdog walks out of apt. 15 looking for his phone so he could tell Doris he loves her.
Mary texts battle scarred Dennis to say she forgives him for Abbie and says she’ll try that thing in the bedroom he wants to do and she’ll even buy the toys for him on the way back from work. Toys, pheh. Crowding in again, but in a good way this time. Jenny tells medal bedecked Builie that she understands now 2 plus 2 equals 4 instead of 5, and that 6×9 will never equal 42.
And Dafney… Dafney…
But let’s move to Charlotte.
“Will you… marry me Charlotte?”
“Is Charlotte a first class hooker?” she answers retired captain-colonel Kurt rhetorically, Dodgey history finally put behind.
Addition: It *was* reconstituted George she married. Who needs clothes when you got each other (*smooch*)!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0033, 0117, Jeogeot, Towerboro
She closed the door but dare not look around.
The swamp tree.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0117, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wild West
“Shall we?”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0117, Bay City/Nova Albion^, Iowa, Sansara
Sunklands 