Category Archives: 01

00310104

Waiting for the go cart race to begin. Excited whispers of Petty all around. Or is it Ketty? Who’s Ketty? Baker Bloch asks himself upon honing in on a name.

Ah yes, *Ketty* he remembers at the next stop in the Amusement Park after throwing up the entirety of his veggie burger eaten earlier that day. Wheeler soon followed suit — all over her man suit. The he sets them up she knocks them down situation continues…

The 2 88’s in back: fine.

“You okay?”

“*You* okay?” Wheeler returned, seeing more green around them than red afterwards.

Baker Bloch set his jaw straight. “We’ve got to get to Ketty before he gets to us.”

“Again!” Big breath. “Let’s just get out of *here*.”

“Okay.”

The 88’s volunteered to clean up but Wheeler thought that was beneath their job description. After performing the task anyway, they pointed out the word *custodians* in the 1st sentence of their contract.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0104, Lands End, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Wild West

player at piano

‘Big Red Machine,’ ‘Big Red Machine.’ *Here* it is.

No place to read — all seats taken, thanks to my colleagues in crime. Not crime — anyway, I’ll stand. I don’t mind. These 2 always seem to have the upper hand, testing this and judging or determining that. When I have the information in this book, things might change. Worth a try. Good, they’re not looking — absorbed in their own research.

Chapter 4: Twitch of the Morgan. Okay, getting somewhere. Um, hmm. (read read read). Ah ha. (scan scan scan) Getting late. The others seem bored. Better wrap this up, come back when I can ditch these two snitches — yes snitches. To the cause. I’ve found the book, that’s the important thing today. Fern is still looking around, almost as if — she can’t see me (!). Can they *hear* me? But too risky to test while she has the book. No need to attract attention to herself, whether she is truly hidden or not. She could become unhid, and whatever spell was cast on her by unknown powers (but probably Fern; maybe by accident even) wore off.

Okay, definitely getting weird here. Fern’s looked right at me several times now and it’s as if I didn’t exist (!). Ghosted somehow; Lichen the same. They seem to be finished with their own reading, kind of staring and glancing around. Probably looking for *me* I would assume, since we came in the same car or whatever. Carriage. The time is April through July, I know that. The day, the *century*, though, is unclear. Fern said this was a place we could research the hypercube, and better understand the link that is forming between 1st and 2nd lives. Great! I said, and Lichen also smiled across at me, knowing that Fern was onto something and this would be a better library experience than the one over in Dairocha Castle on Nautilus. This wasn’t Nautilus, oh no. This was the Orient by comparison. And me, me… Oriental. This is about me! Another test, most likely. But why?

The 9th and final chapter beyond the Great 8: gone. As if it had been ripped out by unseen hands. The crucial information! Soo sleepy. Fern and Lichen are still looking around. Sleepy. Eyes getting heavy. *Gone*.

“I don’t think Alysha is coming back,” Fern finally said, tired of the wait.

“No. She must have gone back to the carriage.”

“Carriage?”

“What-ever.”

Lumbering Big Red sitting nude with his big ass parked on the piano bench over there was finishing up Part 9 of his suite of compositions. Soon the spell would be over and Alysha would reappear, a bit confused but otherwise okay. But the book in her lap would have disappeared along with the music. One and the same.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0103, Dairocha, Mountain Lake, Nautilus, NORTH, Omega

pins

“I miss Baker Blinker,” confesses Baker Bloch to Wheeler afterwards. The story was interesting fer sure. Morgan, pheh. Tess… hypercube. Wormhole again! They were indeed connected, like two particles that act as one over a distance. But not the 2 Bakers, queerly enough. Not any more. Wheeler had usurped.

—–

“Are you ready to order?” Peter Soso, back from a watery grave or something. So hard to remember some of the characters, or at least their backstories. So many now. Must simplify. I’ll make it a 2022 resolution. But the presence of Soso here was already complicating matters. He was blunt. He was not in the mood to chit chat. He probably didn’t even remember me, if we’d ever met. I looked into his merman eyes, scanning for recognition. I remember him being with Prissy, a mer-creature like himself. But then…

“I’ll have a hamburger,” said Wheeler across from me. “Extra blood.”

Disgusting. “Veggie burger for me.” In tandem, like I said. I set them up she bowls them over. Again and again.

“Very well, sir.” He turned to Wheeler. “And sir.” He took our menus and made his way back to the kitchen down the pier to place the orders.

Well he obviously doesn’t remember *you*, I thought about Wheeler. Along with her “man suit”, she was wearing her flip style hair tonight, which made me start thinking of Baker Blinker. Tag team wrestlers they were, at least at one point in time: Flip and Magika Bean. I had to ask. But first there was the little matter of her Morgan story.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0102, HANA LEI

“Redtime Stories”

“I found something, W.”

“I did too (!). You go first.”

“Wellll.” STOP

START “You know how the last photo-novel ended in 256, when Norris, aka Harry finished downloading the entire Red Room, as Casey One Hole entered and saw his own Ass — edness.”

“Yeahhh?”

“I found the continuation. It’s a wormhole.”

“Funny.”

“How?”

“Not hahaha but hmmm… kind of funny.”

“Kind of funny or fully funny, in a hmmm way?”

“Do you want me to continue or not?”


what B., aka Baker Bloch found

“Okay your turn, W.”

“Oh, mine’s nothing in comparison. Really (!).”

“Try me.” Baker Bloch knew they worked better in tandem than separately. She’d found something.

“Okay (!). If you insist.”

“Just put a picture in the blog like I did. In this post.”

“What post?”

“You know what post.”

“I Don’t Know, hahaha.”

“Hmmm.”

“I know. I’m delaying. But for a reason.”

“*Where* did you find this? How about that to begin.”

“Morgan.”

(to be continued)

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spikey

“We’ve got to keep an eye out on that [black guy] walking over there, Virus.”

“Rrrrrrr–rough!”

“Good boy.”

—–

“Just black and white,” The Mann determined about some lips in another 0117 post to end. “No pink.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0117, Golden Sink, Jeogeot, Maebaleia/Satori, Newtown+, Sunklands

reversed 02

She was trying to close up and then he marches in here. The new guy in town, she’s heard. No one knows his name yet. He sits down. She keeps mopping, keeps to her closing tasks. He waits for her to speak. She waits for him to talk. No… one… knows… her name.

“Wagner?” he finally guesses. “I heard there was a family of Wagners in town, one who runs the bar by the big bell. He indicates the sign to his right on the counter. “Bell’s Kulturcafe… I assume that’s  you?”

“Marilyn,” she decides, thinking about the first name of another ditzy blonde. Two of ’em in fact, one also a Munster. But not that type of monster. Reversed.

“Marilyn… Wagner, then?” he keeps pursuing.

—–

He finally got that lower alcohol Bell’s beer that he wanted but not much more. He knew she was Marilyn and that’s about all. Maybe that was enough for tonight — wine wasn’t doing him right these days; downing it like it was water and he was a new Jesus but not in a good way. Beer would slow him down and Bell’s was just right: still very tasty. *Must* be a connection with that bell just outside. Or just over there. Or just around the corner. *Downtown* anyway. He tries to get his bearings so he can wheel around it in his mind more. He *could* ask for directions — surely she would give him directions.

“And CUT!” shouted the director behind the camera. “Let’s film that scene again, and this time let’s go with black and white. More noir.”

—–

Turns out Bell’s bar was kind of on the opposite side of downtown from that church bell Chef-Inspector Petty was contemplating about in that last post here, so maybe no connection.


downtown [insert name]

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00300115

He was zooming in on the real-as-life bell now and not the imaginary sun. So dark, so *Axis*. We’re suppose to forget about the war, he can hear his father’s voice echo in his brain now. Yet the bells continued, the wedding of black and white over (“No go, no go!” the people demanded). And so here it is still, sitting outside the church like a leftover piece of Hell. Damnit, Zoomer, he thought about the officer to his right, why aren’t you moving! The footsteps were getting closer. 4 beats now since the doors opened, letting the pianist and the dancer loose in the nighttime world again. Vampires? Chef-detective Petty thought. That’s at least one thing we need to eliminate. No more waiting. Zoomer wasn’t turning but he did. Iffy had turned three beats ago, make that five. Probably because he was best at his job. John Lennon isn’t proud: beats turn to beets and we’re back to square one. In Idaho.

“I da ho you’re looking for,” confessed Raspberry Girl/Annaball-bell to him back at the station after intense scrutiny and pressure. He was about to bust an important chain in the City Gang bunch of women of the night. Weakest link…

(to be continued)

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00300114

“We just wait for the pianist and the dancer to come out of there and then we pounce, understand people?” He gobbled another pretend goober, waiting for affirmation. “Yes,” answered Iffy Ziegler to his left after a beat. “Suppose,” came Belinda Zoomer’s vaguer reply to his right after 3 more. She wasn’t use to taking orders from a man, especially *this* man, this Chef-Inspector Petty, preparer of fine gourmet dishes by day, sleuthing out criminals from the underbelly of society by night. This was dusk. Almost time to move in. He downs the last imaginary peanut, throwing the imaginary bag it came in over his shoulder and into the tall grass and weeds behind him. Nonchalantly — all in one movement. He wanted to impress the young’n’s here with his moves, his cool motions. Cool motions paired with cool emotions. If someone was paying attention to him, giving him what he wanted. Iffy and Belinda ignored the cool move. He was becoming hot; he tugged at his collar as if trying to let steam off from within. The music inside, the *racket*, finally ended. What atonality to end his life! thought Chef-Inspector Petty here, watching the last bits of the Sun’s hateful sphere finally descend below the horizon. He checks the opposite direction: the blessed Moon, he imagines further, seeing it full and red and white as night. He howls at it (in his mind). The heat recedes, sun fully gone. A moment of crisis fully averted now. “Get ready,” he says, calm and collected. The door to the dance studio opens…

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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 SL, 0030, 0113, Jeogeot, Newtown+, Sunklands

200 Motels: A Space Oddity

“We’re closed,” she states levelly to Duncan while he says nothing, just peering in a store to see what’s there. We’d be closed to you lot anyway, she thinks while continuing to sweep, not paying him any more attention. Long… and dusty… road. Where’s your raspberry girl, she additionally thinks a few seconds later. Word’s gotten around.

Since she doesn’t have a name, some have just started calling her Annaball or Annabell as a joke, and always in white with the attached, mocking graffiti, like this one here on the northwest train tunnel of town. Always the crossed out “a” corrected with “e” — John Lennon would not be proud. A white girl should not be messing with a black man in any shape, form. This was a warning to all the Annaballs or bells of the world: stay in line; stay in your color.

Three glowing white nuns, white angel in background to reinforce the Heaven aspect, pray for their souls as they watch the heathens up front, also praying.

But not for forgiveness. For enlightenment. How to marry black and white in this town full of bigots and make it work. Two words (again): Helmet Newton. This is the place.

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